Page 553 of End Game

Mom shakes her head. “I raised both of you better than this.”

“I didn't invent it,” Luke says around another bite.

Ronan lifts his glass. “I did.”

Mom looks at him. “I'm reconsidering whether I'm glad to meet you.”

Ronan smiles.

Dinner gets easier after that.

Not effortless.

Mom watches.

I notice because I know her.

She watches Cami steal a piece of pepperoni from my plate.

Watches Micah pass Dex a napkin without being asked.

Watches Ronan move Cami's water closer when she reaches past it for something else.

Watches Dex lean sideways until his shoulder rests against Micah's.

Nobody performs.

Nobody backs off either.

At one point Cami gets up for another drink and kisses my cheek on the way past.

Two minutes later, she leans over Micah's chair to look at something on his phone, her hand resting naturally on his shoulder.

Mom catches me watching them.

Our eyes meet.

For a second, I know exactly what she's looking for.

Pain.

Resignation.

Anything that confirms the story she understands better.

I smile instead because Dex has started explaining to Luke why pineapple is “texturally necessary,” and Luke is pretending to take him seriously.

Mom looks away first.

Later, when Cami and Micah are clearing plates, and Ronan is arguing with Dex about whether six pizzas was objectively ridiculous, Mom comes to stand beside me at the counter.

“You really are okay.”

I look at her. “Mom.”

“I know.”

Her expression is complicated.