Chapter 12: Asher
The smell of bacon and coffer is the kitchen, thick and warm, curling into the corners of the house in a way that feels almost too familiar, too easy, like muscle memory pulling me through the motions before I have a chance to think ton hard about it.
| flip another piece onto the growing pile on the plate by the stove, the grease spitting in protest, and reach for the carton of eggs without needing to be asked, without needing anyone to point or prad or remind me.
My mother beams at me from across the kitchen island, her hands busy arranging a plate of toast, but her eyes soft and shining like it’s Christmas morning and I just handed her the moon.
“You didn’t have to,” she says, the gratitude plain in her voice.
1 shrug, cracking the eggs with a practiced flick of my wrist, betting the shells fall neatly into the trash. It’s nothing.”
It’s easier to stay busy.
Easier to move than to think,
Easier to pretend that being here–being back–isn’t peeling at the edges of something I worked a long time to hold together.
My dad strolls in, mug of coffee already in hand, looking relased in the way only people who have lived their whole lives in safety can look, and drops into a chair with a groan that’s more for show than anything else.
“How long you been up?” he asks, raising an eyebrow over the rim of his mug
“A white,” I say, flipping the eggs neatly, the heat from the stove baking into my skin. “Went for a run-
Mom pauses, the butter knife she’s holding hallway to the toast. “Didn’t you go for a run last night,
too!”
I nod.
They exchange a glance–the kind parents think is subtle but never is–and I suppress a sigh
I’m used to training,” I say before they can ask. “Trying to keep the habit,”
It’s not a lie.
It’s just not the whole truth either.
The kitchen door swings open again, the easy creak of it dragging my attention toward the hallway, and Tyler shuffles in, yawning like he hasn’t seen a morning before noon in years, his hair sticking up at ridiculous angles, his hoodie half–zipped and backwards.
He looks like he’s been dragged through a storm and lost.
The sight of him irritates me more than it should, like a pebble caught in the tread of my boot, something small and stupid that shouldn’t
bother me but does
I flip the eggs harder than necessary and plate them without a word.
ing out the stool beside Dad and dropping onto it like gravity’s got a personal vendetta
“Morning,” he says, voice still thick with sleep, dragging
Mom sets a plate in front of him, rulling his hair fondly, and he grins up at her, all boyish charm and lazy good nature, and for a second I have to look away, have to focus on scrubbing the skillet like it matters, because the easy affection between them grates against something raw in
- me.
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Chapter 12: Asher
We alt down, the four of us, the kind of picture you
on a Hallmark card If you didn’t look too close at that cricke
There’s some chatter–Right, easy things abmit the neighbor’s new puppy, about the town’s upcoming festival, about the traff: downPNG getting worse now that the college kids are back–and I let it wash mer me, answering when I have to, nodding when I don’t,
And then Mom, slicing her bacon into neat little pieces, glances mer at Tyler and says, almost absently. Th–are you going to Penny’s edition
today!
The question hangs there for a second, stretching thin..
Tyler, mid–bite, freezes.
The rest of us look at him,
He shrugs, swallowing quickly, “Nah, I don’t think so.”
Mom frowns, her fork pausing halfway to her mouth. “How come?”
He shifts in his seat, looking uncomfortable for the first time all morning. “She probably already left anyway.”
Dad leans forward, his mug thunking down on the table. “What do you mean already left? Didn’t she need a ride?”
Mom sets her fork down entirely now, her attention Fully on Tyler, her expression edging toward concerned. “Her parents called us yesterday, remember? Said they were going out of town and Penny would be alone this week.”
“Yeah,” Tyler says, scratching the back of his neck like he’s trying to buy time. “I meat me hanging around distracting her.”
Ded frowns. “So she’s taking the bus across town? For one of the biggest auditions of her life!”
likes to focus, you know? She probably didn’t want
Tyler shrugs again, and there’s something so casual about it, so careless, that I have to grip my coffee mug tighter to keep from saying something I’ll regret.
“She’ll be fine,” he says. “I’ll call her. Wish her luck.”
The silence that follows is heavy.
Not loud.
Not angry
Just disappointed in a way that makes me want to stand up and walk out into the cold morning air until the tightness in my chest snaps loose.
Mom shakes her head slightly, murmuring. “Poor thing.”
I don’t say anything.
But I can feel it.
The imitation, the disbelief, the ugly, unfamiliar urge to reach across the table and knock some sense into my brother for being so careless with something–someone–that clearly matters more than he knows.
And maybe it shows, because Mom catches my eye and smiles sheepishly, like she’s realizing too late that they’ve been talking about someone ! technically don’t even know.
“Sorry, Ash,” she says, brushing a hand through her hair. “You don’t even know what we’re talking about. Penny’s a ballerina. Sweetest thing, She’s been dancing since she could walk, basically, and today’s her big audition for the spring gala”
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Chapter 12: Asher
Dad picks up the thread, his voice steady. “It’s a major opportunity. One of the biggest performances the city puts on Landing a mile would be huge for her career.”
Mom nods. “She’s been practicing day and night for weeks now. The poor thing’s been running herself ragged trying to get every detall perfect.
They turn to Tyler, almost expectantly.
“So what’s the show again? Dad asks,
Tyler shrugs again, stabbing at his eggs without moch interest. “I don’t know, Swan something? Black Swan?
“It’s Swan Lake,” Mom connects, exasperated.
He laughs. “Yeah, that. I know the music. I’ve brand her practice it
times. I’m just bad with name.”
I set my mug down slowly, the ceramic making a soft, deliberate sound against the sund,
“You don’t know what the most important opportunity your girlfriend’s life is called?” I ask, voice low,
Tyler flushes slightly but laughs it off. “I know what it is. I just forgot the name. She knows I’m proud of her.”
Proud
Proud enough to let her take a freezing bus across town alone at dawn for the biggest audition of her life while he slept in and planned to call her after the fact.
My fists clench under the table, the muscles in my jaw tightening until my teeth ache, and I look away, out the window where the early morning sun is just starting to claw its way over the rooftops.
It shouldn’t bother me.
It doesn’t bother me.
I don’t even know her,
I don’t know her dreams or her struggles or the way her hands probably shake when she’s standing backstage waiting for her cue.
I don’t know the hours she’s sunk into making herself good enough, strong enough, perfect enough to earn a place under those bright, blinding
lights.
ne else understands.
But I know what it’s like to fight for something no one
I know what it’s like to be alone in it.
And the thought of her–tiny and stubborn and fierce–making that trip alone because the people who should have shown up for her didn’t, sits like a stone in my gut.
I shove my chair back from the table, standing up so fast the legs scrape against the floor.
“I’m gonna shower,” I mutter, grabbing my coffee cup and walking out before anyone can say anything else.
Because if I stay.
I’ll say something I can’t take back.
