The Falling (Brightest Stars, #1)(21)

Kael gave me a little smile followed by a nod. I shrugged. Barely a connection, but his tiny bit of approval felt so reassuring to me. This time with him was feeding the starvation of my loneliness.

Estelle clucked around my dad as he tapped his thick fingers against the table, ready to keep up the sparring match with me. She did this during every single meal. No matter what was happening around her. Even if we were going at it, or he was scolding my brother for getting pulled over for the fifth time. And even now, with a stranger watching, she was making my dad’s plate as he critiqued his only son’s failing in life. When he and I would raise our voices, she would just keep moving and serving the table. Kael accepted mashed potatoes from her, and I watched him as she scooted carrots onto his plate.

“Would you like some ham? Or are you a vegetarian, vegan? Everyone is something these days.” Estelle winked at Kael.

She was laughing at her own lame joke, and he sort of smiled at her to be polite. There was no way he actually found her charming.

Not that she wasn’t charming. She was, very. She was exactly what my dad required in a wife. Someone who could ignore everything except his needs. Someone who never broke her role, someone the exact opposite of my mom. My mom was a hurricane and Estelle wasn’t even a drizzle. Actually, Estelle might be the umbrella in this scenario.

“The glaze is a family recipe. Here, take some of this.” She held up a gravy boat full of dark, syrupy liquid. When she bought the thing off eBay, she told me it was “from a real plantation,” like that wasn’t a gross thing to say, let alone buy. I was thankful she didn’t repeat that story with Kael sitting here. And a family recipe? Come to think about it, I didn’t know a thing about her family.

“Karina’s always boycotting something. Whatever documentary on Netflix she watches, she’ll buy right into what they’re selling.” My dad was clearly doubling down. “She goes vegan for a month, then changes her mind again with the next one. Wants to save the whales. Hasn’t let me plan our annual SeaWorld trip in years.”

“Wow. How awful of me to care about the world.”

“I care about the world,” my dad said. “But I show it in a get-it-done productive way.”

I really didn’t want to get into a global-scale argument with my dad in front of Kael, or Estelle, or under any circumstances, really.

“Are you eating meat right now?” Estelle whispered to me, but everyone could hear her. Her voice was soft, with a condescending drip.

I nodded. My face was on fire with embarrassment. Why do they both do this? Being here always made me feel like everything about me was inherently wrong, like I was endlessly failing.

Was it them or was it me?

That was the question I was constantly trying to answer. The post-parents’-divorce therapy question: Was my dad doing something damaging to me, or was this my own reaction to the way I felt about him?

My dad chomped on his food loudly. Opened another beer. Nope, it was definitely him, not me. Right now, at least. I didn’t even like when he drank. He was always on my mom’s case about drinking, and the moment she moved out, he started having beer with dinner. Every evening.

Kael quietly thanked Estelle for helping him make his plate. I was starting to think he was enjoying himself. Either that or his manners were impeccable. I wasn’t sure which was worse.

“I’m not that hungry,” I told Estelle when she passed me the gravy boat. My stomach gurgled, proving me a liar.

“Don’t be a child,” my dad chided, then smiled at me, in a sorry attempt to soften his words. “I’m sure it’s cold by now, but you should still eat.”

And there it was. I was surprised he hadn’t mentioned my late arrival ten times already.

“I’m not being a child. I’m just not that hungry. I had a long day. Part of the reason I was late.” I hated bickering like this, but my father brought out the worst in me. Especially when the subject was my brother, and now that there was an audience, I felt even more pressure.

“You have some growing up to do, clearly,” he said, with a sip of beer in his mouth. God, he pissed me the hell off.

I wanted to tell my dad off, to count on my fingers and toes all the ways he was wrong—that he was a horrible father and example—but nothing came out. I just sat there feeling shame. I couldn’t even get excited over my brother’s arrival because my dad was obviously going to make it a point to knock me down every time I tried to get up.

“Both of my kids need to grow up.” My dad looked at Kael, but Kael either didn’t notice or didn’t care, because his eyes were on me.

“I wonder where we get it from,” I snapped, under my breath.

“Where are you working now?” my dad asked me.

“Same place as last Tuesday,” I said, wishing I hadn’t driven so I could have another glass of wine.

Kael didn’t say anything, but the very, very tiny lift of his top lip told me he liked my response to my dad.

Something about Kael being there made me want to . . . show off? I didn’t want to come off as a brat or emotionally unstable, but I wanted it to be clear that I could hold my own with this decorated-by-the-Army man, who happened to be my dad. I wanted Kael to think I was cool, but not trying to be cool.

“Martin? Or Kael? What should we call you?” Estelle, the stage director, asked.