The Falling (Brightest Stars, #1)(22)

“Either is fine.” He was sitting up straight with his back aligned perfectly with the chair. I sat up, correcting my horrible posture.

“You’re in the same company!” Estelle read the patches on Kael’s uniform. “Honey, look. He’s in your company.”

My focus darted to my dad. He was thinking about it, his eyes sort of rolling as he thought through the roster of nameless, faceless soldiers he oversees from his throne.

“There are about two hundred people in the company.” My dad had the nicest voice when he was talking to Estelle. He was borderline a totally different person. But small hints of annoyance were there behind the smile despite the soft push of his voice. He was still being condescending to his beloved new wife, just in a nicer way than he would if he were talking to me. Or my mother, for that matter.

“Oh, of course. Aren’t most of your guys deployed right now?” Estelle turned her attention back to Kael. She hadn’t touched her food since sitting down after serving everyone.

He nodded.

“How did you—”

“Let’s eat,” my dad interrupted. I was glad he stopped her; she was moving beyond polite to nosy at this point.

“I’m sure the last thing he wants to talk about is deployment,” my dad said. He scraped his knife against his plate, cutting an already diced carrot. He always did that and no one ever said anything, even though the noise was ungodly annoying. I could see leftover scratches on my plate, in between the ham and the pile of carrots.

All of us, even Estelle, began to eat our dinner in silence. My thoughts went to my brother, hoping he was close by now, and hoping even more that this latest incident would be the one that finally made him grow up. I had a feeling it wouldn’t be, though.





CHAPTER EIGHTEEN




“Well, that was nice. I’m so glad you came,” Estelle said. “Hope you had enough to eat . . .” She seemed to be fishing for a compliment as she looked at Kael, who nodded politely. She turned and handed me a Tupperware with pie inside for Elodie.

“I know it’s not cherry, but I think she will still like it.” She stood near the front door, awkwardly waiting for me to hug her. Sometimes I did. Sometimes I didn’t. It depended on my mood. It was more of a half-hug night.

“Let me know when Austin gets here. I’d stay and wait, but I have work in the morning, and Kael needs to get home.”

My dad waved from his chair in the living room, not caring enough to say a proper goodbye.

Kael stood in the doorway, half in, half out.

“Do you have plans this weekend? We’re driving up to Atlanta on Saturday for a few days, if you want to—” Estelle offered. My dad looked at her pointedly. Kael looked down at his boots.

“I’ll be working.” I loved Atlanta, but no way was I going with them. And wouldn’t their plans be changing with Austin coming to town?

“That’s too bad.” She tucked her dark hair behind her ear. She had shiny, wide earrings on. “Maybe next time.”

“Maybe,” I said, descending the porch steps.

My dad and Kael were both dead silent.

“It was so nice to meet you, Martin. Drive safe.” Estelle smiled as I motioned for him to get off the porch. I wanted to leave, and fast. Once he caught up to me, I practically ran down the driveway and yanked my car door open.

“I told you those dinners are the worst.”

Even after suffering through it, Kael didn’t have a word to say.

“Do you have a family?” I assumed he wouldn’t answer, but anything was better than silence as we drove away, and I began to think about my brother and the trouble he continued to cause. I needed a distraction.

“Do I have a family?” he repeated, the words bouncing around in the small space of the car.

Muttering, I tried to correct myself. I was starting to feel nervous again. “I mean, obviously you have a family, otherwise you wouldn’t exist. But are they like that? Three courses, matching plates, all the beer, all that shit.”

“No,” he said, staring out the windshield of my car. “I don’t think many families are like that.”

“In a good way or a bad way?”

“Both.” He shrugged, buckling his seatbelt. “It depends if you’re looking at the intent, or the impact that intention has on other people.”

I slowed down to stop at the stop sign. I looked at him when the car was fully halted. “Huh?”

He turned, fixing his eyes on me. “Her intention is to impress you. To please you and your dad. The decorations, the folded napkins, the elaborate meal. She obviously cares not only what your dad thinks, but what you think.” He used his index finger to point at me.

“Continue,” I said, beginning to drive again. I was concentrating on our conversation and slowed down to below the speed limit.

“She wants to impress you, to make you see the effort she’s putting in.” He took a breath. “To you it’s all performative, and the impact it has on you is, well, it’s hell to even be there. So what I’m saying is that intention and impact aren’t connecting in the right way. But each of you thinks what you are doing and feeling is right.”

“Did you read that in a self-help book?” I scoffed at how wise he sounded, how maturely he was dissecting my family when I wanted to be a brat and complain about how awful my evil stepmother and father were.