Concerning Chance ✔

FIFTEEN

Without fail, I eat dinner with my both parents every Thursday night. It's the only night in the week, apart from the weekends, that we're all in the house together.

Mostly it's my mum working late at work, or my dad deciding to hang out with his mates. Mum has also gotten into volunteering at soup kitchens, too. I don't particularly mind, but our once-a-week family meals are a regularity I've grown to enjoy.

"Hey," I call out as I walk downstairs after spending a couple of hours on homework.

"We're in the kitchen, babe!" My mum calls back; using one of the most annoying terms of endearment.

"How was your day, Rory?" My dad asks as he pushes cutlery into my hand.

I set the table and tell him, "It was fine."

"How's Lilia settling in?" Mum questions — and even though I love my parents and typically enjoy their company, I just can't seem to warm to their conversation the way I used to. Before that night changed so many things in my life.

"She's getting on alright, yeah." I scoff as I remember, "Apart from the fact she thinks Heather Towers is a good person."

"She isn't?" Dad frowns as he stacks plates into my open arms.

"Come on, Charlie, keep up!" Mum rolls her eyes in fake exasperation, before quickly explaining to Dad why Heather Towers is not a good person while I set the plates down on the table — pretending I'm out of earshot.

Once we're sat at the table with dinner in front of us — Mum's homemade quiche and veg — Dad asks, "How's school going?"

Almost automatically, I reply, "My grades are pretty good; I'm averaging high Cs, low Bs if I really work for it."

"How's school really going? How are your friends?" Mum sees past my front like she always does. She knows how to ask the difficult questions that Dad would rather avoid. Yet her hazel-coloured eyes soften; as always, she means well.

With Chance not here, Max and Lilia are my only two friends. It's odd how the absence of one person makes you realise how dependent upon them you truly are. All my eggs were in one basket, and now that basket has slipped from out of my hands, everything's cracking and fracturing — just like eggshells.

"It's alright." I shrug, before shovelling a forkful of quiche into my mouth — hoping the attention will turn away from me.

It doesn't; with Lauren off at uni, my parents only have one child to focus on. Shower me in love and attention, or whatever. It's disconcerting, really.

"Lovely quiche, Erin," my dad comments, smiling at Mum across the table. He's genuine and telling the truth; Mum's food rocks.

"I made another earlier in the week and took it over to the Harns' yesterday." Mum forces a frozen smile onto her lips.

She means well, I have to remind myself.

"I'm not sure food can make up for what happened." I chase a pea around my plate with the tip of my fork, mumbling out my words.

"What will then?" Dad asks; he's got the hearing of a fucking hawk and always has — probably always will, too. One day he'll be sat in an old folks' home, with deaf OAPs all around him, being able to hear everything within a two-mile radius.

I'm joking. Kinda.

But with his hearing, it's a miracle Lauren and I managed to keep any secrets when we were little kids. Though I guess we just got used to not telling people things aloud.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Mum nudge Dad's leg under the table. Undoubtedly telling him to watch out for the eggshells, Charlie.

"Retracing the steps," I tell him like I've told him before.