to you, 2000 days ago

7

^^ pov vivian in the middle of rehearsal today 

FUN FACT GUYS 7 IS MY FAV NUMBER SO ENJOY THE 7TH CHAPTER BESTIES<33

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The dial on their stovetop made a soft click as she turned it, flames growing on the stove adjacent to it. Callum's elder sister began reheating their leftover dumplings from last night for dinner.

Dinners in the Forger family were always a chaotic, unorganized mess, as everyone seemed to have their own agenda for their last meal of the day. An uncoordinated, yet beautiful mess as the aroma of different foods mingled in their kitchen air.

His mom speared a piece of lettuce with her fork, thoroughly enjoying her pasta salad for dinner. "So, how's school going, Callum?"

Across her, her son sat with a generous helping of lasagna on his plate, courtesy from his dad, who busied himself with fixing his own dinner.

He found it ironic that his parents were the epitome of polar opposites. His mother was Chinese, and grew up there for most of her childhood before immigrating here; she had a long held distaste for cooking. I mean, why spend hours preparing a dish when you're going to eat it within five minutes? It just didn't add up.

His father, on the other hand, grew up in America his whole life and was a natural foodie. Growing up in a loosely monitored family with little to no expectations, it was easy for him to head to culinary school and work in restaurants for several years.

Callum picked up his fork and took a piece of his lasagna. He gave the same response every day: "Good. School was good."

His mom, on the other hand, was unsatisfied with his vague response. "What about orchestra? How'd your auditions go?"

Callum felt his dinner turn sour in his mouth, recalling the new seating arrangement. He never told anyone that he applied as assistant section leader, but he never got the position. Honestly, he was fully convinced that their orchestra teacher didn't like him.

"It's alright," he said, resuming his chewing. While his physical traits were a carbon copy of his mom, his personality was just like his dad. His food definitely needed more parmesan cheese.

"I didn't get first or second chair," he reluctantly admitted, focusing his eyes on his dinner to avoid his parent's eyes.

His mom paused, her lips pressed firmly together in sympathy. "I'm sorry, dear. Is there a chance that your teacher might change it?"

Of course, his parent's hardly understood how orchestra worked, let alone how to play an instrument. But, they were supportive of his efforts to become a musician, and that was all he needed.

Callum shook his head. "Probably not. I mean, there is a small chance..."

"There's a chance to what?" his dad said, poking his head in their conversation.

Callum shook his head again. "Never mind."

"No, tell me, it's okay," his mother urged, her own dinner forgotten now in concern.

"The concert arrangement isn't entirely finalized," he explained, meeting her gaze. "There might be a slim chance that our section leader might not play the solo, and I could take his place as an alternate."

His dad took the seat next to him, enjoying his soup while appearing to be in deep thought.

"Isn't the director of the other music program going to be there? Mr. Quentin?" his mother asked, returning to her dinner.