6
Changed, showered, heading home.
Ethan was waiting outside the door, like a puppy. He sprang up when I came out.
For a second, I looked at his familiar face and thought about a dog I had as a kid.
If Ethan had a tail, it would be wagging
furiously.
Too bad.
I couldn’t stay.
I told him I was going home. He looked
disappointed but agreed.
He stuffed the car with “miracle cures,”
reminding me to take them if the fever came
back.
“Okay.”
John, the driver, had slept in the car.
Ethan’s pink Lamborghini was back in the
garage.
I plugged in my phone.
く
Hundreds of missed calls and texts from
Michael.
My dear father hadn’t called once.
Home.
I walked in on breakfast.
My dad, Sarah, Michael, and Janet.
Janet. Sarah’s mother. My dad’s mistress of fifteen years, finally promoted to wifey.
No one looked up, except Michael.
<
He glanced at me, then went to the kitchen,
returning with a bowl of soup.
“Made this for you this morning. Have it while
it’s hot.”
Michael’s voice was soft. He set the soup
down, lifted the lid, releasing the aroma.
He was always like this.
Gentle words. Gentle soul.
But life hadn’t been gentle to him.
No mother. A congenital heart defect. Raised
く
by his dad.
His dad had died saving mine when Michael
was seven.
My dad adopted him out of guilt, obligation. Kept him alive, barely. Never mistreated him, but never really cared either.
As long as Michael didn’t starve, my dad was
happy.
My own mother was cold, even to me. Michael was practically invisible to her.
I thanked him. I sat down. Sarah grabbed the
soup.
<
soup.
“Michael, I’m cold, too. Can I have the soup? I
caught a chill last night.”
Her voice was sweet, but her hand didn’t stop
moving.
Michael frowned.
He never fought for anything, unless it
involved me.
He gently took the soup back, his voice still even, “I’ll have Maria make you some. I’m not a very good cook.”
The soup, after its little journey, was back in
front of me.
Janet slammed her chopsticks down.
“Fine! It’s just soup! It’s not like it’s gold. I get
- it. We’re outsiders. You’re the real family…”
Her voice cracked.
Oscar–worthy performance.
Sarah chimed in, accusing Michael of favoritism, ganging up on her with me.
My dad stayed silent. Sarah, emboldened,
<
started shoving Michael.
He frowned but didn’t react, letting her push
him around.
Michael could take it, but I couldn’t.
He was too fragile for this.
The quiet dining room, disrupted by my arrival, exploded, then fell silent again.
Because I’d added some cold water to the soup and dumped it over Sarah’s head.
I wasn’t stupid. A lesson, not a scalding.
<
I wash i SLUPIU. M IESSUIT, TIUL A Suaiulily.
Sarah was stunned, chicken skin clinging to
her hair.
And I?
I got slapped.
I didn’t flinch.
A solid hit.
My dad, silent until now, was furious. I was
out of control.
Michael, who’d stepped in front of me, got
<
ivicndei, with a stepped in mom of me, gui
yelled at, too.
<
