"Mom, are you serious?" Blake grumbled, trailing behind his mother into the kitchen, the chill of the morning still clinging to his pajamas. It was 7 AM. The house felt too quiet, already missing the usual morning chaos since his brother, Alex, was already on the school bus, headed for elementary school. Blake still had an hour before he had to get to high school, an hour he usually spent savoring the quiet.
When they entered the kitchen, Blake saw a familiar sight: his dad leaning back against the counter, eating toast and drinking coffee. The rich aroma of dark roast mingled with the faint, metallic scent of his dad’s work clothes, a smell that always reminded Blake of hospitals. His dad was dressed in a dark green button-up with a white lab coat over it.
Both his parents had to be at work early and always seemed to be in a rush, their movements precise and hurried. They were both doctors—his mom a brain surgeon, his dad a heart doctor—always busy, rarely home. So, honestly, the news his mom had just given him didn't really surprise him. It was just another item on a long list of things they expected him to handle.
"Yes, seriously, Blake. Your father and I will both be working late tonight. I need you to pick up Alex after school. You know he's been failing history, so I was finally able to get him an after-school tutor. And don't let him get any ice cream when he gets home—no sweets until his grades are up." Blake rolled his eyes, a silent, weary protest.
Of course, Alex was failing history. The nine-year-old boy could hardly sit still for two minutes, much less an entire hour. Blake remembered the endless energy, the way Alex would bounce off walls, and that brief period when he worried Alex was just crazy from too much soda. Then came the ADHD diagnosis, a label that explained a lot but didn't make managing his brother any easier.
He grabbed a bowl and milk from the cabinet, the ceramic cool beneath his fingers, then sat at the table to make a healthy bowl of sugary cereal. The familiar crunch and artificial sweetness were a small comfort.
"I get it, Mom, but can you really not do it? I just want to chill after school," he mumbled around a mouthful of cereal. He pictured the empty house, the quiet hours he cherished before Alex's whirlwind arrival.
His mom turned to him, crossing her arms and giving him a stern look, her face already set with the day's professional resolve. "No, Blake, I really can't. I'm not asking you at this point; I'm telling you to pick him up. Do you understand me?" she said in her 'mothering tone,' that unmistakable voice that meant she was beyond negotiation.
He nodded, pressing his lips together, feeling the familiar knot of resentment tighten in his stomach. "Yes, ma'am. I just wish you guys didn't work so much… like, all the time," he continued, pushing cereal around with his spoon, avoiding her gaze. Sometimes he felt like a single parent, struggling to take care of that kid on his own. It wasn't fair, but what was he going to do?
His dad turned his head toward him, finishing his toast with a final bite. "Son, we work to take care of you and your brother. To give you both the best lives possible. You'll understand when you're older. We love you," his dad said, the words practiced, almost rote. He gulped down the rest of his coffee, the clink of the mug against the counter sharp in the quiet kitchen.
He made his way to the front door, already sliding on his coat.
Blake looked up, watching his mom pick up some paperwork from the table, sliding it into a neat folder before looking over at him. He quickly averted his eyes, looking back into his bowl, a fresh wave of exhaustion washing over him. She sighed, walking over to him and pushing his long black hair out of his face with a gentle touch. He still didn't meet her eyes, pushing the cereal around in the bowl.
"I understand it's hard sometimes, but we do it all for you boys…" Her voice, usually so firm, softened, trailing off into a wistful sigh. He finally looked up, his bright green, sad eyes meeting hers. She swallowed hard, seeing the dark circles under his eyes, the subtle slump in his shoulders, and yes, smelling the faint, stale scent of smoke on his breath. A fresh pang of guilt hit her. She wanted to talk to him about it, about everything, but she could never find the time. The words caught in her throat. She opened her mouth to say something, anything, before her husband's voice cut through the moment.
"Nicole, we have to get going now!" he yelled from the living room, his tone urgent. She looked back at her son, giving him a sad, quick smile. "Your father and I have to tell you something when we get home… We love you, and see you later." She kissed the top of his head, a quick brush of lips against his hair, before she turned and speed-walked to the front door, keys and folders already in hand.
She turned back one last time, a fleeting smile for him, before closing the door behind them, leaving Blake alone with his thoughts and the half-eaten breakfast. He didn't expect his parents to remember to talk to him when they got home tonight, but he still wondered what was so important that they actually planned time after their busy schedule to sit and talk to their son.
****
"But Mother, I'm already in so many extracurricular activities! Why do I need to add tutoring elementary school kids to the list?" Emma asked her mother, the words a carefully measured protest. She sat down at the kitchen table, the familiar comfort of the smooth wood doing little to ease her growing frustration.
Her father, sitting across from her, rustled his newspaper loudly, a clear signal he was tuning out. Her mother, meanwhile, hummed softly as she made Emma's favorite breakfast: egg white omelets. The comforting smell of eggs and herbs usually made her stomach grumble, but today, it just seemed to emphasize the knot of anxiety.
She was already in violin, theater, dance classes, volunteering at the animal shelter and the homeless shelter. Now, tutoring elementary school kids' history? It felt like a fresh burden added to an already towering pile. Why did her mother keep adding to the list? She hardly even had time to breathe. Her parents always reminded her that if she stayed busy, she couldn't get into trouble, which she guessed was true. But at this point, wasn't it just a little too much? Didn't they see she was drowning?
Her mother smiled, looking over at her, her eyes bright and unwavering. "Because it looks great on a college application, dear. You'll thank me later in life. Plus, I thought you liked history."
This made Emma press her lips together, a surge of irritation making her temples throb. Her parents already had her whole life planned out for her: graduate high school at the top of her class, go to Princeton or Harvard to become a doctor, marry a rich man, and have two kids. That was their rigid, unyielding plan.
Honestly, she would be fine with just becoming a simple history teacher, living a simple life. American history was always something she loved to dig deeper into—it was one big storybook she wanted to explore, not just a stepping stone for their ambitions. But every time she brought it up to her parents, they would have none of it. "A teacher? Emma, think of your potential!" her mother would say, as if her dreams were a waste of their investment.
"I understand, bu—" Her mother immediately cut her off, turning back to her with a frustrated sigh, a sharp edge in her voice. "That's enough, Emma."
Emma quickly closed her mouth, the unspoken words dying on her tongue. The conversation, as always, was over. There was no point in trying to argue with her mother; she would never win. Her mother set the steaming food in front of her and her father, the plate clinking softly on the table. "Now, when you're done eating, I want you to walk straight to school. You have your tutoring session right after. Do you understand?"
You might be wondering why Emma didn't have a car. Well, she didn't have her license. Her parents wouldn't let her learn. According to her father, driving leads to parties, parties lead to drinking, which in turn leads to drunk driving—one, two, three, she'd be dead in a ditch in a matter of hours. The sheer paranoia infuriated Emma, making her hands clench under the table, but she felt like she couldn't speak on it. She bit her lip, looking down at her plate, accepting defeat as usual while whispering a soft "Yes, Mother." Her mother smiled, a satisfied curve of her lips, and began eating. Emma suddenly lost her appetite. The omelet, once so appealing, now tasted like ash.
Mia note: This is the first chapter guys I'm so excited to see where it ends up
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It Started With Hello
Romance***** Emma Pear knew she wasn't the most popular girl in high school. Her nose was usually buried in a textbook, and her grades were as spotless as her reputation for always following the rules. "Nerd" was a label she'd long since embraced. Her pare...
