Floating Face Down (boyxboy)

Chapter Twenty Five

[A/N]  Okay second chapter.... ｡｡゛(ﾉ '   ')ﾉ'

I almost entirely forgot to post this. Fan art! It's by @nky_.art on Instagram, and it looks prettu fantastic. Pretty sure most people know what scene this is of... ~

When I got back everyone was already eating in the dining room. There was a warm light inside and an active conversation that quietened down when I opened the door.

Normally I would drop my backpack here, take my phone with me to hand in for the night and leave my shoes on the shoe rack, but I was a stranger here, this wasn't my home, I realised that now, and so the prospect of leaving my things around this place felt foreign and uncomfortable to me.

I headed into the dining room, the smell of roasted vegetables and potatoes topped with chicken stretched into the hallway.

Irene immediately turned her neck as fully as she could to look at me, straining like an owl to make it the full way around.

Blurry faces.

Colby smiled awkwardly at me. "Hey bro."

My father sighed and leaned back in his chair, looking me over. "You really never want to come back on time huh?"

I smiled at him. "You know, walking takes a lot of time, if your wife drove me home like she does her son I'd probably get back in time."

There was an immediate pink tinge and a blast of quiet in the room. I always had to be careful with how I spoke about Irene in front of him, not to make it too obvious that I didn't consider her my mother, or even Colby my brother, not really, and also not to try too hard to pretend she was, because I was pretty sure that made us all uncomfortable.

"She's your mother..." His voice took a low and dangerous turn. "Not just my wife. Your mother. You want to disrespect her in front of me? And all the work she puts into this family? You think she isn't trying?!"

I walked past them and headed for the kitchen, my place had a napkin and a glass, but no plate or cutlery.

"Right, my mother." I looked back at Irene who was rubbing her husbands shoulder sympathetically. 

I smiled suddenly, just to myself, facing mostly away from them, and then tucked it away and turned and took a step back toward them, to face her.

"I'm sorry mom. I didn't mean to insult you." I pressed my lips together. "You do a really good job, and I'm grateful you take care of us."

She stared at me.

This time the silence was different. Not the purposeful, passive aggressive intentional awkwardness of before, but genuine shock, discomfort, and a loss of all available words.

Colby stared at me like I'd just shot my foot in front of him.

I smiled wider. "I'm going to get a plate." I nodded at them one by one. "Mom, dad, Colby."

I turned and got my plate, knife and fork and joined the meal.

Was it overly paranoid for me to have thought quietly to myself that they had clearly planned on sending me up to my room without dinner? I suspected it not because of the missing plate, which was occasionally the case, but because when Irene expected me to sit with them there was usually some premeditated gifting of food to the others.

Occasionally before me sitting down, or even arriving, she would seemingly pile the food onto her husband and sons plates ahead of me sitting down, not everything, but enough for it to get the message across. The meat always went first, if there was meat, and the gravy or sauce if there was gravy or sauce.