Misadventure

74

Louis' POV

The dining table was beautifully set, adorned with fine china and flickering candles. I sat at the head of the table, dressed in an itchy, crisp shirt and a tie that made me feel like I was suffocating.

My sisters sat along the table's long sides, Phoebe and Daisy together on one side. My father sat between Lottie and Felicite on the other side.

My mother sat across from me.

"Pass the peas, please," Lottie said, her voice cutting through the tense silence of the room.

She seemed so much more mature than the last time I saw her. All of the siblings did.

All of them, except me.

Dinner had only just started, and I could already feel my mother staring at me in disapproval. It made me squirm in my chair.

"Louis, you're home for the first family dinner in months, and yet you still can't manage to dress appropriately for the occasion?"

I glanced down at my attire, at first feeling a pang of frustration. But the longer I looked at my clothes, that frustration dissipated into doubt. Maybe she was right.

I crossed my arms, swallowing nervously around a mouthful of roasted chicken. "I thought this was fine, Mum. It's not like we have guests over.

A stern expression crossed her face. She pursed her beige lipstick covered lips, like she was about to say something.

Luckily, my father stepped in.

"Let's not make a big deal out of it, dear. Louis is an adult now, and he's been away at university."

She huffed. "I just expected him to have matured a bit more by now. Is it too much to ask for him to dress like a responsible young man?"

My posture wilted. I hung my head, wiping my clammy hands on my trousers under the table. "I'm sorry if my appearance disappoints you, Mum. But I've been working hard at university, and I feel burnt out. I didn't realize dinner with my family at home was such a formal occasion."

It was a half truth. I hadn't been working hard at university. But I was most definitely burnt out.

"Come on, Mom, give him a break," Felicite chimed in. "He's been away for months, and all you can focus on is his clothes?"

I was a bit shocked by this comment. Felicite was always shy and quiet. She seldom spoke back to Mum or Dad. I shot her a look of gratitude from across the table, mouthing 'thank you.'

She smiled briefly, nodding in a way that said 'I have your back.'

I sat up a little straighter.

"I just want what's best for him. Is that so wrong?" My mother asked, huffing. She raised her water glass to her lips and took a sip, then pursed them at me once more.

?I took a few steadying, deep breaths, attempting to keep my emotions in check.

"Mum, I appreciate your concern," I began, forcing a smile. "But constantly criticizing me won't make me change overnight. I'm trying my best, and I hope you can see that."

"Are you, though? Are you really trying your best?" she pressed.

I wilted in my seat once more. How was I meant to answer a question like that? There was no right answer. I'd learned by now that the right answer to any question she asked was supposed to be what ever answer would make her happiest at me. The problem was, I couldn't. I was incapable of making her happy.

A faint, nagging little voice in the back of my head pondered, Is it really my fault? Was I really incapable of making her happy? Or was she simply impossible to please.