The Book Of Us

19. The Power Play

Charlotte shifts slightly in her seat, giving me a quick, almost shy glance before she turns back to my parents. "We, um, just met on campus. Pretty normal stuff." Her cheeks flush slightly as she says it, watching her try to handle the situation as my parents hang on to her every word like it's groundbreaking.

Clearing my throat, I pick up my water glass, hoping to distract from this surreal exchange. "So... is there a special occasion for this dinner, or...?" I trail off, glancing pointedly at my dad.

He just waves a hand, looking overly pleased with himself. "No occasion needed. I simply wanted to get to know this young lady a bit more."

"Right," I mutter under my breath. "Of course."

My mother leans in, smiling warmly at Charlotte. "So, tell us, what do your parents do? Any siblings?"

Charlotte, mid-bite, pauses for a second before swallowing and looking at them with that polite, slightly nervous expression she reserves for situations like these. "Well, my mom's a nurse, and, um... my parents are divorced," she explains, glancing down for a moment. "I've got an older brother too."

There's something about the way she says it that makes me take a closer look at her, studying the way her gaze drifts momentarily, almost lost. I've never really thought about her family or what it must be like for her. I always thought she was just... Charlotte, self-sufficient, in her own bubble. But here, under this dining room light, she's showing a side I don't often see.

My mother leans over toward Charlotte, her voice gentle as she murmurs, "I'm so sorry about your parents, dear."

Charlotte gives a small, reassuring smile, shaking her head. "Thank you, but it's all fine now," she says, and somehow she sounds so genuine. She's... easy with them, laughing at my dad's dry humor, talking about classes, her interests. And here I am, watching her effortlessly slip into my family like she's been here all along.

I chew my food, pretending to ignore the conversation, even though every laugh she shares with my parents sends an irritating twist through me. I remind myself that she's still Charlotte—annoying, nosey, and someone I can't stand half the time. But as much as I hate to admit it, her being here seems to balance everything, like her presence is... grounding. I catch myself thinking about it too long and mentally shake it off.

During a lull in the conversation, my mother, with that mischievous glint in her eye that I know all too well, starts bringing up stories from when I was a kid.

"Oh, Engfa was a handful," she says with a smile, glancing at me. "Once, when she was ten, she decided she didn't need school anymore. So, she packed a tiny backpack with two apples and a dictionary and ran away to the backyard."

Charlotte's eyes flick over to me, and I know she's holding back a laugh. "A dictionary?" she asks, her voice laced with barely hidden amusement.

My mother nods, chuckling. "Oh yes, she said she'd be 'fine on her own, thank you.' She lasted about two hours before she was back inside, asking if we'd saved her dinner."

I roll my eyes, trying to look unaffected.

My mom's already laughing, undeterred. "Then, there was the time when she was a teenager and decided she was too 'mature' for family trips. She'd just stay in the car, arms crossed, glaring at everyone, while we'd have a picnic around her."

"Sounds about right," Charlotte quips, grinning as she looks at me.

I want to groan, but a small part of me, deep down, almost enjoys seeing her here like this. Even if I'd never admit it, there's a strange comfort in her being around.