Dinner was loud in the best way.
Filled with laughter, clinking dishes, Nate's awful dad jokes, and Lena narrating our entire treehouse adventure like it had been a real quest.
Dinner was simple. Just spaghetti with butter and cheese, a bowl of salad tossed together like an afterthought, and a jug of lemonade sweating on the table. Nothing fancy. Nothing candlelit or dramatic like the movies. But somehow, it felt like more.
The table was a little too crowded with dishes and napkins that didn't match. There was a fork with a bent prong, and someone had drawn a smiley face in blue pen on the salt shaker.
It was chaos, but the good kind. The kind that made my life seem empty for some reason.
Nate sat at the head of the table, wielding a wooden spoon like it was a royal scepter.
"Behold!" he declared. "The finest gourmet meal this side of the galaxy: Spaghetti à la... microwave."
Lena groaned and dropped her forehead onto the table. "Dad, you literally just melted cheese on noodles."
"With love," he added. "And a sprinkle of parmesan. Presentation is everything."
I tried really hard not to laugh, but it slipped out anyway.
A small, surprised chuckle that made both of them turn toward me with matching grins.
"See?" Nate said, pointing his spoon at me like I was evidence in court. "Ash gets it."
"I think Ash is just being polite," Lena muttered, though she was smiling too.
"I like butter noodles," I said.
Nate gasped. "A fellow butter boy! You are welcome in this house anytime."
Lena snorted into her lemonade. "Ew, don't call it that. That sounds stinky."
"Hey, don't insult the ancient title of Butter Boy," Nate said, dramatically offended. "We are a proud and noble people."
It was loud.
Not in the way my house was—TVs blaring, phones ringing, doors slamming.
It was the kind of loud that made a room feel alive.
"Do you guys eat together every night?" I asked before I could stop myself.
"Pretty much," Lena said, twirling her fork. "Unless Dad's working late, but even then we FaceTime."
"Hm." I nodded, looking down at my plate.
At my house, dinner was eaten in separate rooms. On separate screens. On silent.
"You guys do something different?" Nate asked gently, like he already knew the answer but didn't want to make it hurt.
"Yeah. I guess. My parents are busy."
There was a pause. Not awkward. Just quiet. Soft.
"Well," Nate said, reaching for the lemonade, "if you ever wish to come over, there's always a seat for you here. We're an exclusive club, but I think you qualify."
I smiled at that. For real.
It felt weird, in a good way.
Dinner went on. Nate told a story about Lena trying to make cookies with salt instead of sugar. Lena insisted it was an accident. He insisted it was sabotage.
I didn't speak much. Didn't have to. I just listened.
Soaking in every laugh, every side comment, every stupid pun and shared look between father and daughter.
And I couldn't help but wonder—was it supposed to be like this?
Were dads supposed to laugh at your jokes and ask about your day?
Were homes supposed to feel like the light didn't just come from the bulbs, but from the people?
I watched them. Really watched.
They weren't pretending.
This was just how they were.
I didn't know people could live like this.
⟡ ✧ ⟡
Bedtime came wrapped in mismatched pajamas, extra toothbrushes, and a cartoon blanket with smiling stars.
Lena proudly showed off her nightlight. "My mom gave it to me before she went away."
I didn't know what to say. But she didn't seem sad, just thoughtful.
We lay in our separate beds, side by side.
Our conversation wandered everywhere it wanted to go.
I told her about Josh, my chaos of a little brother.
"He likes to jump on me when I'm sleeping. Sometimes he draws on my face with markers."
Lena snorted. "He sounds awesome."
I didn't say that Josh was the only person who made me feel real some days.
Lena told me about the stories her mom used to tell. About constellations and cloud dragons and how people turned into stars when they left the world.
"Do you think stars are lonely?" I asked.
"Maybe. But I think they have each other up there. And sometimes, they shine a little brighter when someone's looking."
I stared at the moon lamp. "I think your mom was a star."
Lena didn't reply. Just smiled into the dark.
We made up a secret handshake. It involved clapping, snapping, and a dramatic nose boop.
Then we made a password for the treehouse: "TurtleFoxForever."
(Turtle was my favourite animal, fox was Lena's.)
"Promise me something," she said, suddenly serious as the moon.
"What?"
She held out her pinky. "That we'll always be friends. No matter what. Even if you get boring. Even if I become president. Even if you move to Mars."
I hooked my pinky around hers. It felt like magic. "Okay. Promise."
"That's good," Lena mumbled, her voice drifting like smoke.
I promised back.
She fell asleep mid-sentence.
I didn't.
I lay there in the quiet, watching the shadows move on the ceiling.
I lost myself in them before drifting to sleep.
⟡ ✧ ⟡
I woke early.
Padding softly into the kitchen, I found Nate at the stove, humming to himself as he flipped pancakes. The room glowed with early morning sun, catching the edges of his soft smile and the steam curling off the pan.
I stood quietly, watching.
For a brief moment, I let myself imagine.
A home like this. A dad who laughs and cooks pancakes. A room full of light.
Love is not just a word.
It's something warm you can wrap around yourself like a blanket.
I didn't say anything.
But something inside me shifted.