An Ocean of Consequences

Chapter Two - Pt. Three

(2226 words)

Tossing leaves and dressing together, I glanced wearily at the large pot of soup. Another disadvantage of my slenderness was a lack of strength. Even soup may overcome me. I cursed under my breath.

The fire-haired soldier appeared at my side, a smile on his face. "Need some help?" he asked. I nodded. He lifted the pot as if it were a piece of paper and poured the soup into the serving bowl. I picked up the lighter items, and without needing me to ask, he picked it up and followed me into the adjoining room.

Though my family only had four members, my mother always planned for unexpected guests in her husband's profession. The table needed no stretching to accommodate the two. The gleaming silver place setting shone against the dark wood of the long, oval table. A bouquet of pale pink flowers sat in a shallow bowl of water in the center. All of this was a product of my hard work under the scrutiny of my mother. It may have seemed as if I went out of my way to the guests, but I knew better. The flowers' edges were crisp with age, the candles unevenly spaced beside them. Had it been any other guests, I would surely hear about it.

Every dinner was like this—formal, impersonal, and another opportunity for me to fail.

My father sulked out of his room, escorting his wife to her seat beside his before taking his seat at the end. He leered at the feast in front of him, his gaze moving to our guests soon after.

I sat nearest to my mother, both of us looking toward the two men standing at the end of the room. "Please. Sit. Join us," my mother invited them over.

The ocean-eyed stranger sat across from me—a position that, by polite standards, would make him my evening's conversation partner—but I doubted much talking would happen tonight. At least I would have something to look at through what was sure to be a painfully awkward dinner.

My father began serving, taking bowls from my mother, Serah, then me, to fill with soup. As expected, he ignored our guests, leaving them with the uncomfortable task of begging. To spare them, I moved the bowl in their direction, exchanging it with the platter of bread. They sat in silence, exchanging glances while they fiddled with the multitude of silverware surrounding their plates.

Once everyone had their food, there was more silence before everyone started picking at their meals. I took note that our guests waited until they were certain we had eaten before taking their first bite, as if to make sure there was no poison. It was easy to forget that their safety was at risk in this situation as well. Guns were not an antidote after all.

Once they felt safe enough, they both tore into their food, easting with gusto while remaining as civilized as possible. It made me happy to see.

I fidgeted in my chair as I dipped small pieces of bread into my soup. I allowed myself to admit that it was delicious, but my nerves had killed any appetite I would have had.

"Stop fidgeting," my mother whispered to me, though not as quietly as she may have thought. I tried not to roll my eyes. "And sit up straight. You have no reason to allow your manners to slide, Keerah."

I nodded and did as I was told, but pursed my lips in annoyance when she looked away. I glanced up to find the ocean-eyed soldier before me, and caught the hint of a smirk on his face before he took a sip of his water.

"This is quite good, Keerah," the fire-haired soldier enthused with a genuine smile. A welcome break from the silence. "You are an impressive cook."

"Thank you, uh..." I trailed off, feeling afraid to butcher his name with my pronunciation.

"You can call me 'T' if it's easier for you," he said with a smile so large, his squinted. He may not have been as old as I thought. Maybe he gained his wrinkles from all the smiling he did.