silent

41

• LORENZO •

My father carries a sleepy Amalia down in his arms. I grin when I see her; it's the first time she's come down in almost two days.

     "Hi, baby." I say. She waves at me. "Are you feeling okay?"

     She nods.

     "Dinner's almost ready." I tell her. "You wanna go sit down?"

She pulls Petal out of the crook she's hidden in as my father nods and takes Amalia into the dining room. My mother lingers.

     "You need to give Amalia some medicine."

     I sigh. "I've tried, she doesn't like it. She won't take it, and I'm not gonna make her." I say.

"It'll help her."

     "She'll start to feel better when she gets the dialysis." I state, hoping my words are true. I've already booked three dialysis appointments for next week. There all three and a half hours long, but I'll bring things for her to do while it happens.

     She sighs and walks into the dining room.

•

Half an hour later, we're all crowded around the dining room table. Amalia has barely touched her plate, Mason and Elijah are on their phones, and my parents are hassling Grayson and Cole about school.

     "Amalia." I say quietly. She looks over at me. "Don't you wanna eat some more of your food?"

     She shakes her head.

     "Okay." I say softly. "How about dessert?" I suggest. "We got ice cream."

     "No thank you." She whispers.

     "Alright." I reply. "Do you wanna watch some TV?"

     "I'm tired."

     "Do you wanna go back to bed?" I ask her. She nods. "Okay." I say. I go to stand up, but she shakes her head. I pause.

"You can stay. I don't want to ruin your dinner."

My face softens. "Amalia, you're not—"

She stands up and leaves before I can finish my sentence. I stare after her, debating wether I should follow or not, but decide against it. If she wanted to talk to me, I think she would. Or if she wanted to be around someone, she would. I'll check on her, but the best thing I can do if she wants to be alone is to respect that.

Even though it's taking every ounce of me not to walk up to her and wrap her up in my arms, never letting go.

"Where's Amalia going?" My mother asks.

"To bed. She doesn't feel well." I respond.

The doorbell rings, and I furrow my eyebrows as I stand and walk into the hall, then toward the front door. I open it, and my bad mood dims, becoming even worse when I see Pietro, Brianna and her idiot husband.