Places at the table

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐎𝐧𝐞 - 𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞𝐬 𝐀𝐭 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐓𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞

The table is set for five.

Five plates, five glasses. The candles are lit even though the dining room doesn't need them, and the roast chicken is already going cold beneath the silence.

We're waiting.

Again.

Mom smooths out her napkin for the third time in five minutes. Dad checks his watch like it personally betrayed him. My little sister twirls spaghetti around her fork without ever actually taking a bite.

Me? I just sit there. Hoodie sleeves tugged over my fingers. Staring at the empty chair across from mine.

Zander's chair.

"He said he'd be here at seven," Mom says, tight smile barely holding. She glances at her phone. "It's almost eight."

"Of course it is," Dad mutters, reaching for the wine.

Mom shoots him a look. "Let's just be patient."

"You said that twenty minutes ago," I say, not bothering to hide the edge in my voice.

My sister, all of ten years old and trying too hard to not exist, glances between us. "Maybe he's stuck in traffic?" she offers hopefully.

I look at her, softer now. "Yeah. Maybe."

But we all know better.

Zander doesn't get stuck in traffic. Zander is the traffic. The chaos. The flashbulb center of every room he walks into. He's late because he can be.

Because people wait for him.

Even when we shouldn't.

"I'll reheat the food," Mom says suddenly, pushing up from her chair a little too quickly. "Just give him five more minutes."

Dad exhales loudly through his nose but doesn't argue. My sister reaches for her glass of juice and knocks it over with her elbow. It spreads fast, a sticky pink puddle soaking the edge of the cloth.

She gasps. "I'm sorry-"

"I've got it." I jump up and grab some paper towels from the kitchen, dabbing at the mess before Mom can swoop in. The juice stains the white fabric, of course. Like everything else in this house, it's not meant to be used, just looked at.

"He's not coming," I say quietly as I sit back down.

Mom doesn't respond. Just hovers by the oven like if she stares at it long enough, he'll appear.

My phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out under the table.

Zander:yo tell mom i'm not gonna make itbusylove u tho lol

Of course.

I turn my phone off without replying.

Then I look around the table - four of us sitting in the glow of a dinner that was never going to happen the way Mom imagined it.

My dad pours another glass of wine.My sister quietly starts eating her now-soggy spaghetti.My mom still stands there. Waiting.

And I just sit in my chair.

Still.

Watching an empty seat like it might stop being empty if I glare hard enough.

Dad's voice cuts through the thick silence like a blade."Can we please just act like a family for once?"

He leans forward, fingers tapping sharply against the table."The cameras could be anywhere. You know that."

Mom stiffens but doesn't look up. My sister stops eating, eyes wide and scared.

I narrow my gaze at Dad."Act like a family? What, so we can lie to everyone? Pretend Zander's not constantly screwing up?"

Dad's jaw tightens."It's about appearances, Y/N. For the media. For the sponsors. For the business."

I can feel the weight of his words settle over the room, colder than the chicken on our plates.

Mom finally moves, smoothing her dress, forcing a smile that doesn't reach her eyes."Let's just finish dinner. Together."

Together.

Like that's still possible.

My sister looks up at me, hopeful, but I don't know what to say.

Because sometimes, families aren't the ones who sit at the same table. Sometimes they're just strangers waiting for something to break.

Dad clears his throat."Y/N, can you pass me the salt?"

I obey, the gesture feeling like a performance.

The salt shaker slides across the table - a small, brittle peace offering.

But inside, everything feels like it's about to shatter.

Dad's eyes narrow, voice low but sharp."I also heard you've been skipping school."

The words hit harder than I expect. Not because I'm surprised - he's always had eyes everywhere - but because it feels like another strike added to a losing scorecard.

I shrug, trying to keep my voice steady."And do you know what Zander's been up to while I'm 'skipping'?"

He blinks, caught off guard."What are you talking about?"

I meet his gaze, cold."His hookups. The parties. The drugs. The mess he drags home while you pretend everything's fine."

Mom's breath catches. My sister fidgets with her fork.

Dad's face tightens, jaw clenched."That's none of your business."

I lean forward, voice steady, sharp enough to cut glass."If it's none of my business, then why do you care so much about my attendance?"

The room falls into a heavy silence.

Mom breaks it first, her voice quiet but firm."Enough. This isn't helping."

But I know it's not about helping. It's about control. About who gets to decide what's okay and what's hidden beneath the surface.

And tonight, I'm not willing to stay silent.

Before anyone can say another word, the front door slams open.

Zander strides into the dining room like he owns the place - jeans ripped, a half-smoked cigarette dangling from his lips, and that careless grin plastered across his face.

"Well, well, look at this," he says, eyes scanning the tense room. "Family dinner without me? How classy."

Mom's lips press into a tight line. Dad's expression hardens, but he doesn't say a word.

Zander saunters over and grabs a beer from the table, popping the cap off with a snap of his fingers.

"Sorry I'm late," he mumbles, voice thick with smoke. "Had some things to take care of."

I glare at him, fists clenched under the table.

"Some things? Like what, exactly?"

He smirks, unfazed."You don't wanna know."

My sister shrinks back, eyes wide. Mom exhales deeply, trying to hold the fragile calm together.

Dad finally breaks the silence, voice low but deadly."Zander, this-this family needs you present. Not disappearing into your own chaos."

Zander laughs, a sharp sound that doesn't reach his eyes."Yeah, well, chaos's my thing."

He looks at me, a flicker of challenge in his gaze."And maybe if you weren't so busy skipping school, you'd understand."

The air thickens.

And for one sharp moment, none of us know what to say next.I don't hold back.

"You're nothing but a whore, Zander."

The word cuts through the room like a blade - sharp, raw, impossible to ignore.

Zander freezes, eyes narrowing as the cigarette slips from his lips.

"Excuse me?"

I lean forward, voice cold and steady."Yeah. A whore. You sleep with whoever's willing, don't care about anyone but yourself, and leave a mess for the rest of us to clean up."

Mom gasps softly, her hand flying to her mouth.

Dad's face turns hard, jaw clenched so tight it looks like it might break.

Zander laughs bitterly, a harsh sound."Yeah? And what's that make you? The perfect little princess running away from her problems?"

I grit my teeth."Better than the joke you've made of this family."

He steps closer, eyes dark and dangerous."Watch your mouth."

But I don't back down.

Because for once, someone needs to say it.

Zander scoffs, the sound dripping with contempt."Whatever, princess."

He spins on his heel and strides out of the dining room, cigarette smoke trailing behind him like a bad smell.

The door slams shut hard enough to rattle the windows.

I sit frozen for a moment, chest tight, then shove back my chair and stand.

Without a word, I follow him out.

The hallway feels colder now, the echo of his footsteps ahead like a challenge I can't ignore.

We're not done.

Not yet.

The soft glow of my laptop screen is the only light in my room.

Fingers tapping the worn wood of my guitar, I hum a melody low and steady.

Words spill out - half-formed, messy, raw - but somehow mine.

A song born from the cracks in everything around me.

The phone buzzes beside me.

I glance over and see a message from Isaac.

Isaac:Hey... I need some cash. Drunk as hell, don't ask.

I stare at the screen, heart tightening.

Isaac's problems are never simple.

I bite my lip, thumb hovering over the keyboard.

How much?

He replies almost instantly.

Isaac:Enough to keep the night from getting worse.

I sigh and lean back against my bedframe.

Some things never change.

And sometimes, being the one people lean on feels heavier than all the silence in the world.