For a while, none of us spoke.
The noise of the others faded into the background—Leona's dramatic sniffles, Nora's quiet humming as she drank water, Violet giggling at nothing in particular. It all felt distant, like I was standing behind a thin pane of glass.
My father cleared his throat.
"So," he said, eyes fixed somewhere over my shoulder, "you've… made friends."
I followed his gaze. Leo was pretending not to watch us. Pretending badly.
"Unfortunately," I replied. "They're loud, irresponsible, and terrible at handling alcohol."
Rachel let out a small snort before she could stop herself. She quickly covered her mouth, then looked away.
My father blinked. Then, to my surprise, the corner of his mouth twitched.
"…You sound like your mother."
That caught me off guard.
I didn't respond right away. I wasn't sure how. The name carried weight—memories I didn't fully own, emotions that felt borrowed and yet painfully real.
"I'll take that as a compliment," I said finally.
