Page 64 of Insidious

Boiling water first. Then tea leaves. Let it steep properly. Then milk. Then sugar.

Always in that order.

I take a sip and close my eyes for a second.

“Good?” she asks, ignoring Isaac as if he isn’t hovering.

“The best,” I reply with a smile.

She slides a plate in front of me. Eggs with spinach and chilli, just the way I like them. A large hand slides two pills in a small bowl right next to it.

“Eat while it’s hot. You need your protein. Take your calcium. You always forget. Do you need anything else?”

I shake my head, already attacking my eggs.

The warmth in her voice seems to wither into distant politeness when she turns slightly towards Isaac.

“Do you need anything else?”

Same words, just a very different tone.

It almost sounds like he’s a neighbour.

Isaac takes the hit without flinching, but a side glance at his expression reflects the hurt. “No. Thank you.”

He looks away quickly, and I look down at my plate.

Mum used to love him so much. She used to treat him like one of her own, and now, every interaction feels stripped clean of trust. He is back to square one.

And despite everything she said the other day at the hospital about men being clueless, I know the truth. She won’t forgive him easily for risking her daughter.

The silence is like a living being between us. Amelie’s little noises fill the gaps. I force myself to eat, even though my appetite lags. I’m nearly done when Isaac sets his mug down and stands.

The scrape of the chair makes both of us look up.

“I need to do some shopping,” he says generally.

He looks at me now. For a brief second, there is a question on his face—then hesitation. Or hope.

Then, as quickly as it appears, it is gone.

“Do you need anything?” he asks the side of my face almost hopefully when I go back to my tea.

My fingers clench slightly around my mug.

The question feels … like it is hiding a message. He wants to say something, but not in front of Mum … because she is wary of his motives now.

But I know him well enough to know what he is thinking.

“Do you still need me?”

“Do I still get to take care of things?”

“Is there any place left for me here?”

The tea tastes bitter in my mouth.

My first instinct screams no.