Chapter 5
THREE MONTHS AGO
Earlier in the year, you’d taken the day off from wedding plans and academy logistics to return to the house you’d once called home. It was a weekend, so you knew Carlie and Erik would likely be home. It was not the first time you’d visited your family—you did you best to drop by a few times a month, bringing little gifts and enduring painful small talk in hopes of winning them over, in hopes of winning them back. It wasn’t even the first time you’d shown up unannounced.
It was, however, the first time you hadn’t come alone.
The doorbell had barely finished ringing when the door itself swung open.
“Hey, you’re early! You can help with—” Erik fell quiet as he took in the sight of the green-eyed, formerly-royal demigod standing beside you.
You’d come a long way since the worst of your teenage social anxiety, from the days when you’d rush to fill any uncomfortable silence with rapid-fire babble. But the urge crept up on you now, as you watched your brother look your fiancé up and down, giving him a once-over with steely eyes and a grim mouth.
Loki, for his part, did his best to maintain a pleasantly calm demeanor. He shifted the weight of the crockpot (which you’d made him hold—anything that softened his image, like a home-cooked dish, couldn’t hurt, right?) to one arm, offering his other hand. “You must be Erik.”
And, to your surprise, Erik accepted the handshake. It seemed, though, that he was doing it out of shock and habit, rather than politeness or genuine acceptance. Still shaking Loki’s hand, he turned to look at you. “(Y/N).”
You matched his tone—half mocking, half plea. “Erik.”
“You can’t be serious.” He pulled his hand back, the slow dazedness of the motion at direct odds with his voice. “You can’t.”
“Can’t what? Come inside?”
“Mom and Dad...I don’t even know what they’ll think.”
“Only one way to find out.”
Loki cleared his throat.“I assure you, I don’t wish to cause any trouble. If—”
“No.” You shook your head, looping one arm around his. “You’re staying.” You returned your attention to Erik, trying to lend as much curtness to your voice as you could without sounding overly formal. “The wedding’s in three months. If you and Mom and Dad haven’t come to terms with it by now, then—”
"Haven’t come to terms with what?”
And who should appear in the doorway behind Erik, but your mother.
Of course.
Before she could say anything, you blurted out, “We come in together or not at all.”
A moment passed, so thick with tension that it felt like an almost physical pressure on your chest. Your mom looked at you, then at Loki, then you again (quickly. So, so quickly, as though she was afraid looking at him for too long might scar her retinas). You met her gaze. Held his arm. Stood your ground.
And, finally, she nodded.
“Fine. He can come in.” Before you could cross the threshold, though, she held up a hand. “Your father’s in the backyard, if you want to say hello. But maybe you should greet him alone, first. Before.”
Your immediate reaction was to look at Loki. You had warned him that the first meeting with your family would be difficult; you weren’t exactly keen on leaving him to face Mom and Erik and Carlie all on his own. Still, he gave you a hopeful nod. “All the better for the rest of your family and I to become acquainted, no?”
The smile quickly dropped from his face when he looked back up at your mom, who was just as stoic as she had been a few moments before. You could almost read her mind—she undoubtedly was judging the exchange between you and Loki as you asking for permission to go see your father, rather than you showing concern at the idea of abandoning your fiancé to semi-hostile relatives.
Too late to retroactively explain it now.
But hey, you trusted Loki. If he couldn’t quite charm Mom in the few minutes (you hoped) you’d be talking with Dad, at least he could survive until you returned.
(You did regret missing his first interaction with Carlie, though. That seemed like something you would have enjoyed).
“Well, look who it is!” Your dad’s genuine enthusiasm was a welcome change from the tension of the front porch, and you found yourself grinning. “There’s my girl.”
You leaned over to hug him, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Good to see you too, Dad.”
“Hope you didn’t bring too many presents this time. You’re going to spoil Carlie, you know.”
“Well, actually,” you said, making a tentative attempt at (what you felt like) was a pretty lame segue, “I didn’t bring any presents, but I did bring a pretty big surprise.”
“Oh?”
“I, um. Well.” You took a deep breath. “I brought Loki with me.”
Your dad had a fairly neutral look on his face—and, if anything, this just made you more nervous. An outright frown would at least have given you a somewhat accurate gauge of how he might react.
Finally, he said, “I don’t know if that’s such a good idea, sweetheart.”
“Dad.” Your heart sank. “Come inside, please. I think, if you just meet him, and talk to him—”
“I don’t think you understand how much we worry about you.”
“What?” That took you aback. You shook your head. “I do. Of course I do.”
“No, I—maybe worry is the wrong word.” He took a deep breath. “Every day, as soon as I wake up, you’re the first thing we think about. And you’re the last thing we think about before we fall asleep. And it’s not—they aren’t happy thoughts. It’s all fear, and dread, and—”
“Dad.” You stopped him with a hand to his forearm, bending down to catch his gaze. “I know. I really do.”
He pulled you in for a hug. “I love you, Bean.”
“I love you too.” You squeezed him even more tightly than before. For some reason, this, more than anything, made you felt like a little girl again. Like a small child who had been reprimanded for some small act of disobedience. The wetness in your eyes spilled over. “And I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.
He pulled back suddenly, a hand on each of your shoulders. “Then come home.”
You brushed the tears from your cheeks and attempted a small smile. “But I am home. Right now, I’m…” He shook his head, forcing you to confront what he really meant. You took a step back, placing yourself just slightly out of reach. “Dad.”
“Carlie and Erik are just about finished setting the table.” Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Mom come down the porch steps, crossing the lawn to you. “Did you ask her?”
Just Carlie and Erik? “Where’s Loki?”
“I told...him...that I thought it would be best if he went back and waited in the car.” She wrung her hands with such force it almost turned her knuckles white. “So that your father and I wanted to speak to you alone.”
“Speak to? Don’t you mean ambush ?” In spite of your best efforts to square your jaw, you felt your lower lip begin to tremble. “You tried this last year, Mom. It didn’t work before the engagement, and it won’t work now.”
“Sweetheart. Please.” She sighed, but her words sounded more desperate than tired. “This...this marriage ...this isn’t really what you want.”
“Oh? Is that right?” You laughed bitterly. “How would you know that?”
“How do you?” The fighting edge had returned to her voice. “You don’t know anything besides him. You don’t know anything else, you never had the chance to.”
You were about to snap back at her until your dad raised a hand in defense. “Your mother and I,” he said, clearly trying to de-escalate the situation, “you know we just want what’s best for you.”
“No,” you spit. “You want what’s best for the sixteen-year-old girl who left this house four years ago.”
He reacted to the venom in your voice as though it were a physical blow, his eyes widening with a mixture of shock and pain that almost stopped you in your tracks.
Almost.
“You need to let her go.” Your tone had taken on a pleading edge that you didn’t even bother trying to cover up. Because that’s what this was—a plea. You were desperate. You thought you’d won this argument months ago. “I need you to let me go.”
For one long, terrible minute, nobody said anything.
“Fine, then.”
“What?”
“Go.” She didn’t even blink. “If that’s what you really want, then go.”
“You can’t…” Even then, the denial bubbled up in your throat, thin and sour as bile. You couldn’t stop yourself from speaking. “You don’t really mean that.”
“We can’t stop you from making your own mistakes,” she said. “But I won’t let you drag Carlie down with you.”
You gaped at her. “I don’t want to drag her down, I just want her in my life. I want all of you in my life. I’m your daughter .”
“Not any daughter I recognize.”
Your mother’s voice was tense and deadly quiet, so quiet that, for a moment, you thought you’d misheard. But you knew. Deep down, you knew what she’d said.
She looked away, refusing eye contact. You turned to your father in hopes of an appeal. “Dad, you don’t—”
“You heard your mother.” It wasn’t until you saw how he, too, avoided your gaze that you felt the full weight of the rejection. “Go.”
In a perfect world, you would have stayed to talk it out. In a perfect world, you would have come up with the right response, wouldn’t have left it there, wouldn’t have accepted losing the family you’d fought so hard to keep.
In a perfect world, they would have asked you to stay.
And some part of you still believed they would. As you went up the stairs. As you brushed through the house, giving Erik and Carlie little more than a kiss on the cheek. And, of course, as you got into the car next to Loki, locking the door behind you.
You sat in silence for a long, long moment. You could feel him waiting for you to say the first word.
“Let’s go home,” you finally said.
“They just need more time." You squeezed your eyes shut as tightly as you could, as though that would somehow protect you from the pity in his voice. "You should rejoin them, and I’ll return to fetch you after—”
“No.”
“Don’t let this be one of your regrets, darling.” You felt his fingers brush the corners of your eyes, trying to wipe the fresh tears away. “Family is—”
“No. ” You pulled away from his touch. The fire in your chest blazed deeper, rage and sorrow mixing until you couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began. “They’re not my family."
That sends you into a new silence. “We’ll try again,” he said at last. You didn’t bother contradicting him.
But you didn’t agree, either.