Fighting Our Way (Broken Tracks 2)

We run all the way to the kitchen, skidding to a stop in front of Mom who is holding out a basket toward us. “You know the drill.”

I reach into my pocket, pulling out my cell and placing it on top of Mom and Dad’s. Maya holds her finger up as she types and then puts hers in reluctantly. I can't remember ever having my cell at the table at home. My mom and dad have always said it's a huge distraction and family dinners are for catching up and not staring at a tiny screen. I completely agree and try to do it everywhere I go. It makes people feel like you're there with them and interested in what they have to say instead of being submerged into a small device.

We all sit down and dish up the delicious-smelling lasagna Mom has made.

“I've been meaning to ask: why are you still in work clothes?” Mom asks.

I shrug. “I finished work early and went to see Amelia because Tris asked me to. And then I had to run errands so I didn't have a chance to go home and change.”

“Amelia?”

“Yeah. You know her.” I take a mouthful of the lasagna from my plate. “She looks after Izzie and Clay.”

“Oh, yes. Lovely girl.”

Mom and Dad share looks before gazing back at me.

“So why would Tristan ask you to go and see her?” Mom asks again, curiously.

“He asked me to go and check on her. Something about her being upset this morning.”

I brush it off as nothing but I can't help the smile plastered to my face just thinking about her.

Dad continues eating but shoots me a knowing look as Mom wars with herself over saying something.

“Just say it.”

“Do you like her?” She almost spits out like she's been holding it back for days and not mere seconds.

Maya raises a brow at me when I look at her. “Do you have a girlfriend?”

I shake my head. “No, I do not have a girlfriend. But yes, as a matter of fact, I do like her.”

Mom puts down her fork. “But she's Tristan's nanny.”

I wince at that word. “Technically, yes.”

“And he’s okay with you two being together?”

“We're not together, Mom. We haven't even been out on a date... yet.”

She picks up her fork and takes a bite of her food, contemplating what she wants to say. She swallows and smiles. “I'm happy for you, sweetheart.”

“Me too, son. If you're happy, we're happy.”

They don't bring Amelia up again for the rest of the dinner, which is unusual. Normally Maya would be all over this new piece of information like a rash, but she's been distracted all night.

“Maya?” Her head snaps up from the notebook she’s been writing songs in on her lap.

“Mmmhmm?”

“I asked how school was.”

She shrugs. “Same as last week.”

“Still playing volleyball?”

“Yup.”