“How’d you knock if your hands were full?” My father strolls into the kitchen, his smirk turning into a full grin when he sees me. Wrinkled hands leave the pockets of his tailored gray trousers as he lifts his arms. “Come here, kiddo.”
I set down my own groceries before falling into my father’s warm arms.
“What happened to your hair? I don’t remember it being this frizzy.” He pulls back while patting my mussed curls away from his mouth.
I rub the top of his fully bald head. “What happened to yours?”
He leans in to whisper, “Your mother shaved it off in my sleep.”
“I did not.” My mother crosses her arms against her chest. “You asked me to shave it, remember?”
He tugs her close to his side. “You’re right. Thank you for putting up with my jokes.”
“Forever and always.” Her amber irises glitter as he rubs at the marriage brand on the back of her left hand—two overlapping crescent moons.
I glance down at my bare feet as I ask, “So, why’d you two decide to visit?”
“I told you, sweetie. We came to watch?—”
“The Hunt. Yes, I know.” I lift my head, our matching eyes locking. “But why now? Is it because it’s my tenth year of eligibility? Are you here to say goodbye?”
A whimper escapes my mother’s taut lips, so my father answers for her.
“We missed you and thought you could use some company.” He clamps a palm on my shoulder. “But this isn’t goodbye. You’re not gonna be selected. Bren wouldn’t do that to us.”
Bren.
As kids, my father and Chancellor Bren were inseparable. That friendship carried into their adult years. So, when my mother gave birth to her first and only baby girl months after Bren’s first wife birthed a son, it was only natural that they’d come to an agreement about their children’s future nuptials.
I wasn’t the only one blindsided by the divorce, hence my parents’ abrupt move to Deor. As far as I’m aware, their friendship hasn’t been the same since, though it must be on the mend if the gifted floral arrangement is any indicator.
I shake my head. “Why would he make an exception for me? I’m not his daughter-in-law anymore. He owes me nothing.”
My father’s permanent smile lines pull downward, as does his hand on my shoulder. “He wouldn’t have those six grandsons if you hadn’t graciously agreed to the divorce. The least he could do is spare you from getting drafted.”
“‘Agreed’is a generous description, considering I didn’t have a choice.” I exhale, running my fingers through my curls. “Look, I’m glad you came, but you have to know that we can’t count on an old, fractured friendship to save me from my fate. I’ve accepted that. You should, too.”
His nostrils flare. “You’re talking like it’s set in stone.”
“Something I learned quickly as a Tier Three is that it’s better to expect the worst and be pleasantly surprised than have your hopes ripped from you.” I shrug, then turn to pick up my groceries from the marble counter.
“You’re leaving?” my mother asks, stepping towards me.
“I promised Gem and Taur I’d be back by now. We’ve gotta eat and change.”
With a nod, she haphazardly dumps one of her baskets into mine.
“I can’t take these,” I say, reaching to remove the head of fresh lettuce from the top of the pile.
She swats my hand away. “Yes, you can. It’s a gift from your mother. I can’t send you home to starve.”
“I’m not starving. We have enough to get us by.”
“Well, now you’ll have more than enough,” she says, lifting her chin in a way that makes it clear she won’t accept any arguments.
I sigh, rearranging the items so my broccoli florets and apples sit above the gifted groceries—to avoid any accusations of taking Tier One goods from the food bank—before wrapping an arm around her. “Thank you.”
She squeezes me back. “I understand you’ve accepted a grimreality for yourself, but you can’t talk me out of clinging to hope on your behalf.”
