“I hope you got the brownie,” she said as she maneuvered herself up onto the high bar stool. “Or I might have to find another friend to share this with.”
Ben settled on the stool opposite her with little trouble, given his height. He smiled at her. “I’m not stupid.”
Amelia looked down at the food in the takeout container and felt her stomach rumble in anticipation. She hadn’t eaten since the previous day, and even then, it had been only a few fries.
She looked up to thank Ben again for bringing the food, but the words dried in her mouth when she found him watching her, a sad look on his face.
“Listen, Amelia, I’m really very sorry about last night. I didn’t mean to…” He reached across the small table to touch her hand. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
Amelia felt tears sting her eyes, and she lowered her gaze to stare at their hands. Even all these years later, they looked the same. His, strong and tanned. Hers, smaller and pale.
“I’m sorry for reacting the way I did,” she said, still looking down. “I didn’t mean to just spew it out all over you.”
“Amelia, you don’t owe me an apology.” He covered her hand more fully with his. “I just wish I could go back and do things a little differently. You’re right, I didn’t recognize you, but it’s not because you look worse than you did ten years ago. In fact, I didn’t really get a good look at your face. It seemed like you were keeping me from fully seeing you.”
She looked up at him then. “Yes. I was.”
“Don’t hide yourself from me, Amelia. Don’t ever feel like you have to do that.”
Amelia's stomach fluttered at the intensity of his gaze. His hand felt warm over hers, and for a moment, she couldn't look away from him.
"I don't know how not to," she admitted softly. "It's become second nature to protect myself."
"From me?"
The question hung between them, weighted with years of history and unresolved feelings. Amelia withdrew her hand and picked up her plastic fork.
"From everyone," she finally said. "When you're used to being seen as exceptional, it's… difficult when you become ordinary. Or worse, when you become a burden."
Those last words came out in a whisper, and she stabbed at a piece of chicken to distract herself from the vulnerability of the confession.
Ben was quiet for a long moment, and Amelia couldn't bring herself to look up at him. She focused on cutting the chicken into smaller pieces, the plastic knife scraping against the container.
"You're not a burden," he finally said, his voice low and firm. "Not to me. Not to your family."
Amelia swallowed hard, still not looking up. "You don't know what it's like. One day you're special. Exceptional even. The next, you're… invisible."
"I see you," Ben said, his voice low and earnest. "I've always seen you."
Amelia's throat tightened. She swallowed hard, willing herself not to cry again. She'd shed enough tears in front of Ben already.
She dabbed at her eyes with the napkin, hating how easily the tears came these days. "I'm sorry. I'm such a mess."
Ben set down his fork and leaned forward. "Amelia, everything you're feeling is valid. I can't imagine what you've been through."
She nodded, taking a bite of the chicken to give herself something to do. The food was good—warm and comforting—but her appetite had diminished with the weight of their conversation.
"Can we talk about something else?" she asked, desperate to shift away from her vulnerabilities. It felt like she was a raw nerve, exposed and sensitive to the slightest touch.
"Of course," Ben said, reaching for his can of flavored water and cracking it open. "What would you like to talk about?"
Amelia took a moment to gather herself, grateful for his willingness to change the subject. "How are things at the estate? Are your parents doing okay?"
Ben took a sip of his drink before answering. "They're doing well. Dad's been spending a lot of time with Julian discussing some new division he wants to start up in the company. Mom is just happy to have everyone close at hand. She's been trying to organize a family portrait while everyone's still here."
"A family portrait?" Amelia took another bite of food. "That sounds nice."
"Yeah. Though I imagine it will be a bit of a challenge to get all the kids smiling at the same time. But I guess that’s the joy of family portraits. Not perfection. Just happiness.” He lifted his fork with a piece of chicken speared on it. “Speaking of family, how are your parents doing? Still at the same house?"
