Callum breaks first. “Everything changed after.”
“How?”
He picks up a dish towel and twists it between his hands. “Dad got worse. Stricter. More rules.”
I stir the apples. Doing something with my hands helps. “He was always like that. But after Mom, it was all he had left.”
Tania’s eyes move between us. “How did that affect you guys?”
Callum tosses the towel onto the counter. “Dad tried to control everything after she died. So I stopped listening to him. To anyone.” His fingers drum against the counter. “Just did what I wanted and dealt with the fallout later.”
There it is—the thing he never says out loud.
Tania doesn’t flinch. “And you?” She’s looking at me now.
I pour the vanilla and watch it swirl through the hot apples. “Dad and Silas were always tense. Callum was always fighting. I learned to smooth things over. Crack jokes. Keep everyone from killing each other. Keep it from getting too dark.”
The kitchen goes quiet except for the sound of the apples bubbling on the stove.
I’ve never said that before. Not to anyone.
“Shit.” Callum scrubs a hand down his face. “Yeah. That sounds about right.”
Tania sets down the spoon, and her hand finds my forearm.
“You’re still doing it.” Her fingers tighten on my arm briefly before releasing. “Deflecting. Pacifying. Being the peacemaker.”
“Losing parents is hard, whether it’s through death or something else.” She turns back to the stove and adds nutmeg to the pumpkin mixture. “My dad left when I was two.”
Callum straightens.
“I don’t remember him. Ben barely remembers him.” She stirs the pumpkin filling. “But I remember my mom working constantly. Two jobs. Sometimes three.”
“Your house always felt warm, though.” I watch her make the filling. “Even when she wasn’t there.”
Tania glances at me. “You remember that?”
“We were there all the time with Ben.” I lean against the counter. “She’d leave snacks out for us and notes on the fridge. Your house never felt empty.”
“No.” She adds more cinnamon to the filling. “She made sure of that.”
“But?” Callum asks.
She tastes the filling and adjusts the spice. “But everything felt conditional. The house was faculty housing, and school was free because she worked there. If something went wrong, we’d lose it all.”
Callum moves closer. “You don’t have to worry about that anymore.”
“Don’t I?” She sets the spoon down. “Silas is sticking to the contract. Ben doesn’t know. This whole thing is temporary, even if we are having fun right now.”
The timer goes off. The dough is ready.
Tania pulls it from the fridge, and we roll out the crusts. Callum’s is uneven. Mine is too thick. Hers is perfect.
She doesn’t criticize, though. She just shows us how to fix it.
We work in silence for a while—flour on the counter, crusts taking shape, and the smell of apples and pumpkin filling the kitchen.
Tania fits the crusts into the pie tins, we pour in the filling, and she shows us how to crimp the edges and weave the lattice top for the apple pies.
