He's at his desk, those faded military tattoos peeking from his rolled sleeves, pen in hand. He doesn't look angry. He doesn't look anything, really. Griff's face has two settings: angry and slightly less angry. A little bit like Ethan.
"Sit down, Liam."
I sit. My leg bounces immediately. I press my hand on my knee to stop it.
"I've been speaking with Dr. Herrera," he says. "And with Santos and the dining staff."
Here it comes. More monitoring. More supervision. Probably a new rule where someone watches me breathe.
"They tell me you've been consistent. Eating your meals. Attending your sessions. No incidents." He looks at me over the desk. "That true?"
"Yes, sir." My voice comes out smaller than I want it to. I wish I could be very brave and very unbothered and always say all the things with the incredible confidence Ethan displays. Instead, I sound like a little scared puppy.
"Good." He leans back. "I'm satisfied with your progress. You're not out of the woods, and you'll continue your sessions with Dr. Herrera. But I'm lifting the meal supervision."
I blink. "You're… what?"
"Santos won't be joining you at meals anymore. You'll eat with the others."
Hell fucking yeah! The relief is so sharp it almost hurts. No more corner table. No more silent guard watching me chew. No more every kid in the cafeteria glancing at the freak with the babysitter.
“For real, sir?”
“For real,” he says and smiles.
"Thank you, sir!" I manage to say without crying, but my eyes are burning. Don't cry, don't cry. Not in front of Griff, for the love of God. I mean, he’s seen me crying almost as much as Ethan, but still.
"There's more." He smiles and it looks like he’s genuinely pleased to tell me that. "You've lost your kitchen duty privileges for some time now. I'm reinstating them. Starting tomorrow.Same schedule as before, Tuesday and Thursday afternoons, and you can see Dr. Herrera on Wednesdays. Don't make me regret it."
"I won't, sir. Thank you. Thank you so much!"
Griff's expression is warm, but just for a little bit. Then it's gone, and he's back to his clipboard.
"That's all. Get out of my office."
I chuckle and get out of his office. I walk down the hallway. And then, when I'm sure no one can see me, I pump both fists in the air, bouncing in place.
I get to see Lu again. And Margarete. And Dora. My kitchen crew. My family!
Tuesday takes approximately nine hundred years to arrive. But it does, eventually, and I'm standing outside the kitchen doors fifteen minutes early, bouncing on my feet, probably looking insane as usual.
The kitchen is warm and loud, the way it always is. Someone has the radio on, a small one on the shelf, tuned to a station that plays salsa. The air smells like onions and garlic and something roasting, and I swear my eyes water just from the smell.
Lu spots me first.
"LIAM!" She drops her ladle into the pot and comes at me with her arms open. She's so much shorter than me, but when she hugs me, it's like being swallowed by a warm cloud made of flour. She smells like cumin and coffee.
"My boy," she says into my shoulder, squeezing hard, and I’m squeezing her back. "Where have you been?! We thought they sent you away! We asked that old dog, Griff, and he said you got in trouble but wouldn’t tell us anything anymore. I almost removed his food privileges."
"I'm back!" I say, hugging her just as tight. "I'm back. I missed you all so much."
"You're skinnier," she says, pulling back and holding me atarm's length, inspecting me with those sharp dark eyes. "We need to fix that."
"Lu, I'm fine!"
"Margarete! He's skinnier!"
Margarete appears from behind the industrial fridge, wiping her hands on her apron. Her hair is more red than orange now. She’s also smiling when she sees me.
