Chapter 2: The guest at the table

The drive back from the stadium was always the same. The car smelled like Noah’s expensive cologne, the lingering scent of stadium grass, and the faint, sweet trail of Madison’s vanilla body spray.

Noah was driving, his hands relaxed on the steering wheel, though his knuckles were still a little scraped from the game. Madison sat in the passenger seat..my usual seat,with her legs tucked under her, scrolling through the photos she’d already posted.

"You look so good in this one, Noah," she murmured, leaning over to show him the screen. "The lighting under the goalposts was literally perfect. Everyone is losing it in the comments."

Noah glanced at the phone for half a second before his eyes flicked to the rearview mirror. His gaze met mine for a fleeting moment. "That’s cool, Mads. Glad the lighting worked out."

His tone was polite, but I knew the "quarterback voice." It was the voice he used for reporters and teachers;smooth, agreeable, and entirely hollow.

I leaned my head against the cold window of the backseat, watching the suburban streetlights flicker by. This was the part of the night I dreaded most. The post-game high was fading, leaving behind the jagged reality of the "Callahan Saturday Night Dinner." It was a tradition Elena insisted on: win or lose, we ate together. And senior year meant Madison was a permanent fixture.

When we pulled into the driveway of the large, colonial-style house on Maple Drive, the porch light was already on. It was a warm, welcoming yellow that usually made me feel safe. Tonight, it felt like a spotlight on a stage where I didn't know my lines.

"We’re home!" Madison chirped as we walked through the front door. She didn't knock. She didn't have to anymore. She walked in with the confidence of someone who belonged, while I still stepped onto the hardwood and felt the urge to check if my shoes were leaving marks.

"In the kitchen, kids!" Elena’s voice drifted down the hall, followed by the savory, mouth-watering scent of roasted chicken and garlic.

The Callahan kitchen was the heart of the home. It was a sprawling space with white marble countertops that were never actually white because they were usually covered in cookbooks, mail, and Michael’s half-finished crossword puzzles.

"There they are!" Elena beamed, rushing over to pull Noah into a hug that probably squashed his lungs. "Our star player. And Isla, honey, you looked beautiful up there today. That tuck was flawless."

"Thanks, Elena," I said, reaching for a stack of plates to start setting the table. It was my automatic reflex,finding a way to be useful. Don't be a burden.

"I'll help!" Madison said, sliding in beside me and taking the plates from my hands. "I've got this, Isla. Go sit down, you’ve been on your feet all day."

It was a kind gesture. It was a normal gesture. So why did it feel like she was colonizing my territory?

We sat down to dinner, the table crowded with food and the easy, loud conversation that defined the Callahans. Michael sat at the head, listening to Noah describe the final play with a quiet, proud smile. Elena was busy making sure everyone’s glass was full.

"So, Madison," Michael said, leaning back. "Your father mentioned you’re looking at West State for next year? Their business program is top-tier."

Madison nodded, her eyes bright. "It’s my first choice. And since it’s only an hour away, it would be perfect. Noah’s been talking to their scouts, too."

The air in my lungs seemed to thin. I looked at Noah. He was stabbing a potato with a little more force than necessary.

"Is that right, Noah?" I asked, my voice coming out quieter than I intended. "You didn't mention West State."

Noah didn't look up. "It’s just an option, Isla. Nothing’s set in stone."

"But it makes sense," Madison pushed, her hand finding Noah’s on the table. "We could be together. It would be just like high school, only better."

I watched their hands. Noah’s fingers didn't weave through hers; they stayed still, trapped beneath her palm.

"What about you, Isla?" Elena asked, sensing the shift in the room's energy. "I saw those brochures for the University of Chicago on the mail pile. Math and Economics, right?"

"It’s a great program," I said, forcing a smile. "One of the best in the country."

"Chicago?" Noah’s head snapped up. His blue eyes were suddenly sharp, focused entirely on me. "That’s halfway across the country, Isla."

"It's only a three-hour flight," I reasoned, though my heart was hammering. "And the scholarship opportunities are…"

"No," Noah interrupted.“People go to college far away all the time.”I responded. “Yeah, but you’re not people,”he said.

The table went silent. Even Madison looked startled.

Noah cleared his throat, his jaw tight. "I mean... that’s a long way away. We haven't talked about you being that far."

We. Not You.

"I have to go where the best opportunities are, Noah," I said, my voice gaining a bit of steel. "I can't just stay in a one-hour radius because it’s comfortable."

The subtext was screaming. I can’t stay here and watch you live your life with someone else. I can’t keep being the girl in the spare bedroom.

"I think it's wonderful, Isla," Michael said, his perceptive eyes moving between us. "You’ve always been independent. You should chase the best future you can."

Noah stood up abruptly, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. "I’m done. Great dinner, Mom. I'm going to go get some air."

He didn't wait for Madison. He didn't look at me. He just walked out the back door, the screen slamming shut behind him.

Madison bit her lip, looking confused and slightly embarrassed. "I... should probably go check on him. He’s just stressed about the scouts."

She stood up and followed him, leaving me alone with Elena and Michael. The silence in the kitchen was heavy. I kept my eyes on my plate, tracing the pattern of the china.

"Isla," Elena said softly, reaching across the table to touch my hand. "You know we want you to be happy, right? Wherever that is."

"I know," I whispered. "I just... I don't want to hurt anyone."

"You two have always been tangled up in each other’s lives. Eventually you’ll both have to figure out what that means." Elena murmured, almost to herself.

I excused myself a few minutes later, the "found family" guilt finally becoming too much to swallow. I climbed the stairs to my room, the room that was painted a soft lavender because Elena thought it would be "soothing" for a grieving ten-year-old.

I didn't turn on the light. I just went to the window and looked out at the backyard.

Below, in the shadows of the oak tree, I could see two figures. Madison was talking, her gestures animated, her voice a low murmur. Noah was leaning against the trunk, his arms crossed over his chest. He looked like a statue.

Then, Madison reached up, cupping his face and pulling him down for a kiss.

I expected him to pull away. I almost prayed for it. But he didn't. He leaned into it, his hands staying at his sides, but he didn't stop her.

I pulled the curtain shut, the darkness of my room finally feeling like the only place I belonged. I lay down on my bed, staring at the ceiling.

A few minutes later, I heard the familiar sound. Thump. Thump-thump.

It was the knock on the wall. The secret code we’d used since we were kids. One hit for 'Are you awake?', two for 'I’m sorry', three for 'I need you.'

He had hit the wall twice.

I stared at the drywall, my hand hovering inches away from the surface. I wanted to knock back. I wanted to tell him it was okay. But it wasn't. The more we pretended things were the same, the more the foundation of this house cracked.

I stayed silent.

Across the hall, I heard Noah’s door close, the sound final and heavy. Tonight, the boy who would never leave felt a thousand miles away. And for the first time in eight years, I wondered if "staying with us" was the best thing that ever happened to me, or the most beautiful mistake of my life.