Dinner Table Rules

Eli had expected dinner to feel easier.

With Lily at his side, he thought her chatter would fill the silence, that Damian would fade into the background like any other dad, nodding and smiling politely while the kids talked.

He was wrong.

The three of them sat at a long oak table, candles lit in a way that made the room feel both warm and strangely formal. A roasted chicken sat in the center, flanked by bowls of potatoes, green beans, and bread. The air smelled faintly of rosemary and garlic. Lily had piled her plate quickly, humming under her breath as she scrolled through something on her phone between bites.

Damian, however, didn’t touch his food right away. He poured himself a glass of red wine, then glanced at Eli’s water glass.

“Wine?” he asked.

Eli hesitated. “Uh, sure. If that’s okay.”

Damian gave no answer, just poured with a steady hand, sliding the glass across the table. Their eyes met briefly. Damian’s expression didn’t shift, but something in it made Eli feel like he’d just agreed to more than a drink.

Lily didn’t notice. She was talking about a class project, waving her fork for emphasis. Eli nodded along, but every time Damian’s deep voice entered the conversation, it was like a stone dropping into water.

“So, Eli,” Damian said, cutting into his chicken with deliberate precision. “You’re an English major.”

“Yes, sir.”

“What do you read?”

Eli straightened. “Mostly fiction. Contemporary stuff. Some classics. I like poetry, too.”

Damian’s eyes lifted from his plate, pinning him. “Like?”

Eli scrambled for an answer. “Uh—Ocean Vuong. Mary Oliver. And… maybe Whitman?”

“Whitman,” Damian repeated, his voice unreadable. He sipped his wine. “Leaves of Grass?”

“Yes.”

A faint curve of his mouth. “Not a bad choice. Though I wonder if you understand it yet.”

Heat rose to Eli’s face. “I—maybe not all of it.”

Damian’s gaze lingered, then shifted back to his food, as though he’d set a test and received an acceptable, if incomplete, answer.

Lily, oblivious, laughed at a meme on her phone and passed it across the table. “Look at this one, babe.”

Eli leaned closer to see, grateful for the distraction. But he felt Damian’s eyes on him again, steady, unyielding.

---

The meal stretched on, Lily doing most of the talking. Eli tried to focus on her words, but Damian’s presence kept filling the edges of the room. He ate slowly, deliberately, his movements neat and controlled. When he reached for the bread, Eli’s eyes caught on the strength in his forearm. When Damian poured more wine, Eli noticed the steadiness of his hand.

“Do you always let her do all the talking?” Damian asked suddenly, his tone mild but cutting through Lily’s story.

Eli blinked. “Sorry?”

Damian’s eyes didn’t waver. “You’ve said maybe three sentences. Does she speak for you?”

Lily rolled her eyes. “Dad.”

“I’m just asking,” Damian said, calm.

Eli swallowed. “I—I guess I’m just not as talkative.”

“No,” Damian said, slicing a piece of chicken. “You just haven’t learned yet that silence is an answer too.”

The words hung there, and Eli couldn’t decide if it was an insult or something else. He forced himself to eat, though his appetite was gone.

---

After dinner, Lily disappeared upstairs to grab a sweater. Eli helped clear the table, stacking plates, carrying them into the kitchen.

Damian followed with the wine glasses.

“Thank you,” Eli said quickly, setting the plates in the sink.

Damian didn’t answer right away. He stood close, rinsing a glass with one hand, the other braced on the counter. His presence filled the space, heat radiating off him.

“You’re polite,” Damian said finally. “That’s good. But politeness only gets you so far.”

Eli froze, unsure how to respond.

Damian glanced at him, the faintest glimmer of amusement in his eyes. “Relax. I’m only talking.”

But Eli’s pulse was racing.

A moment later, Lily’s voice floated down the stairs: “Ready when you are!”

Eli nearly stumbled over himself to dry his hands and escape the kitchen. But as he left, he felt it again—the weight of Damian’s gaze on his back, heavy, deliberate, and impossible to ignore.

---

That night, lying in bed, Eli replayed the evening in his head. Lily had kissed him goodnight, sweet and casual, nothing unusual. But it wasn’t her kiss that kept him awake.

It was Damian’s voice.

It was Damian’s eyes.

It was the sense that, somehow, he had just stepped into a game he didn’t know the rules of.

And deep down, a part of him already wanted to learn them.