It was clear we didn’t get each other. So my balancing act was as much for them as it was for me—aim for coexistence and not much more. Don’t waste their time or mine.

I stood up and stretched, my body aching from an extra-long skateboarding session the day before. Skateboarding kept me muscular, and having more muscle meant experiencing more soreness, which was perfect for me. I lived for that ache. And I liked seeing my body stay thick and strong too. My muscles made me feel like I could defend myself—but also invite pain when I needed to. I pulled on my jeans and hoodie, both protecting and preparing myself for the day ahead.

Chapter Two

“Butterfly, you must understand!” Vicki implored.

“But honey, it’s Pinter.” Priam was sitting beside me at the kitchen table, hands out in a plea, face in an impressive sulk.

If it were up to me, mealtimes would look like me eating on the way to somewhere else. But good old Priam and Vicki insisted we eat as many meals together as possible. As part of my balancing act, I relented. But I paid for it.

At breakfast, I usually had to sit through a truncated version of some kind of drama. Sometimes it was real-life drama, sometimes it was an elaborate, fictional kind. Today I was treated to the real-life sort, although it was still hard to believe. Priam had, apparently, booked tickets to see a play that, apparently, was on the same night as Vicki’s Glee Girls’ Night—a monthly excuse for her and her friends to sit around singing show tunes while drinking wine and cognac.

Currently, Vicki was flapping around the kitchen, banging cupboards, moving food around for no particular reason, sighing with the weight of a thousand grievances. “That is not the capital P Point, Priam! You know how deeply I feel about my Glee Girls. How full they fill my spirits. You know.”

“Of course I know, darling.” Priam collapsed against the back of his chair, arms falling to his sides. “But it was the only night with tickets still available. What was I to do?” he questioned, his voice gliding upward to its maximal plaintive whine.

Now Vicki swept to the chair beside him, yanking it out and sitting on its edge with a small bounce. She took his hand and held it in both of hers, peering into his face. “Sweetheart. You do what is right. What is needed. For you. For me. You buy one ticket. You go experience Pinter. You share him with me afterward That is what you do.” She punctuated these rousing words with a desperate kiss to Priam’s hand.

Leaning my cheek in my palm and working a piece of apple with my jaw, I stared blankly at the scene unfolding in front of me. I wish I could say this was an atypical morning at the Wijesinghe household, but… it wasn’t.