Page 54 of Encounter

“Certainly... I suppose I shall trust what you’re doing, then.”

But you don’t. I know that; Dad knows that.

“Suppose so.”

We also know Uncle Henry is never the one to be doubted. Dad, on the other hand...

“Dad has been working really hard. He’s barely ever home these days,” I peeped, getting brave for a moment. Glancing at me like I was some unwanted stranger who accidentally stumbled upon his table, Grandpa hummed and lifted one of his brows, mouth twisting into dissatisfied grimace.

“I suppose not having much to come home to would be beneficial in that regard,” he noted with a sophisticated bow of his glass he sipped from between his steak bites. The second he said it, my throat closed up, and an uncomfortable, cold sensation gripped my chest.

God, is he really throwing Mom’s absence in his face? What the hell...Carefully turning to Dad, I studied his reaction, or lack thereof.

I didn’t know why he always reacted so strongly when they brought up Mom, considering he never spoke about it. It must have been more about his ego, about protecting his image and pride, than anything else.

Thankfully, before anything could erupt, Grandma decided to speak. “We haven’t visited in quite some time.”

That’s right—something close to a decade.

“You still have someone taking care of that beautiful house of yours, I hope?”

Sounded about right, caring more about the look of our home rather than what was going on in it. But I couldn’t expect anything else, considering Dad was probably the one who learned everything he knew—and didn’t know—from them.

“We have help coming twice a week to keep things in order,” he answered, plain and sharp.

Disdain bubbled underneath Grandpa’s controlled expression. Our life must have been way too standard for him, considering all the staff that worked in their mansion. I never truly understood what they all did—with how little time my grandparents actually spent there. All those extra rooms and needless space... I suppose someone had to take care of it, and I was all too well aware of how that someone was almost always people who looked likeme.

It was what I thought about every time he looked at me. I was nothing but another one of those people to Grandpa.

One of my only childhood memories from spending time with him was sitting in his study, surrounded by books, as he showed me pictures and told me stories about his own father, who so graciously fought against the plight that were—specifically—the ‘Japs’ in the Second World War. That was the story he decided to tell me, and the older I got, the bigger hole it burned into me. The more I realized we were all the same to him.

I’d rather die right now.And we hadn’t even ordered dessert...

After the dinner was finally over, we spent the entirety of the drive back in silence.

As I walked into the house behind Dad and watched him take his coat off, I wanted to say something. I wanted to show my support, or that I understood, but... there was this barrier. Like the one between him and his father, the coldness stopped me from even attempting to reach in. Like we were barely the same species.

I was left standing next to the main door after Dad disappeared into his study without saying so much asgoodnight.

Sighing, I rubbed my face.So much for family gatherings.

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