Series: Cobalt Empire Series by Krista Ritchie
Total pages in book: 234
Estimated words: 226965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1135(@200wpm)___ 908(@250wpm)___ 757(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 226965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1135(@200wpm)___ 908(@250wpm)___ 757(@300wpm)
“I wasn’t and I’m not,” I say strongly, being gravely honest. “I appreciate the worry, I do.” Don’t fucking cry. “I love that you care enough about me to push, even when it’s aggravating, but I’m okay. And honestly, I’d rather just enjoy this dinner. It might be one of the last with Beckett for a while, and can we not make it all about me?”
That does the trick.
They all voice their love of me in their own way, and Mom reiterates she’s happy I’m here tonight. I’m not relaxed, honestly.
Then Eliot toasts, “To Wednesdays.” We all lift our glasses. He takes a dramatic, serious pause. “Which should always revolve around me.” He’s the only one who drinks, and I start laughing, which causes the whole table to follow. Mirth spreads like a contagion.
I love you, Eliot. He winks at me before he slouches backward.
Everyone begins to dig into the cranberries, roasted potatoes, carrots, as forks clatter and dishes clink. Mom rises with her wine. “This concludes opening remarks.” She sips. “Now the game truly begins.”
Jane unfurls a notebook and clicks her sparkly pen.
The second half of dinner—the literal game portion—I tend not to speak as much, but I’m always engaged.
Like now, I listen as Beckett tees off the first question. “Which Greek god is associated with a gentle spring breeze?”
I know this one. “Zephyrus,” Charlie says almost as soon as Beckett stops speaking.
He’s right, of course. Charlie never answers incorrectly. Sure, he’s been stumped before, usually by our mom or dad, but if he speaks, it’s with unwavering confidence and he’s never wrong.
No phones are out, not even slyly hidden under the table. Cheating will have you immediately banished from the dining room. Unable to finish your meal or participate. When we were kids, Tom risked many nights without dinner just to see if he could outwit our dad using the internet, but it never worked.
He was caught pretty early on each time. I could practically hear his stomach growling as he left. I doubt he hated missing out on the food more than being with all of us. Because Eliot would always sneak him leftovers.
So right now, my siblings and parents are spouting off trivia questions without reference material. You have to come prepared. Anyone can ask anything, but asking means you lose the chance to gain a point. First to ten wins. It’s been this way since before I was born. Our parents never went easy and let us win, even when Audrey sobbed that all she wanted for her seventh birthday was to be the Wednesday Night Dinner champion.
“You have to earn it yourself, ma petite,” our dad told her sweetly. “It can’t be handed to you.”
Up until Charlie turned fourteen, our mom and dad were always the victors. The night he finally beat them, my siblings and I all jumped out of chairs and roared with so much exhilaration, my voice went hoarse. We bounced up and down. Eliot threw a plate. We cheered like the Eagles won the fucking Super Bowl, and to us, it was like our chosen Gladiator finally took down the mightiest of opponents.
And Charlie looked so happy—the happiest I’d ever seen him, maybe in my entire life, was that night.
“It is four points to Charlie,” Jane calls out the current score. “Four to Dad, three to Mom, two to me, and one to Eliot.” She taps her notebook with the pen. “And proceed.”
“What did Prometheus steal from the gods?!” Audrey shouts quickly to slip her question into the mix.
“Fire,” too many people say at once. No one shares points, so the question is tossed. Still, this might end up being a short game since the theme is Classical Mythology. They know I have an exam soon, and this wouldn’t be the first time a Wednesday Night Dinner is constructed to help one of us study.
Audrey slumps.
“Try something harder,” Charlie suggests and not nicely.
“It was meant to be easy,” she retorts, stabbing a carrot with her fork.
Charlie opens his mouth, but Mom cuts him off quickly, “What was Dionysus’ name before he was resurrected?”
“Zagreus,” Eliot slices goose on his plate with a knife. “Thank you for the soft ball, Mom.”
“She’s just ensuring I won’t win,” Dad grins at her from across the table. “Isn’t that right, Rose?”
Mom doesn’t deny. “I’m sure Dionysus will appear on Ben’s exam. I’m helping our youngest son pass a college course.”
“Two birds, one stone,” Dad says.
Audrey pipes in, “Can we not inflict pain upon a bird, even metaphorically?” She casts a kind look to me, and I smile over at my sister.
“Yes, Richard,” Mom says, “leave the murdering of fowl out of dinner conversation.”
His brow arches. “Because the dismemberment of people is better?”
“I’ve yet to rip out your tongue, but don’t push me. There is always time to curse you with eternal silence.”