Page 22 of Campus Fake

So I watched instead. It was what I did best. And right now I felt like I’d been thrown into a game that I didn’t know the rules to and couldn’t possibly win if I didn’t figure out how to outmaneuver the opponent soon.

Sally eventually left her safety at the stove and sat at the table once everyone else had a plate. But she never once looked directly at Sam. Her gaze would slide past her daughter, landing on absolutely anyone else except the daughter sitting three feet away from her.

Greg was only slightly better. Every so often I caught him stealing glances at Sam, just like he’d done in the car on the drive here. But just as quickly, he’d jerk his gaze away as if looking at her actually burned him.

I didn’t understand it. Couldn’t make sense of what would cause parents to treat their own child like something painful to look at. My own parents were cold, distant, and more interested in legacy than love—but even they acknowledged me. Even they could meet my eyes across a dinner table.

Whatever had happened in this family went deeper than anything I’d experienced. And it was clearly still raw, even after what I now knew had been years of distance.

I could guess based on what Sam had said about that photo in her bedroom that all of this had to do with her brother Bryce. The one who clearly had passed away based on her use of past tense. But why would losing a son make them look at their daughter this way? Wouldn’t losing a child make you appreciate the ones you have left even more?

What was even stranger was that there seemed to be no photos of Bryce anywhere apart from the ones in Sam’s room.

On our way downstairs, I’d glanced at the wall of photos again, looking for more of the siblings and starting to suspect that Sam’s reaction yesterday had been to the absence of photos of Bryce. The wall was filled with Jordan and Eric mostly, with occasionally an older picture of Sam. But none of her missing brother.

Then Sally finally spoke.

“We’ll be leaving for noon Mass in about an hour.” She addressed the table at large, but her head tilted slightly in Sam’s direction, even if her gaze didn’t stray from her plate. “Samantha, I assume you’ll be joining us.”

It wasn’t really a question.

Sam’s fork stilled against her plate. “Actually, I was thinking I’d show Harry around the neighborhood, maybe take a walk down to the shops.”

The silence that followed was different from the earlier awkwardness. This one had teeth.

Sally’s expression tightened almost imperceptibly. “It’s Sunday. We always go to church on Sundays.”

“I’m not stopping you, but I won’t be going.”

Frustration flickered across Sally’s face, but it was there and gone so fast I might have imagined it. “Fine.”

Sally busied herself by clearing the plates off the table. Greg took a long drink of coffee. Jordan stared at his plate like it held the answers to the universe, and Eric looked like he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words.

The silence stretched on, thick and suffocating.

My jaw clenched. I wanted to say something—to defend her and demand they at least pretend she mattered to them. But this wasn’t my battle to fight. Not yet. Not unless she asked me to.

So I swallowed the anger building in my chest and stayed quiet. Under the table, I gave in to the urge, found her hand, and squeezed.

She gave a small squeeze back, and some of my anger faded.

“Well,” Jordan said, his voice too bright. “Eric and I were thinking of doing some Christmas shopping this afternoon anyway, after Mass. Maybe we could all meet up later? Get dinner somewhere?”

“That sounds nice,” Sam said, her voice quiet. I hated how her family seemed to zap her confidence to nothing.

Sam stood from the table, her plate already cleared by her mom even though she’d hardly eaten. “Come on, Harry. Let me show you around.”

We walked out of the kitchen followed by silence.

I didn’t know what had happened between them, but I was starting to understand why she’d stayed away for five years. Some silences told you more than words ever could. And this family’s silence was deafening.

TEN

Anger was easier than grief. I’d learned that lesson a long time ago.

My feet ate up the sidewalk like it had personally offended me, my strides long and furious as I put distance between myself and that house. Harry walked beside me, silent and steady as always, matching my pace without complaint. He hadn’t said a word since we’d left, and I was grateful for it. If he’d tried to talk to me right now, I might have exploded. And he didn’t deserve my anger or frustration.

Fine. One word. That’s all my mother had offered when I said I wasn’t going to Mass. Not disappointment, not an argument, not even the pretense of wanting me there. Just fine—like my presence didn’t matter enough to fight for.