Emma
The kitchen smelled faintly of burnt toast and last night's dishes as I stirred the thin porridge in Zoey's bowl. Mum was bustling around, putting things in the cupboards, clearing the table, muttering under her breath about "people who don't appreciate anything."
Dad sat at the table, hands folded over a stack of papers, his jaw tight.
And then the news came, like a bucket of cold water in the face.
"We'll all be busy for the bonfire this weekend," Mum said, clipping her words sharp. "Your dad and I will be working, serving the food and drinks. But Emma…" Her gaze zeroed in on me. "You'll be keeping the children in line. Don't let them spill food on the lawn or drop things in the fire. No running off, no arguing. Understand?"
I nodded, biting back the sigh that rose automatically. My parents' idea of "helping" always seemed to mean more work for me.
Dad cleared his throat. "It's important everything runs smoothly. Emma, you'll be in charge of the little ones — Zoey, the twins, Teddy — making sure they don't cause any incidents that could ruin the evening. You know how it is."
I could feel the weight settle on my shoulders before the words even finished. "Ok, Dad."
Zoey squirmed in my lap, picking at her cereal. I stroked her hair, wishing she didn't have to be part of this performance, that she could just be a normal two-year-old without me hovering over her. Teddy, the twins — they'd all be running around, full of mischief, and it would be me who bore the blame if anything went wrong.
Mum straightened, hands on her hips, and gave me a look sharp enough to slice.
"I expect you to be attentive at all times. People will be watching. I won't have them seeing a child screaming or spilling food or drink. If there's trouble, it falls to you to fix it immediately."
"Yes, Mum," I said again, softer this time.
They left me with the instructions, disappearing into the hallway to argue quietly over getting the trays and glasses ready for the "party." I sat back, Zoey against me, and let out a slow breath.
The bonfire. A crowd. Faces I didn't know, people I had to impress, all while keeping my siblings from turning the evening into chaos.
And somewhere in the back of my mind, a small, fluttering thought tried to rise.
Tommy will be there.
But I pushed it down. I had a job to do first. I had to survive the night without losing everyone or myself.
Tommy
Mother made the announcement like it was nothing. Just another item on her long list of summer obligations.
"We'll host the bonfire by the lake this weekend," she said over breakfast, her voice carrying that polished edge that made everything sound like a command. "Invitations have already gone out. Families from the neighbourhood, friends of the firm. It will be a proper gathering."
Jack fist-pumped, nearly knocking over his orange juice. "Yes! Bonfire!"
Alex, quieter but always eager to follow, grinned too. "Can we roast marshmallows?"
Mother gave them both a flat look. "This is not a children's camping trip. There will be food, music, and speeches. Behave yourselves accordingly."
I sat back, my fork idle on the plate, a hollow weight settling in my chest. The bonfire. A celebration of summer, yes. A performance, more like. Everyone who mattered in my parents' world would be there — lawyers, clients, neighbours, the same faces I'd been trained to nod politely at since I could walk.
And Emma.
Because of course her family would be there. Her father being the groundsman meant her presence was inevitable. And I couldn't picture it — her, with Zoey on her hip, forced to stand among polished smiles and careful laughter. Emma didn't belong in that world, and neither did I, though I'd been pretending for years.
My chest tightened at the thought. What if someone noticed us? What if Jack or Alex teased me in front of her? What if Mother saw the way I looked at Emma and understood too much?
I swallowed hard, keeping my head down as Father cleared his throat and launched into a speech about responsibility and appearances. Words I'd heard my whole life, words that pressed like weights across my shoulders.
All I could think about was how the bonfire would bring two worlds crashing together: mine, built of expectations and reputation, and hers, full of secrets and strain.
And somewhere in the middle, we'd be standing — Emma and me.
Together, maybe. Or exposed.