The dining table was already set when they came down. Grace had outdone herself: roast chicken glazed golden brown, mashed potatoes with butter melting in the center, green beans still steaming, fresh bread rolls, and a pitcher of cold lemonade sweating in the afternoon heat.
Jasper stopped at the bottom of the stairs. The sight hit him harder than he expected.
It had been years since he had seen a table like this. Not since before the accident. His parents used to do Sunday dinners. His mom laughed while his dad carved the meat. Plates passed around. Voices overlapped. Then it was gone. Replaced by silent meals with his grandparents: plain rice, boiled vegetables, whatever was cheap. Grandma Ruth too tired to cook much. Grandpa Walter coughing through every bite.
"Jasper, sit here." Grace pointed to the chair beside Kelvin, across from Lily.
He slid into the seat, hands in his lap. The smell alone made his stomach clench. He could not remember the last time he had eaten like this.
David sat at the head of the table. Grace sat at the other end. Kelvin was already reaching for the chicken before his dad shot him a look.
"Grace?" David nodded at her.
She smiled, clasped her hands. "Let us say grace."
Everyone bowed their heads. Jasper followed a beat late.
"Lord, thank You for this food, for this family, and for bringing Jasper safely to our home. Bless him, guide him, and let him know he is welcome here. Amen."
"Amen," the table echoed.
Jasper's throat tightened. He swallowed hard and kept his eyes down.
Grace began serving. She loaded Jasper's plate first: thick slices of chicken, a heaping scoop of potatoes, beans piled high, two rolls.
"Mrs. Grace, that is," he started.
"You are a growing boy," she said simply, not looking up. "Eat."
Kelvin grinned. "See? Mum always does that. If you are new, you get the most food. It is like a rule."
Lily laughed softly. "Remember when you brought Marcus over? Mum gave him three plates."
"Because he was skinny!" Grace protested, smiling. "And he ate all of it."
David chuckled. "That boy could eat."
The conversation rolled easy and warm. Kelvin launched into a story about their FIFA match, exaggerating how close the games were. Lily teased him about losing. Everyone's voices overlapped. Laughter bounced off the walls.
Jasper picked up his fork and took a bite. The chicken was tender, seasoned perfectly. He chewed slowly, letting the taste fill the hollow in his chest.
But then the contrast crept in.
Grandpa Walter's hands trembled as he lifted the spoon. Grandma Ruth too weak to finish her porridge. Jasper sitting alone at the scarred kitchen table, staring at plain rice going cold while he listened to their labored breathing from the next room.
He blinked hard, pushing the memory away.
Grace was laughing at something Kelvin said. David was shaking his head, mock-serious. Lily was smiling, stealing a roll from her brother's plate.
This was what a family looked like.
And Jasper did not have one anymore.
The realization settled over him like a weight pressing down on his ribs. He was here, but he was not theirs. He was borrowing this. Renting space in their warmth. One day, maybe soon, he would have to leave. Find his own place. Be alone again.
The food suddenly tasted like ash in his mouth.
He set his fork down quietly, staring at his plate. Around him, the conversation continued. No one noticed at first.
Grace stood to refill the lemonade. As she leaned over to pour into Jasper's glass, her arm brushed his shoulder. The touch was brief, maternal. It made his chest ache worse.
She paused mid-pour, looking down at his plate. "Jasper, honey, you have barely touched your food. Are you feeling alright?"
The table went quiet. All eyes turned to him.
Jasper forced himself to pick up the fork again. "I am fine, Mrs. Grace. Just not used to eating this much."
It was not a lie. But it was not the whole truth either.
Grace's expression softened with understanding, and something that looked like sadness. She had seen this before. Kids who did not know how to accept kindness because they had gone too long without it.
She reached out and squeezed his shoulder gently. "You are home now. Eat as much as you want. There is always more."
Home.
The word landed like a stone in his gut. This was not his home. It was theirs. He was just passing through.
David cleared his throat, drawing attention away from Jasper with the ease of someone used to managing awkward moments. "So, Jasper. Have you given any thought to what comes next? Work? School?"
The question was kind but direct. Jasper appreciated that. No dancing around it.
He swallowed and straightened in his chair. "I will continue with school, sir. I cannot afford to fall behind. I will look for work that fits around my schedule. Night shifts, maybe. Weekends. Whatever I can manage."
David nodded slowly, studying him. "That is a heavy load, son. School during the day, work at night?"
"I can handle it," Jasper said quietly but firmly.
Grace's face tightened with concern. She set the pitcher down and sat back in her chair, hands folded on the table. "Jasper, that is too much for someone your age. You need sleep. You need time to study. You cannot."
"I have to, Mrs. Grace." His voice was steady but the edge underneath was sharp. "I do not have another option."
Silence settled over the table. Lily's eyes were locked on him, something unreadable in her expression. Kelvin looked uncomfortable, glancing between his parents and his friend.
David leaned forward, elbows on the table. He did not look disappointed. He looked impressed. "You have got drive, Jasper. I will give you that. Not many kids your age would be willing to push that hard."
Grace opened her mouth to protest, but David raised a hand gently, stopping her.
"But," David continued, "you do not have to do this alone. I know a place, a restaurant downtown. They are always looking for waiters. Good tips, flexible hours, and the owner is a decent man. I can put in a word for you, see if they will take you on."
Jasper blinked, caught off guard. "Sir, I."
"Let me finish." David's tone was kind but firm. "You have already missed a lot of school dealing with your grandparents' illness and now the funeral. You cannot afford to miss more. So here is what we will do: you focus on catching up with your studies. I will handle the job hunt. Once I find something that will not destroy your grades or your health, we will talk."
Jasper's chest tightened. The offer was more than generous. It was lifesaving. But accepting felt like admitting he could not do it himself.
"Mr. David, I appreciate it, but I do not want to be a burden."
"You are not a burden, son." David's voice cut through, not harsh but absolute. "You are a kid who has been through hell and kept moving forward. Let people help you. That is not weakness. That is wisdom."
Grace reached across the table and placed her hand over Jasper's. Her touch was warm, grounding. "We want to help, sweetheart. Please let us."
Jasper looked down at their joined hands. His throat felt tight. Words stuck somewhere deep. Finally, he nodded. "Thank you. Both of you. I do not know what to say."
"Do not say anything," Grace said softly, squeezing his hand once before pulling back. "Just eat. You are still too skinny."
Kelvin broke the tension with a grin. "See? Told you they would help. My parents are like that. They cannot help themselves."
The table eased back into warmth. Conversation flowed again, lighter now, less heavy. Jasper picked up his fork and started eating properly this time. His appetite returned, slow but steady. The food did not taste like ash anymore.
Grace noticed. She smiled to herself and said nothing.
When the plates were finally empty and the lemonade pitcher drained, Grace stood and began clearing the table. Lily helped without being asked, stacking dishes with practiced efficiency. Kelvin groaned about how full he was but still eyed the kitchen for dessert.
David pushed back his chair and stood. "Jasper, come with me. Let me show you your room."
Jasper stood quickly. "Yes, sir."
Kelvin perked up. "We are coming too."
Lily set down the dishes she was holding. "Yeah, I want to see it."
David chuckled. "Alright, everyone. Let us go."
They walked through the house, past the dining area and toward the back, near the laundry room. David stopped in front of a door Jasper had not noticed before. It looked new: fresh paint, clean hinges.
David opened it.
The room was small but complete. A single bed with a clean mattress and folded sheets sat against one wall. A desk with a lamp occupied the corner by the window. A standing fan stood near the foot of the bed. The walls had been freshly painted a soft cream color, and the floor was swept clean.
It was simple. Modest.
But it was a room. A real room.
Jasper stepped inside slowly, taking it in. His chest felt tight again, but this time it was not from pain.
"I broke this side of the wall and turned it into a window," David said.
Kelvin walked in and sat on the bed, testing it. "Bro, this is way better than I expected. You have got a window and everything."
Lily leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, smiling faintly. "It is cozy. Better than the storage I thought you would be stuck with."
Jasper turned to face David. His voice came out rough, barely above a whisper. "Mr. David, I do not know how to thank you."
David stepped forward and placed a firm hand on Jasper's shoulder. "You do not have to thank me, son. This is your space now. Make yourself comfortable. Get some rest. Tomorrow is a school day, and you have got catching up to do."
Jasper nodded, throat too tight to speak.
David gave his shoulder one last squeeze and stepped back. "Alright, everyone. Let us give him some space. Goodnight, Jasper."
"Goodnight, sir."
Kelvin hopped off the bed. "Night, bro. We will walk to school together tomorrow."
Lily pushed off the doorframe and gave Jasper a small smile. "Sleep well."
"Goodnight," he managed.
They filed out one by one. Footsteps echoed down the hall. The door clicked shut softly.
Jasper stood alone in the center of the room. He turned slowly, taking it all in again: the bed, the desk, the fan, the window with thin curtains letting in faint moonlight.
He sat down on the edge of the bed. The mattress was firm and supportive. He ran his hand over the folded sheets: clean, smooth, smelling faintly of detergent.
For the first time in weeks, the tightness in his chest eased.
He lay back, staring up at the ceiling.
Tomorrow he will go back to school. Tomorrow he will start figuring out the next step. Tomorrow he will keep moving forward.
But tonight, for the first time since the funeral, Jasper Brooks had a place to sleep that felt almost like home.
He closed his eyes.
And for the first time in a long time, he believed things might actually be okay.