Max took a small bite of bread.
Then he said:
“I thought the silver was good.”
Darian’s mouth tightened.
“I’d like to see it.”
The boy hesitated.
“Later.”
“That’s fine.”
Helena entered before we had finished.
She looked at the bread, the water, the way Max sat pressed against his father.
Her expression hardened.
“Are we really going to continue this all evening?”
Darian stood.
“We can speak in the hall.”
“No. He should hear that adults sometimes make decisions he doesn’t understand.”
Max immediately lowered his eyes.
I moved my chair closer.
Darian noticed.
“Helena. The hall.”
She looked toward him.
He waited.
Eventually, she stepped back.
Before following her, he turned to Max.
“I’ll be outside this door.”
The boy nodded.
“You’re not leaving?”
“No.”
“Work?”
“No.”
Darian set his phone on the side table.
“I’m here.”
Then he went into the hall.
I remained with Max.
He stared at the closed door for several seconds.
“Did I say too much?”
“No.”
“She said not to upset him before dinner.”
“Your father asked a question. You answered.”
Max rubbed the bread between his fingers.
“I don’t know which things are upsetting.”
I leaned forward.
“You are not responsible for choosing a version that makes every adult comfortable.”
He looked at me.
That sentence was probably larger than he needed.
So I made it simpler.
“You can tell Dad what happened.”
He nodded.
Then, after a pause:
“Even if somebody says not to?”
