Chapter 21: Castles and Crackers

Amelia didn’t realize how much time had passed until Zach popped his head through the doorway again. “Delivery mission: complete,” he announced with a grin. “You up for dinner, or are you still bonding with the unconscious?” Amelia closed her book, smiling softly. “I was just telling him about the kids and the glue stick fiasco.” “Classic. Gray always was a sucker for adhesives,” he deadpanned. Behind him, Isabel followed with a brown paper bag and a cardboard tray of drinks. “We come bearing gifts—hot food, real utensils, and zero granola.” Amelia hesitated. “Are you sure it’s okay? I don’t want to—” Zach dropped onto the couch with the air of someone who had never taken no for an answer. “You are okay. You are joining us. And there’s no take-backs. Come on, it’s almost seven — prime feeding hour.” They arranged everything in the small family lounge just down the hall from Gray’s room. Warm lighting and a round table by the window made it feel less like a hospital wing and more like a hidden pocket of normal. Isabel had even added a little vase of wildflowers she claimed she “borrowed” from the nurse’s station. Charles and Vivienne were already seated when Amelia walked in, their eyes lighting up with quiet welcome. Dr. Levin had taken the last seat, already halfway through what looked like roasted vegetables and lemon chicken. “There she is,” Charles said, standing to pull out a chair for her. “You made it in time for the good bread.” Amelia smiled nervously as she sat. “I feel a little underdressed for a dinner like this.” “Nonsense,” Vivienne said, passing her a dish. “You’re perfect as you are. Besides, Zach’s wearing sneakers. That lowers the standard automatically.” Zach raised his fork in mock offense. “Hey, these are limited edition.” “That’s what they always say,” Isabel muttered. Laughter rippled through the room, easy and bright. Amelia tucked her hair behind her ear and accepted a plate of roasted potatoes. The warmth of the room began to settle into her bones. Conversation flowed like an old song. Isabel animatedly recounted part of their day at the art center, complete with dramatic reenactments of two six-year-olds locked in a foam sword battle. Zach chimed in with action commentary, miming slow-motion falls that had Dr. Levin nearly spitting out his water. Vivienne laughed so hard she had to dab her eyes with a cloth napkin. Amelia watched them with quiet wonder. There was such ease between them—affection layered under teasing, care beneath humor. It was the kind of closeness she’d only glimpsed in movies. And yet here she was, in the middle of it. At some point, Charles leaned toward her. “I hear you’re quite the artist.” She blinked. “Oh—I’m not really. Just sketching… nothing serious.” “Zach says otherwise.” Amelia’s gaze flicked to him. Zach just shrugged, chewing. “She drew Gray’s hand. It was weirdly accurate. Like, emotionally accurate. Who does that?” Another burst of laughter circled the table. “I’m… drawing something each day,” Amelia said quietly. “In the sketchpad Isabel gave me. I figured… when he wakes up, I’ll give it to him. So he knows someone was here.” Vivienne’s smile softened. “That’s beautiful, Lia.” The table fell quiet—not with awkwardness, but reverence. Then Isabel broke the moment with a dramatic sigh. “Okay, but if Gray wakes up and gets a book of daily love letters in sketch form, the bar for future romance in this family is going to be terrifyingly high.” “Good,” Vivienne said, reaching for a roll. “Standards are important.” “Your future boyfriend better start practicing his stick figures,” Zach muttered. Isabel rolled her eyes and elbowed him. “I don’t have a boyfriend. Not yet.” She turned her attention to Amelia, leaning in. “How about you, Lia? Any boyfriend? Suitors? Exes secretly pining in the shadows?” Amelia flushed, caught off guard. “Um… no. I’ve never really had—” She hesitated. “I mean, there’ve been people interested, i mean.. they said they are, but who knows, and I didn’t really pay attention. I grew up fast, after I lost my parents. Survival came first. Rent, jobs, school, keeping my world stable. Love was… sort of a luxury.” Zach nodded, uncharacteristically quiet for a moment. “That’s fair.” Isabel gave her a gentler smile. “Still, anyone with eyes and half a brain would fall for you in a heartbeat. I’m just saying.” “Speak for yourself,” Zach teased. “I have a full brain and I’m immune.” “Because you see her as family, dummy,” Isabel shot back. Dr. Levin coughed into his drink. “I’m just here for the food.” Everyone laughed again, including Amelia, who found herself surprised by how easily it bubbled out of her. By the time dessert appeared—flaky pastries from some impossibly good bakery that apparently delivered to the hospital—Amelia had stopped checking the time. She had even stopped wondering how she’d ended up here, at this table, with these people. It just felt right. She found herself smiling at something Charles said about one of Gray’s childhood inventions—a homemade robot powered by a potato battery and mounted on rollerblade wheels—and warmth spread through her chest like a second heartbeat. She didn’t notice the glances exchanged across the table. Vivienne and Charles. Isabel and Zach. Small, hopeful glances. Because Amelia wasn’t just sitting with them. She was fitting in. And none of them wanted this to end.