Kapitel 11: Tacos, Tears, and Tunes

Charlie knew something was wrong the second Nero stormed into the house that evening. He didn't head to the piano or the fridge for his usual post-practice snack routine. Instead, he made a straight line for the terrace, not even bothering to look in Charlie's direction. For a 12-year-old, Nero wasn't the door-slamming type, so this? This was a red flag.

Sighing, Charlie paused his TV show, tossed his half-eaten taco aside, and headed after him. Normally, Charlie avoided the heavy emotional stuff. But Nero? He was different. The kid had been through a lot with his mom passing away, and that wasn't something you could just brush off.

He found Nero sitting under the terrace, his knees drawn up to his chest, head buried in his arms. Charlie approached slowly, hands shoved in his pockets, trying to balance concern with the right amount of casual humor.

"Alright," Charlie muttered to himself, setting the coffee down. "Let's see how bad I can screw this up."

He sat down across from Nero, clearing his throat like he was about to start a motivational speech. "So, kid, what's up? Girl trouble? Or did Berta eat your pizza again?"

Nero sighed, but Charlie could see his lips twitch just a little at the corner. Progress.

"C'mon," Charlie continued, leaning back in his chair. "You know what they say—when life gives you pizza… well, you eat 'em before Berta does. Life lesson number one, buddy."

Nero finally looked up, though his eyes were red, and Charlie realized this wasn't just mopey teen stuff. This was bad. Real bad.

"I saw Dad," Nero said softly, his voice cracking a little.

Charlie's eyebrow arched. "And…? Was he dressed as Batman? Because, not gonna lie, I'd pay to see that."

Nero shook his head, blinking away the tears that were now threatening to spill over. "He was with a woman. I mean... he was with her like they were—like she was more important than me."

Charlie's grin faltered. Ah, crap. This wasn't going to be solved with jokes. He ran a hand through his hair, stalling for time as he tried to think of the right thing to say. When it didn't come to him immediately, he did what he always did—winged it.

"Okay, first of all," Charlie started, "your dad is… how do I put this? He's a mess. I mean, you know that, right? Guy's got more emotional baggage than a carousel at LAX."

Nero let out a small, bitter laugh through his tears, which Charlie took as a win.

"But," Charlie continued, trying to reel it in, "this thing with him and whatever woman you saw? That's not on you. Trust me. Your dad's playing The Bachelor without actually, you know, being good at it."

Nero wiped his eyes with the sleeve of his hoodie. "I just thought... maybe this time it would be different. That he'd actually care."

Charlie rubbed the back of his neck, uncomfortable with the sudden surge of emotions in the room. Emotional stuff wasn't his thing. But for Nero? He had to try.

"Kid, look," Charlie said, leaning forward, "your dad is—how do I put this nicely?—he's screwing up. Big time. But that's his problem. Not yours. You've got talent, you've got brains, and, hell, you've got me. Which... probably isn't as comforting as I think it is, but hey, I'm working on it."

Nero sniffled but managed a small smile. "You think?"

"Absolutely," Charlie said, deadpan. "I'm terrible at this. But I'm also the guy who never lets you sit alone in your feelings. You're my nephew—or, well, the closest thing I've got to one—and that means I've gotta look out for you. Even if I do it badly."

Nero finally chuckled, wiping away the last of his tears. Charlie relaxed a little. He was more comfortable when people were laughing, even if it was just at him.

"You hungry?" Charlie asked, standing up. "Because I stashed one of Berta's tacos behind the salsa. Just for emergencies."

Nero laughed, shaking his head. "No, I'm good."

Charlie frowned, pretending to be disappointed. "Great. More taco for me. Guess I'll cry into it myself."

They sat there for a few more minutes, the silence no longer heavy but more comfortable, the way it always was when Charlie somehow managed to avoid making things worse.

Finally, Nero stood up and wandered over to the piano, his fingers brushing the keys absentmindedly.

Charlie watched him for a moment, then made up his mind. "Stay here, kid. I'm gonna go talk to your dad."

Nero looked up, startled. "No, Charlie, you don't have to—"

But Charlie was already halfway to the door, muttering under his breath. "Oh, I'm doing this. Be right back."

Charlie didn't bother knocking when he reached Arthur's place. He pushed open the door and stormed inside, fully prepared to unleash a verbal smackdown.

"Arthur!" Charlie's voice echoed through the living room.

Arthur, who was lounging on the couch with a glass of wine like he didn't have a care in the world, looked up in surprise. "Charlie? What the hell are you doing here?"

Charlie strode right up to him, "What am I doing here? I'm here because Nero's at my house, in tears, thanks to you. Again."

Arthur groaned, setting his wine glass down with a sigh. "Charlie, whatever Nero told you—it's not that simple."

"Oh, spare me the it's complicated speech," Charlie snapped. "What's complicated about lying to your kid and disappearing every time things get real? You said you'd do better. Instead, you're playing house with some random woman while Nero's sitting at home wondering why he doesn't matter."

Arthur stood, clearly annoyed. "You don't understand. Losing Melanie was hard for me too."

Charlie's eyes narrowed. "You think I don't get that? She was your wife, but she was Nero's mom. And he's the one paying the price for your disappearing act."

Arthur's expression faltered, guilt flashing briefly across his face before he masked it. "I've been trying, Charlie. I'm doing my best."

"No, you're not," Charlie shot back. "You're running. You've been running since Melanie died, and Nero's been left picking up the pieces."

Arthur clenched his fists at his sides. "You don't understand what it's like."

"You're right," Charlie said, his voice lower but sharper. "Because if I had a kid like Nero, I'd be showing up. Every damn day."

Arthur looked away, the anger fading into something more like regret. He didn't have a response. Charlie shook his head in frustration, knowing he couldn't make Arthur change—but at least now Arthur knew the consequences of his actions.

Back at the house, Nero was sitting at the piano, quietly playing the opening chords of Fix You by Coldplay. His voice cracked on the first note, but he kept going, letting the music flow. It was his way of letting the pain out, of dealing with all the feelings he wasn't sure how to express.

♪ "When you try your best, but you don't succeed, / When you get what you want, but not what you need..." ♪

His voice, raw and unsteady, filled the house. Every word seemed to carry the weight of what he had been holding in since his mom died, the loneliness and confusion of losing her and feeling abandoned by his father.

♪ "When you feel so tired but you can't sleep, / Stuck in reverse..." ♪

The melody swelled as Nero poured himself into the song, each note a release of everything he had been bottling up. The frustration, the longing, the grief—it all came pouring out.

♪ "Lights will guide you home, / And ignite your bones, / And I will try to fix you..." ♪

As the final notes lingered, the house fell into a calm silence. Nero sat at the piano, his hands resting on the keys, the music having drained just a little of the heaviness from his heart. It didn't fix everything, but it helped him breathe a little easier.

The front door opened, and Charlie walked back in and doing his best to act casual after the heated conversation with Arthur. He smiled at Nero.

"You okay, kid?" Charlie asked, sitting on the couch and taking a bite of his taco.

Nero wiped at his face. "Did you talk to him?"

Charlie nodded. "Yeah. Gave him the 'talk or get lost' speech. Whether he actually changes? That's on him, not you."

Nero sat quietly, processing, while Charlie stood up and stretched. "Anyway, enough of the heavy stuff. How about we do taco night? Berta stashed a whole batch in the fridge. We could use the distraction."

Nero smiled, still a bit teary-eyed but looking more like himself. "Yeah, tacos sound good."

Charlie clapped him on the back. "Atta boy. Tacos fix everything."

Charlie and Nero rummaged through the fridge like they were contestants on a low-budget cooking show. Charlie's enthusiasm for the taco stash was matched only by his complete lack of kitchen skills.

"Alright, kid," Charlie said, pulling out a container of ground beef and holding it up like it was a trophy. "We've got the essentials. Ground beef, mystery cheese, and Berta's 'is this guacamole or spackle?' dip."

Nero peered into the fridge and pulled out a bottle of hot sauce with a skull and crossbones on it. "What about this?"

Charlie's eyes lit up. "Ah, 'Widowmaker Hot Sauce.' A classic. Good for tacos and for questioning all your life choices."

Nero raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical. "You're really trying to make me eat this?"

Charlie shrugged, already pouring the hot sauce liberally on his taco. "Life's full of regrets, kid. Might as well start small."

They sat down at the kitchen table, assembling their tacos while Charlie regaled Nero with one of his many overblown tales of bachelor life.

"So there I was," Charlie said, grinning as he piled on the cheese, "stuck in an elevator with a supermodel and a Chihuahua. No way out, no cell service. And to make it worse, the dog had a vendetta against my shoes."

Nero smirked, but it was clear he was feeling more relaxed. The weight of everything with Arthur still hung in the air, but moments like this with Charlie helped take the edge off.

They ate in comfortable silence for a while, with Charlie making exaggerated sounds of pain after his first few bites of the hot sauce-laden taco. "Okay, okay—bad idea," Charlie coughed, reaching for his drink. "Remind me never to trust anything with a skull on the label."

Nero chuckled, opting for a much safer taco configuration. The tension of the last few days was finally starting to lift, and though things with his dad were still unresolved, there was a sense of peace creeping in. Maybe it wasn't perfect, but it was enough for now.

"So," Charlie said, once the pain in his mouth subsided, "I talked to your dad. Gave him the rundown—told him he's screwing up and that it's on him to fix things."

Nero stopped mid-bite, looking up. "And?"

Charlie shrugged, leaning back in his chair. "I told him the truth, kid. That he's got to step up or step out. But whether he changes or not? That's his choice. You've got your life to live."

Nero didn't respond right away, the words sinking in. He had been carrying the weight of his dad's absence for so long that it felt strange to even think about letting go of the hope that things would change. But Charlie was right—it wasn't on him to fix his dad's problems. He had his own life to figure out.

"I guess I just wanted him to care more, you know?" Nero said softly, staring down at his plate. "Like, step up after Mom…"

Charlie's usual smirk faded, and for a moment, he dropped the sarcastic act. He leaned forward, his tone softer. "I get it, kid. I really do. Losing someone like that… it's not easy. And yeah, your dad should've been there for you. But he's not. You can't keep waiting around for him to be the guy you need."

Nero nodded slowly, processing it. "Yeah. I just… I wish it didn't hurt so much."

Charlie's grin returned, but this time it was warmer. "Hey, pain is temporary. Tacos, though? Tacos are forever."

Nero rolled his eyes, but he couldn't help smiling. Charlie had a way of lightening the mood, even when things got heavy. And that was something Nero had come to rely on more than he realized.

After dinner, the two of them moved back to the living room. Nero gravitated to the piano, his fingers brushing over the keys while Charlie sprawled out on the couch with a beer in hand. The house felt quieter now, but not in a bad way. Just… peaceful.

As Nero started to play, a soft melody filled the room. It wasn't one of his usual moody, introspective pieces—it was lighter, more hopeful. Charlie listened quietly, tapping his foot along with the rhythm.

"You know," Charlie said, looking up from his drink, "I'm starting to think I should be your manager. We could make some real money. Get you on one of those talent shows. I'll be the eccentric uncle in the background, taking credit for all your success."

Nero laughed, his fingers still dancing across the keys. "Yeah, right. I think we'd both get kicked out before I even played a note."

Charlie grinned, pretending to think it over. "Fair point. But hey, we'd make a hell of a scene."

As the music played on, Charlie leaned back, content. Life wasn't perfect, but it didn't have to be. They had their weird little family, and that was enough. He glanced over at Nero, who was fully immersed in the music now, and couldn't help feeling a little proud. The kid had been through a lot, but he was still standing. Still playing. Still finding a way forward.

After a while, Charlie broke the comfortable silence. "So, what's next, rock star? Gonna write a breakup song about tacos?"

Nero laughed softly, shaking his head. "I don't think that's a hit."

"Hey, you never know," Charlie said, raising his beer in a mock toast. "If there's one thing I've learned, it's that life's all about finding the right kind of crazy. And kid? You're doing just fine."

Nero looked over at him, smiling. "Thanks, Charlie."

The music continued to fill the room, soft and steady, as the sun dipped lower outside, casting long shadows across the floor. It was moments like these—simple, quiet, and filled with laughter—that made Nero feel like everything might just turn out okay.

With Charlie and Berta by his side, and the music always there when he needed it, Nero knew he'd be alright. He didn't need to wait for his dad to figure things out anymore. He had his own path to follow, and that was more than enough.

"Alright," Charlie said, breaking the peaceful moment with his usual smirk. "Now, let's talk strategy for pranking your dad. I'm thinking something classic—like filling his car with glitter. Thoughts?"

Nero grinned, shaking his head. "You're impossible."

"Yeah," Charlie said, leaning back with a satisfied grin. "But you wouldn't want me any other way."