Daddy fucked up our reservation. Maybe he forgot or the restaurant made a mistake as he said. I am not sure which but the longer we wait in the car, the angrier Mum grows. She’s angrily typing on her phone, probably to one of those her rich friends who come to the house to drink our wine while they gossip.
Hayden is busy with his tab. I peek over his shoulder to see the game he’s playing and a soft sigh leaves my lips. So many guns and shooting. My phone has been silent since we left the house. Ben must have gone for the dinner. He hasn’t texted me. I don’t want to ruin his not-so-family time but I miss him.
We look up at the sound of approaching footsteps. Daddy. His boots create prints on the thin layer of snow covering the path. He jams his hands into the pockets of his jacket and expels a breath of white air.