章節 4: Chaos in the Kitchen

Nero woke to the sound of pots clanging in the kitchen, followed by a loud thud and what sounded like a very colorful curse. Groaning, he rubbed his eyes and rolled over, glancing at the clock. It was way too early for this much noise—especially in Charlie's house, where mornings were usually lazy affairs starting closer to noon. Charlie wasn't exactly the "rise and shine" type.

Yawning, Nero dragged himself out of bed and shuffled down the hall toward the commotion. As he rounded the corner, he froze. Standing at the stove, scrubbing a pan like it was personally responsible for ruining her morning, was a middle-aged woman he'd never seen before. She moved around the kitchen with the ease of someone who'd been here a thousand times, humming to herself as if she owned the place.

"Uh… morning?" Nero ventured, hesitating by the doorway.

The woman didn't even turn around. "Morning, kid. You must be the one Charlie picked up."

Nero blinked, caught off-guard. "Uh… I guess? I'm Nero."

She finally turned, giving him a once-over like she was sizing him up. "Nero, huh? Don't look like much trouble, but then again, neither did Charlie when I first started. I'm Berta, by the way."

Nero shifted awkwardly. "You… know Charlie?"

Berta laughed, a deep, throaty sound. "Know him? Kid, I've been cleaning up after that mess for years. You have no idea."

Nero couldn't help but smile a little. Berta was loud, blunt, and had an edge to her, but there was something strangely comforting about it.

She grabbed a cup of coffee from the counter, still watching him. "So what's your deal? Why are you staying here?"

Nero shrugged, unsure how to explain his situation without it sounding more pathetic than it already did. "My dad's… busy. Charlie's just helping out, I guess."

Berta snorted, setting her cup down with a thud. "Busy, huh? Sounds like a deadbeat. Your dad's a lawyer or a politician?"

"Uh, lawyer," Nero replied, a little unsure whether to defend his dad or agree.

"Figures," Berta muttered. "They're all the same. Too busy counting their own money to notice they've got kids."

Before Nero could figure out a response to that, Charlie strolled in, hair a mess and wearing only a faded T-shirt and boxers, looking like he was still half-asleep. He stopped short, eyeing Berta like she'd materialized out of thin air.

"Oh, great," he drawled, "breakfast's on fire."

"Breakfast isn't on fire, but you might be if you keep showing up dressed like that," Berta retorted, waving a spatula in his direction. "You've got a kid here now. Try not to traumatize him before he hits puberty."

Charlie grinned lazily, leaning against the doorframe. "Hey, I'm providing a life lesson. Comfort over fashion, right, kid?"

Nero chuckled awkwardly, glancing at Berta, who was rolling her eyes so hard it looked painful.

Charlie sauntered over to the counter, grabbed a cup of coffee, and took a long sip. "Mmm. Perfect. Now I don't have to do anything."

"Right, because you doing anything would be a sign of the apocalypse," Berta shot back, slapping a plate of scrambled eggs and toast in front of him. "Eat up, before you fry what's left of your brain cells."

Charlie gave her a mock salute, shoving a forkful of eggs into his mouth. "See, this is why I keep her around. She's got a heart of gold, deep, deep, deep down."

"Keep talking, Charlie, and I'll show you where I'd like to stick this spatula," Berta deadpanned.

Nero watched the exchange, stifling a laugh. It was weird, but somehow the chaos and banter made him feel more at ease. There was no tiptoeing around here. Everything was out in the open, blunt and unfiltered.

"Don't mind her, kid," Charlie said through a mouthful of food, turning to Nero. "Berta likes to act tough, but she's really a big softie."

"Softie, huh?" Berta crossed her arms. "Keep it up, and I'll show you just how soft this frying pan can be."

"See? That's the Berta charm," Charlie said with a grin, making Nero chuckle.

They finished breakfast in a chaotic mix of snarky comments and insults, most of which were aimed at Charlie. Nero could barely get a word in, but he didn't mind. It was like being caught in a whirlwind of sarcasm and humor, and it felt… comfortable.

As Berta packed up her things and headed for the door, she paused, turning to Nero. "You hang in there, kid. I'm around every week, so if this one"—she jabbed a thumb at Charlie—"drives you nuts, let me know. I've got a few tricks to keep him in line."

Nero smiled. "Thanks, Berta."

With a final wave, Berta left, and the house settled into a quieter hum.

Charlie stretched, glancing around. "Well, that was fun. Wanna do something today? Or we could sit around and let Berta clean up the mess. Oh, wait, she already did."

Nero shook his head, smiling. "I'm good."

Charlie leaned back against the counter, eyeing him thoughtfully. "You know, kid, you're awfully quiet. We need to change that. What do you say—beach day? Or, I don't know, let's go terrorize the neighbors. Always a good fallback."

"Beach sounds good," Nero said, surprising himself. Charlie's weird energy was starting to grow on him. Plus, a day at the beach beat sitting around feeling sorry for himself.

"Excellent choice," Charlie declared. "Now go get your swimsuit. You can't sulk when you're swimming."

Charlie and Nero spent the day at the beach, goofing around and playing catch in the surf. Charlie managed to charm—or annoy—every woman in a two-mile radius, which Nero found both impressive and cringeworthy.

"See, kid? The beach is like life," Charlie said at one point, standing ankle-deep in the waves. "You show up, look good, and hope you don't get stung by a jellyfish."

Nero stared at him, trying not to laugh. "Is that supposed to be advice?"

"Yep." Charlie grinned, glancing around at the beachgoers. "It's good advice. Also, sunscreen. No one likes a lobster."

As the day wore on, the awkward tension Nero usually felt with his dad seemed to slip away. Charlie's brand of humor made everything lighter, easier. He didn't expect anything from Nero—no perfect responses, no fake smiles. It was just… being.

They wrapped up the day with burgers from a beachfront stand and headed back to the house, sunburned and tired.

Charlie flopped onto the couch, sighing dramatically. "Alright, kid. Good job. You didn't drown or get eaten by sharks. I call that a win."

"Yeah, it was fun," Nero admitted.

Charlie raised an eyebrow. "Only 'fun'? We'll have to work on that."

Nero smirked, but didn't respond. The house felt warm and alive, even if it was still a mess. Maybe being here with Charlie wasn't as crazy as he'd first thought.

"Alright, I'm going to take a nap. Don't burn the place down, okay?" Charlie yawned, already half-asleep.

"Sure thing," Nero said softly, watching as Charlie drifted off.

As the house quieted down, Nero felt a strange sense of peace. Maybe Charlie wasn't the perfect parent—or even close—but at least he was here. And maybe, for now, that was enough.