Chapter 6: Breaking the Ice at Home

Winter break started. Carter’s mom got out of the hospital, so he went home to care for her. I thought it’d just be me and Nick for Christmas, but his dad came home.

They looked a lot alike—handsome, dignified even in middle age. But the moment Nick saw his dad, his face fell.

His dad adjusted his glasses, expressionless. “You’re back?”

Nick stiffly replied and headed upstairs. His dad didn’t stop him, used to it.

Despite his blank face, Nick’s emotions were a storm. In the book, he’d confided in Autumn: his mom died early, and his dad moved abroad, leaving him with his grandma. After she died, he lived alone. His dad visited occasionally, but their relationship was worse than strangers. He hated his dad, but craved fatherly love—wanted to get close, but was scared.

I could tell he was in a bad place. “Nick, are you...okay?”

He lowered his eyes, pretending to do workbook problems. “What could be wrong?” He’d already missed two questions in a row!

“Maybe you should talk to your dad.”

He jumped up, chair screeching. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

His mind was a mess, negativity swirling. He lay on the bed, covering his eyes, nearly drowning in self-loathing.

I felt I had to do something. When I got control, I went straight to his dad. Nick’s voice shook: “What are you doing?”

I ignored him and knocked on his dad’s study. He looked up, voice cold. “What is it?”

I met his gaze, unafraid. “I want your homemade mac and cheese.”

I’d pulled this from Nick’s messy thoughts. His dad was stunned, then put down his book. “Alright, I’ll make some.” He went to the kitchen.

Nick was mortified, refusing to talk to me. When the steaming bowl arrived, I wafted the aroma toward my nose. “Nick, smell that? Isn’t it just like you remember?”

He ignored me, playing ostrich. I dug in anyway. His dad’s expression softened, fatherly feelings just starting to bud.

When I finished, he looked like he wanted to say something, but I cut him off. “Dad, I’m going to study. Can you wash the bowl?”

His dad: “......”

Nick, quietly: “Um, I don’t think my dad’s ever washed dishes...”

Me: “Feels good to make him do it, right?”

Nick: “...Yeah.”

I caught a flicker of happiness from his tangled mind.

After dinner, I barged into his dad’s study again. “Dad, buy me some clothes!”

His dad: ?

Half an hour later, he sat on a mall sofa, dazed, while I swept through the brand stores, having everything I liked bagged up. The salesgirl was all smiles.

His dad lugged bags behind me into a toy store. I grabbed a Spider-Man toy, ready to pay.

He grabbed my wrist, flinching instinctively. His face darkened as he spoke carefully. “You’re grown up now.”

I said calmly, “I just like this.”

“Pick something else.” His tone brooked no argument.

I huffed, “Don’t regret this!”

His dad: “......”

Nick caught on quickly. He tried to stop me: “Don’t...”

But I was already on the floor, throwing a tantrum, even doing two glute bridges. “I want this! Buy it or I’ll embarrass you in public!”

People started to gather. His dad’s face went from red to black. Through gritted teeth: “Fine, buy it!”

I jumped up, dusted myself off. “See? No need for all that drama.”

His dad: ?

It was what Nick wanted—he envied kids who could act spoiled with their dads. I sensed his emotional knot loosening a little.

The next day, his dad’s study was locked. I banged on the door. “Don’t hide in there—I know you’re home!”

After ten minutes, the door finally opened. He looked exhausted, expressionless. “What?”

I pursed my lips. “I want to go to the amusement park.”

The door slammed shut. Nick was calm: “Stop. He won’t agree. I’m too old for that.” But I could feel his disappointment.

I ignored him and shouted, “Kids with good grades get rewards. Why can’t you take me to the amusement park?”

The door opened again. He crossed his arms, half-smiling. “Oh? Last I checked, your grades were at the bottom.”

A surge of anger made me tremble. Right then, Nick took over. His eyes filled with tears as he shouted at his dad, “You don’t care about anything I do. You’re not even fit to be a father!”

He ran out the door. The wind outside was freezing, and he wasn’t dressed for it.

I suggested, “How about a down jacket before running away?”

He sped up, teeth chattering but silent. Tough as nails, but would I freeze to death in two hours?