SWEET AND SOUR: UNWANTED MATE

Nate darted around the corner, his chest heaving as he pressed his back against the cold brick wall. His auburn red hair stuck to his forehead with sweat, curls bouncing wildly from the sprint. He peeked around the edge of the alley, deep green eyes scanning the street. Nothing. No thugs. No angry voices. No heavy footsteps. For a brief moment, silence settled. Nate released a slow breath. "Idiots," he muttered. One of these days his mouth was going to get him killed. Pushing himself away from the wall, he adjusted the strap of his worn backpack and hurried down the street. The afternoon sun cast a warm glow against his tanned skin, illuminating the faint freckles scattered across his cheeks and nose. A few minutes later, he stopped in front of a modest two-story house. Home. Unfortunately. Fishing his keys from his pocket, Nate unlocked the front door and stepped inside. The familiar scent of cooked food greeted him. "So nice of you to finally grace us with your presence." Nate barely got one foot inside before the sharp voice reached him. Standing in the living room doorway was his aunt, Martha Carter. Arms folded. Expression unimpressed. As usual. Nate shut the door behind him. "Good evening to you too, Aunt Martha." Martha clicked her tongue. "Do you have any idea what time it is?" Nate glanced toward the wall clock. "Judging from that clock? Evening." Her eyes narrowed. "Don't get smart with me." "A little late for that." Martha's lips thinned. From the sofa, his uncle, Richard Carter, lowered the newspaper he was reading. He looked between them and wisely decided not to intervene. Nate envied him. "You're the son of a respected family," Martha continued. "You should learn some discipline. You're supposed to be setting an example for Lily." Nate nearly laughed. Lily. The same Lily who had once gotten suspended for spray-painting a teacher's car. The irony was almost poetic. His cousin's voice immediately rang out from upstairs. "I can hear you talking about me!" "Good," Nate shouted back. "Maybe you'll learn something." A pillow came flying down the staircase moments later. It hit him square in the face. Nate caught it before it could fall. "Violence. Nice." "Shut up!" Lily yelled. Martha pinched the bridge of her nose. "You see? This is exactly what I'm talking about." "What?" "The attitude." "My attitude?" "Yes, your attitude." Nate dropped his backpack near the door. "Sorry. Next time I'll spend the entire day sitting at home doing nothing." Martha frowned. "That's not what I said." "No, but it seems to be what you want." Her eyes flashed. "We took you in when nobody else would." There it was. The sentence. The one she never failed to bring up. Nate's smile remained in place, but it felt tighter now. "Right." "You should be grateful." "I am." "You certainly don't act like it." Nate looked at her for a moment before shrugging. "Sorry for trying not to mooch off your backs, I guess." The room fell quiet. Even Richard lowered his newspaper again. Martha's face hardened. "Watch your tone." "I'm working." "And?" "And that means I'm contributing." "You live under our roof." "And I pay for most of my own things." "Nate." The warning in her voice sharpened. He sighed. The exhaustion from running all day suddenly settled heavily on his shoulders. "I didn't come home looking for a fight, Aunt Martha." "Then stop acting like everything is a joke." For a brief second, something flickered across Nate's face. Something tired. Something older than his years. Then it vanished behind another crooked smile. "That's unfortunate." Martha frowned. "What is?" "If I stop joking about my life, I might have to start crying about it." Dinner that evening was exactly what Nate expected. Which was to say, exhausting. "...and Mrs. Henderson said Lily's presentation was one of the best in the entire class." Martha beamed from across the table. Lily, meanwhile, looked thoroughly pleased with herself. "She even asked if you'd considered applying for the leadership program," Martha continued proudly. "I told you she would," Lily said, twirling her fork between her fingers. "Mrs. Henderson loves me." "Because you're hardworking." "And charming." "Mostly hardworking." "Definitely charming." The mother and daughter shared a grin. Nate stabbed a potato. Poor potato. It had done nothing to deserve this. "And her grades have improved so much this semester," Martha continued. "Mom." "No, let me brag about my daughter." Lily rolled her eyes but couldn't hide her smile. Nate quietly focused on his food. "...and she's already receiving recommendations..." "...future opportunities..." "...great potential..." The voices around him slowly blurred into background noise. His gaze drifted toward the dining room window. Outside, the evening sky had begun fading into shades of purple and gold. For a moment, he imagined what it would be like to have someone speak about him like that. To have someone look at him with pride instead of obligation. The thought disappeared as quickly as it came. Best not to dwell on impossible things. "Nate." He blinked. "Hm?" Richard looked at him from across the table. "I asked how your day was." Everyone's attention shifted toward him. Wonderful. Nate swallowed his mouthful. "It was a day." Lily snorted. Richard sighed. "You know that's not an answer." "It happened between yesterday and tomorrow." "Nate." "Still not seeing the issue." A smile briefly threatened Richard's expression before disappearing. "Work go alright?" There it was. A genuine question. Rare enough to catch Nate off guard. "Yeah," he answered after a moment. "Busy?" "Always." Richard nodded. "That's good." Nate wasn't entirely sure why, but the simple exchange eased something in his chest. Not much. Just enough. Martha immediately resumed her discussion about Lily's future plans. The moment passed. By the time dinner ended, Nate had contributed a grand total of seven sentences to the conversation. A personal record. Grabbing his plate, he helped clear the table before retreating upstairs. "Goodnight," Richard called. "Night." "Don't stay up too late," Martha added. Nate nearly laughed. As if anyone in the house cared when he slept. Still, he offered a casual salute before disappearing down the hallway. The second he stepped into his room and closed the door behind him, the tension left his shoulders. His room wasn't large. Just enough space for a bed, desk, wardrobe, and a few shelves. But it was his. Or at least, as close to his as anything in this house could be. The silence felt comforting. Familiar. Safe. Dropping onto the edge of his bed, Nate reached beneath his shirt. His fingers found the small silver pendant hanging around his neck. The metal was worn smooth from years of use. He wrapped his hand around it carefully. Almost reverently. The pendant was one of the few things he had left from his parents. One of the few things nobody could take away. His gaze drifted toward the photograph resting on the bedside table. A small smile touched his lips. The frame was old. The edges slightly chipped. But the picture inside remained clear. A younger Nate stood between his parents, missing one front tooth and grinning so widely it looked painful. His mother knelt beside him, laughing at something outside the frame. Her red hair looked almost identical to his. His father stood behind them, one hand resting on Nate's shoulder. Strong. Steady. Home. For a long moment, Nate simply stared. Sometimes he wondered if he was beginning to forget the sound of their voices. That thought scared him more than he liked to admit. He tightened his grip around the pendant. "I still remember," he whispered quietly. The room offered no response. Only silence. Yet somehow, it felt less lonely than the dinner table downstairs. Nate leaned back against the headboard and continued staring at the photograph. One day. He didn't know how. He didn't know when. But one day he would get his family's house back. The house his parents had loved. The house that should have been his. The house that carried the last pieces of them. It was the promise he made every night. The promise that kept him moving forward. Even on days when everything else felt uncertain. "Just wait for me," he murmured. The smile in the photograph never changed. But for a moment, Nate imagined his parents were listening.