#bye orchestra

“It wasn’t enough, wasn’t it?” Stephen spoke first, not wanting to be dominated by his father.

“Stephen,”

The boy clenched his jaw. “I’m going downstairs in a while, Mom.” He hoped she went away.

She didn’t. Eloise Price sat beside her son and took the bloody cloth and pack of ice from his hand, wiping the wound herself. Stephen kept his eyes on the burning logs as his mother lifted his chin. He picked his phone to have something to hold on to.

“You know disobeying your father will do you no good.”

“He hit me, Mom. You saw him hit me.”He didn’t expect any consoling words. He knew she would take Roger’s side. She always does. Apparently, everything Roger does is right.

“I know, honey, and I’m sorry.” She said. Stephen’s gaze flicked to her at the last word. The last time they’ve been in each other’s company was before the academic year started but she still looked the same. Her complexion was still pale and chalky, her brown wavy locks still tumbled on her petite shoulders and her movements were still fluid with grace. Stephen had long convinced himself that his aesthetic qualities all came from his statuesque mother.

“How long will it be until this is all over?” He asked, slightly wincing at the pressure on his nose.

 “It won’t be until he gets what he wants.” she frowned. “I support you, Stephen. You know I do. I just want both of you to be happy.”

“Is this why you’re doing this—to convince me to just give in? Mom I love being in orchestra. I love playing my violin. I love making music.”

She was kneeling beside him, her hands cupping his face. “I know you do, honey. But your father won’t stop this if you don’t give him what he wants.”

“Sometimes I don’t get you.” He muttered.

“He just wants you to quit orchestra. He never said anything about quitting violin as well.” She smiled and Stephen almost choked the tears out. He took a deep breath and swallowed the sadness away. It was always refreshing to see his mom’s lovely smile. It made him think about how many times he complained to her about Roger’s unrealistic expectations when he was little and all she gave him was a smile. It was that same warm smile every single time.

As much as he didn’t want to admit it to himself, it was the thing he missed the most about home.

“You can still play, honey. There are a lot of ways around your father’s demands. Just make sure he sees his plans are being carried out. You can end up being the head of the firm and be whatever else you want at the same time.  All you have to do is be creative.”

Of course. He’d been unreasonably stupid all this time. Stephen found his arms wrapped around his mother’s bony figure. “I love you, Mom.”

“I love you too, Stephen.” A hand messed his hair. “Half of the Price family tree is right downstairs and there’s just an hour left for Christmas. I’ll throw in a box of pizza if you can guess what I got you.”

His face brightened up. “You got me something?”

She rolled her eyes. “I always get you something. Two gifts on me again this year because your father insisted that he’s already given you everything you can wish for.” He should’ve felt bad but he chuckled at the inside joke instead. He stood up and stretched, tucking his phone back in his pockets. No SOS to Jude and Wes would be sent tonight.

  Stephen followed Eloise down the grand staircase of the Price mansion. A huge MERRY CHRISTMAS was tacked on the porcelain white walls and the annual fifteen-foot white Christmas tree basked the Price household with the holiday festivity. There were at least a dozen of them, scattered across the marble floor, chatting casually, laughing to inside jokes. They looked up at their arrival.

A man in a neat tuxedo mirrored Stephen’s eyes. He was a foot shorter than him, stubby and gray-haired, hazel eyes sunken to old age. His arm went around Stephen’s shoulders and everyone crowded them.

“I can see your boy has grown a bit taller than you eh, Roger.” Uncle Patrick, Roger’s brother, teased.

“He’s always been taller.” Roger laughed. Stephen smiled a little. At least his father was putting effort in their pretend father-son love in front of the relatives.

Alvin and Aldrin, the twins from Manchester and Stephen’s closest cousins, stared at his nose. “What’s up with that, mate? Look like someone got you an early Christmas present.” said Aldrin, the taller and lankier of the two.

The grip on Stephen’s shoulder tightened.

“Soccer practice.” Stephen laughed it off.