Chapter 225: A Place at the Table

Eden discovered that the apartment had a serious problem.

There weren’t enough chairs.

He noticed it on Sunday morning when Luna invited everyone to breakfast, Aria arrived carrying a bag of pastries, and the younger Eden insisted on bringing his wooden airplane to the table because, according to him, it deserved to eat with them after surviving its repair. Five people gathered around a table designed for four, resulting in an arrangement of elbows, plates, and increasingly hostile negotiations over who had to sit closest to the kitchen.

"I’m not moving," Aria declared, pulling her chair closer to the table.

"Nobody asked you to," Eden replied.

"You were looking at my chair."

"I was looking at the floor. Your chair happens to be on it."

"Then look somewhere else."

Luna placed a basket of bread between them. "If either of you starts an argument before I’ve had coffee, you’re both washing dishes."

Eden immediately became fascinated by his plate, while Aria smiled sweetly at him.

"Good morning, Dad."

"I don’t know you."

The boy, who had been watching the exchange with obvious delight, raised his hand. "Can I sit on someone’s lap?"

"No," Eden and Aria answered simultaneously.

He lowered his hand. "This family hates children."

"You are the only child here," Eden said.

"Exactly."

Luna shook her head, trying not to laugh. In the end, they dragged a small chair from the bedroom and squeezed it beside the table. It wasn’t comfortable, and the boy’s knees nearly reached his chin, but he seemed pleased with the arrangement. He placed his airplane beside his plate, prompting Eden to point at it.

"That thing is not eating breakfast."

"It’s sitting with us."

"Fine. But if it starts asking for pancakes, it’s going back to the bedroom."

The boy considered that possibility, then quietly moved the airplane away from the syrup.

Breakfast proceeded with only minor incidents. Aria stole one of Eden’s pastries, Luna accused him of putting too much sugar in his coffee, and the boy announced that he wanted to learn how to cook.

Everyone stopped eating.

Eden slowly lowered his cup. "Why?"

"So I can make food."

"We already have food."

"But what if you aren’t here?"

The question was innocent. The boy didn’t say it to frighten him, and he wasn’t even looking at Eden when he spoke. He was busy tearing a pastry into smaller pieces. Nevertheless, the words lingered. Eden glanced at Luna, who had heard the question too but chose not to interrupt.

"Then you’d still be able to eat," Eden said. "That’s a good reason to learn."

The boy nodded, apparently satisfied. "Can you teach me?"

Eden looked at the kitchen, then at the boy. "I’m going to teach you how to make eggs."

"Can you make eggs?"

"Of course."

Aria coughed into her coffee.

Eden pointed at her. "You are forbidden from participating."

"I’m just drinking."

"Drink quietly."

The cooking lesson began an hour later, and Eden regretted volunteering almost immediately. The boy stood on a sturdy stool beside the kitchen counter, wearing an apron Luna had found in a cupboard. It was too large for him, and the loose straps kept slipping down his shoulders, but he looked very serious about the entire affair.

Eden handed him an egg. "First, you crack it."

The boy tapped it against the bowl. Nothing happened, so he tapped it harder. A small crack appeared, followed by a catastrophic collapse that sent eggshells and raw egg across the counter.

They both stared at the mess.

"Excellent," Eden said. "We’ve successfully removed the egg from its natural habitat."

The boy looked horrified. "I broke it."

"Yes."

"Can we fix it?"

"Not this one."

The boy’s face fell, and Eden immediately regretted his answer. He took a cloth from the counter and began cleaning up the mess.

"It’s all right. Cooking takes practice. We can use another egg."

"But I ruined it."

"You made a mistake. That’s not the same thing as ruining everything."

The boy watched him wipe the counter. "Are you sure?"

Eden paused.

He knew that question. It had followed him through more lives than he could count, sometimes disguised as something more complicated. He had spent years treating mistakes as evidence that he had failed, that he had lost something irretrievable, or that he needed to go back and find the exact moment when everything had gone wrong. It had taken him far too long to understand that not every mistake required him to destroy himself trying to correct it.

"I’m sure," he said.

They tried again. The second egg made it into the bowl intact, although a piece of shell fell in. Eden showed the boy how to fish it out, and they managed to produce something resembling scrambled eggs after a brief disagreement about how much butter was appropriate. The final result was slightly overcooked, but the boy ate every bite.

"It’s good," he announced.

Eden tasted some from the edge of the pan.

It was terrible.

He looked at the boy, who was watching him hopefully, and swallowed. "It’s edible."

"That’s not what you said before."

"I’ve learned to lower my expectations."

From the doorway, Luna laughed so hard she had to lean against the frame.

Later that afternoon, Eden found Aria sitting on the balcony with two cups of tea. She handed him one without asking whether he wanted it, and he sat beside her. For several minutes, they watched the traffic moving through the streets below before Aria finally spoke.

"Can I ask you something?"

"You usually do."

She nudged his shoulder with hers. "I’m being serious."

"So am I."

Her smile faded, though not completely. "Do you ever wish you could go back?"

Eden looked at her. "Back where?"

"To before everything happened. Before Mom died. Before you started searching. Before all the things that happened to you afterward."

The question was gentle, but it carried years of pain. Eden wrapped both hands around his cup.

"Yes," he admitted. "Sometimes."

Aria nodded, as though she had expected that answer.

"But I don’t think I’d want to go back and change everything anymore," he continued. "Not because what happened was good. It wasn’t. And not because I’ve somehow decided that all the suffering was necessary."

He watched a bus pull away from the curb before continuing.

"I used to believe that if I could change the past, I could finally become someone who hadn’t been hurt by it. But I don’t think that person exists. Even if I could return to the beginning, I’d still be me. I’d still have to learn how to live with things I couldn’t control."

Aria remained quiet for a moment. "Does that mean you wouldn’t change anything if you could?"

"No. There are things I’d change in a heartbeat." Eden looked at her. "But I can’t spend the rest of my life treating the present like a punishment for the past."

She lowered her gaze to her tea. "I think I was waiting for you to say you didn’t regret any of it."

Eden’s chest tightened. "Why?"

"Because sometimes it felt like you were so focused on what you’d lost that you didn’t want anything else. And I couldn’t tell whether being here with us was enough for you."

He wanted to deny it. The instinct was immediate, almost physical. He wanted to tell her that he loved her, that he had always loved her, and that none of his searching had meant she mattered any less. But the truth was more complicated.

There had been times when his grief had consumed so much of him that he had barely noticed what remained. He had loved Aria and Luna while still being unable to accept that loving them didn’t give him control over what happened next.

"I think there were times when I didn’t know how to be happy without feeling guilty," he said. "Like enjoying something meant I was forgetting what I’d lost."

Aria’s eyes softened. "That’s a terrible way to live."

"It really is."

She leaned against his shoulder. "You don’t have to forget Mom to be happy."

"I know."

"And you don’t have to be sad all the time to prove you loved her."

Eden closed his eyes briefly. "I know that now, too."

They sat together until their tea grew cold. When Aria finally stood, she kissed his forehead and returned inside, leaving Eden alone on the balcony with his thoughts.

He had spent so long trying to preserve the people he loved that he had sometimes forgotten to live with the love they had already given him. He had treated happiness as something that needed to be justified, as though every moment of peace took something away from the people he had lost. But Aria was right. He didn’t have to keep suffering to prove that the past mattered to him.

That was something he could change.

Not by rewriting the past.

By being here.

That evening, they ate the remaining pastries for dessert because nobody felt like cooking again. The boy sat on the floor beside the sofa, guiding his wooden airplane through an elaborate flight over the cushions. Luna read a book, and Aria had fallen asleep with her head resting against Eden’s shoulder. He could have stayed there all night.

Eventually, the boy brought the airplane over and climbed onto the sofa beside him.

"Do you think I can learn to cook properly?" he asked.

"Probably."

"Do you think I’ll be good at it?"

"Eventually, maybe."

The boy frowned. "You’re supposed to encourage me."

"I’m encouraging you to develop realistic expectations."

"That’s not encouraging."

Eden smiled and ruffled his hair. "You’ll get better if you keep trying."

The boy looked down at the airplane in his hands. "Even if I make mistakes?"

"Especially then."

He seemed to consider that for a while before leaning against Eden’s side. Luna glanced up from her book, and Aria stirred but didn’t wake. The apartment was quiet except for the distant traffic and the soft rustle of pages turning.

Eden looked around the room. There were no extraordinary signs that his life had changed. The furniture was ordinary, the dishes needed washing, and the repaired airplane still had a crooked wheel. Tomorrow would bring its own inconveniences, and some days would undoubtedly be harder than others.

But everyone was here tonight.

Not because Eden had solved every mystery. Not because he had found a way to guarantee that nothing bad would ever happen again. They were here because, despite everything, they had chosen to share a home.

And Eden was beginning to understand that a place at the table wasn’t something he had to earn by saving the world.

Sometimes, it was simply waiting for him when he came home.