October 19, 2023

Nathan has never looked this classy in his life.

His regular wardrobe consists of jeans, hooded jackets and plain T-shirts—affordable, simple, no effort required. This suits him well most days, but for enjoying fine dining in a Venetian restaurant boasting a Michelin star, it fell laughably short.

The necessary change of outfit Jamie splurged on doesn't feel right, even though the black dress pants and the white dress shirt fit like they were tailored to him. The wound on his arm burns under layers of bandages and sleeves.

It's too warm an evening to be wearing a blazer, and a poor ex-criminal like him doesn't quite belong in such expensive clothes, but he'll try not to get stuck in thought patterns like those tonight. They won't do him any good. You're a normal dude, he tells himself, and you're going to have a normal family dinner.

Nothing to worry about. Especially not while in the company of his most beloved person.

"In two minutes, we take a right turn down some stairs. The restaurant should be around the corner." Jamie barely takes her eyes off the post-it note containing directions to their destination, undoubtedly missing the ease of her very drowned phone. Nathan barely takes his eyes off of her.

The clothes she brought to Venice weren't exactly made for haute-cuisine establishments, either. Her usual outfits are selected with only two criteria in mind—'looks good on camera' and 'can comfortably withstand impromptu haunted house exploration'—and Stella telling her to bring something more formal on the trip slipped her mind completely. Her regular style suits her best, but she's still looking drop-dead gorgeous in her new black dress.

Nathan's thoughts venture into impure, scandalous territory if he dwells on this for too long—can't we skip this whole dinner thing and disappear into some bathroom or quiet alley? But even if Jamie is interested in that sort of thing with him, tonight isn't a good time. Especially since yesterday was so rough.

"What time is it?" Nathan asks. They've agreed to meet up with the others in front of the restaurant a little before half past seven. He isn't asking because he's afraid they'll be late. He's asking because he knows they won't be.

Jamie checks her watch, which, miraculously, turned out to be as waterproof as advertised. "Ten past seven." She smiles slightly. Every smile she has sported today has been slight. "We've done it."

When they'd gotten the day's shopping over with, Nathan pitched his idea. Wouldn't it be hilarious, he'd said, to see the baffled looks on your family's faces if we get to the restaurant first? So they turned it into a challenge, sat down together and made a proper schedule in order to make it happen, even factoring in extra time in case of delay. It worked, much to Nathan's delight. Anything for that smile.

He conjures a smile of his own, too. "Told you we could."

"I didn't doubt you."

"And I could tell you the same thing."

Jamie's smile grows, but she averts her eyes, somewhat red-faced.

Truth be told, Nathan isn't entirely sure where they stand since yesterday. Not in a bad place, certainly. They had a proper talk about apologies, nightmares, and a ghost's Instagram account while cleaning Gino's boat yesterday, and today has been spent amicably. But something changed after everything said and done.

The place may not be bad, but it is uncertain. Their interactions hold an awkwardness that wasn't there before. Nathan has never before found Jamie this difficult to gauge—she's been lost in thought and somewhat vague all day, and her gaze keeps lingering on him when she thinks he isn't looking.

He'd ask her what's up, but not with the family dinner still looming over them. Part of Nathan would rather face the Doctor again than sit through it, although he won't complain about the revenant neglecting to show its ugly face at any time today.

He and Jamie are, in fact, the first to arrive at the restaurant. It is remarkably unassuming for such a high-end place—a quaint establishment housed in one of the many historic buildings along the narrow alley Nathan and Jamie are standing in.

Finely-dressed patrons clink glasses underneath the awning of the outdoor seating area, their plates filled with tiny artworks of dishes Nathan doesn't recognize. Mouth-watering smells waft towards them from inside. The waiters and waitresses weaving past tables with grace look as picture-perfect as their surroundings; they could've been lifted straight from a certain luxury yacht Nathan sank.

You don't belong in this place.

He clenches his fists. That's what Derek would say, and Derek is dead and gone. Nathan will find a way to wipe him from his dreams, too. Next time you see Derek in your sleep, Jamie advised him yesterday, you kick his ass before he kicks yours.

Nathan loved the sound of that, but it's still easier said than done.

"I saw they had tiramisu on the menu," Jamie observes out of the blue, dragging him away from his thoughts of Derek and back into the present with her. "Have you ever tried tiramisu, Nate?"

Nathan shakes his head, grateful for the distraction. "Never heard of that. What is it?"

"Only the best dessert in human history." There's a twinkle in Jamie's eyes Nathan cherishes. "Seriously, it's great. You'll love it."

"I have memories of you saying something similar while convincing me to try that horrid fermented shark with you in Reykjavík."

"Oh my god. I did, didn't I?" Jamie bursts out laughing at the memory. It's infectious, so Nathan is soon laughing along. For a brief moment, everything is once more normal, familiar, perfectly okay. Nothing bad has touched them and nothing ever will. And if the scandalous thing is off-limits, then the next best thing would be if tonight can be this—just this and nothing else.

"Tiramisu is nothing like fermented shark, though. It's good for real." Jamie regains her composure, shakes the laughter off. She seems to have relaxed a little, although some of that earlier tension sneaks back into her posture. She's fidgeting, leaning against the closest wall to hide how stiff she's really standing. "Hey, Nate... When we're back at the hotel, do you think we could... sit... and talk about something important again?"

Now Nathan is the one to tense up on instinct. "Uh... I, I think so?"

Jamie realises her mistake. "Oh, it's nothing bad! Promise. Don't worry about it. I just... I wanted to let you know because I might not bring it up otherwise. There's nothing more to it, okay?"

This only amplifies Nathan's eager curiosity. Whatever Jamie wants to say, he'll be theorizing about it in the back of his mind all throughout dinner. His first instinct is to be nervous, but Jamie said there wasn't any need to worry. She promised this will be fine.

Nathan trusts her enough to believe it.

"All right. Yeah, of course we can."

"Are my eyes deceiving me," Stella's voice rings through the alley, "or did you truly get here first?"

There's mirth in her voice and delight in her expression, albeit mixed with bewilderment. She's smiling as she strolls up to them, arm-in-arm with an equally happy Gino. Tonight, they're radiant, young, sophisticated—king and queen of the prom. They fit seamlessly into the sweet romantic ideal of a Venetian evening out, as if every unstraying step they took in their lives was merely leading up to this one perfect point in time.

Nathan knows Jamie and Stella didn't have the best of conversations yesterday. Jamie remained vague about it, but her silence spoke louder than words. The few times she and Stella crossed paths this morning, she barely looked her sibling in the eye.

For her part, Stella didn't engage much, either. If she had anything to say, she held her tongue. Each of the glances Nathan caught were an impressive neutral. Tinged with hints of concern here and there, carefully concealed in the presence of those not privy to the sacred secrets of sisters.

But none of that matters now that dusk has fallen and food is imminent. Whatever issues existed earlier today, they have temporarily evaporated—here seems to be an unspoken agreement that any grievances yet to be aired will be saved for later.

Jamie pushes herself away from the wall with nonchalant ease. To the untrained eye, she could be the epitome of chill. The grin she slips into borders on the theatrical. "It's the social event of the year, Stel. Can't be late for it."

Today is Stella's thirtieth birthday, and that milestone requires a proper celebration. When they discussed it on the train ride back from Verona, Stella claimed she didn't want any gifts. I'd just like to have a nice dinner with my family, she'd said. Your company is gift enough.

Stella laughs, gaze soft. "Thank you. I appreciate that."

Perhaps, Nathan thinks, this night will be good yet.

~~

Dinner kicks off unremarkably. Which, with the Carrera family, is a pleasant surprise and an excellent start.

The ambiance helps. The restaurant is immaculate, almost regal; pristine white tablecloths, warm lamps, candlelight. Copies of centuries-old works of art against red wallpaper, connected by intricate black floral patterns. The murmur of many conversations simultaneously taking place travels through the room while the prosecco flows and the appetizers arrive. Nathan eats, a dish with basil and dried tomatoes and mozzarella that melts in his mouth, and tries not to think about the fact it costs more than what used to be his mother's hourly wage.

Had she still been alive, he would've liked to treat her to dinner in a place like this. Just once.

Linda recounts her and Emilio's adventures of the day—a wine-tasting tour in a small group filled with increasingly outrageous tourists. She may be tipsy, for her tale is unfiltered and uncharacteristically humorous, eliciting laughter even from Nathan.

Stella smiles a lot. Gino recalls his own experiences with a myriad of crazy tourists growing up, keeping the conversation light and pleasant. Nathan joins in only when spoken to, preferring to hang back and listen.

Jamie chimes in with a smile of her own every once in a while, but otherwise lingers in the background, employing a tactic not unlike Nathan's. Nothing out of the ordinary for anyone else, but this is Jamie's equivalent of pretending she doesn't exist. If it's what gets her through the night, Nathan won't judge. She seems to be enjoying the food, at least, and the fact her sister is having a good time.

It's the main course that brings with it a change. A ripple in the flawless veneer, a blight on the ambiance. A switch of topic, subtle in its sharp ugliness, like a mask hiding a revenant's hideous face.

Nathan doesn't see it coming fast enough—he's busy working his way through a tasty pasta dish of which he has already forgotten the fancy name. That Emilio, Linda and Stella have taken to discussing Stella's upcoming work promotion is no immediate cause for alarm to him. It's only when Linda turns her attention on her youngest daughter that he shifts into high alert mode.

"What are your career plans heading into the future, Jamie?"

Jamie flinches, fork stilling in mid-air. "What... do you mean?"

"Your career plans," Linda repeats. "We haven't talked about what you've been up to since that... ill-conceived prank you thought was a good idea to pull. I'm just curious how you're moving forward, considering all the fuss surrounding that YouTube channel of yours."

Nathan's skin crawls. This fence is electrified, the voltage lethal.

"We don't need to be discussing that now." Jamie puts her cutlery down as slowly as she's talking. Her voice is quiet. "It's Stella's birthday. We can talk about me some other time."

"Nonsense. Participate in the conversation a little—we all know you're capable of it. I'm only showing interest. Is that such a bad thing?"

"No. It's... I... don't. Please don't do this. Not tonight."

"What's the problem? I'm asking you a perfectly mundane question. All you need to do is answer." Linda is frowning now, growing frustrated. Her cheeks are flushed—too flushed. Nathan eyes her half-empty glass of prosecco, keenly aware this woman has been sipping wine all afternoon.

Alcohol loosens tongues. Makes them say things they shouldn't. Guides people right into the death swamp of stupidity.

Nathan has an awful feeling about this.

"I'll answer it, yeah? Later." Jamie's eyes dart around frantically, as if searching for an escape route. Her fingers tap a desperate rhythm on the table. Every fiber of her being seems to be combating distress. "I just... I don't... I don't want to right now."

Linda huffs, indignated. She fixes her youngest child with a stern look. "Well, maybe it has nothing to do with what you want. We all want things, but we don't always get them. Actions have consequences, Jamie. If you don't like what I'm asking, maybe you should've kept that in mind and thought better about certain choices you must regret making–"

"Maybe you need to back down," Nathan interrupts. "You heard her. No means no."

"He has a point, Mom." If Stella is backing Nathan against her own mother, they're truly working to prevent a nuclear crisis. "She said later. Revisit the subject some other time and leave her be."

Jamie remains cloaked in dead silence. She glares at her plate as if zeroing in on it will block out everything else. All Nathan can think is they should never have come out here tonight. They should've stayed in their hotel room, ordered pizza, watched a dumb movie on Jamie's laptop. They should've just relaxed properly for an evening, and maybe then Jamie would've been okay.

"I don't understand why this family can't have normal conversations anymore." Linda throws up her hands in exasperation. "It isn't healthy to have to tiptoe around important topics all the time."

Rarely has Nathan met anybody this infuriating.

"Besides, we're talking about a mere YouTube channel. It shouldn't be a big deal. I should be able to ask my own child if she's still trying to salvage it or if it's dead in the water and she's taking the opportunity to find a real job–"

"Shut your fucking mouth, Mom." Jamie practically shoots from her seat. "My attitude is no good and my job is no good—you don't even let me pay for your train tickets like it's all goddamn blood money in my bank account!—and my interests are weird and my choices all wrong and you don't like my friends and my behaviour and just about a million other things, so why am I even still here? There isn't a single part of me you actually like."

Linda blanches. "That isn't true–"

"You watch your mouth and you sit back down, girl," Emilio growls out. "You're making a scene. People are watching."

"Let them, I don't care—they do it all the time! Might as well grow up and get used to it, Dad."

There's something so venomous in Jamie's voice that Nathan considers snatching her fork and knife and anything else that could be weaponized at a moment's notice. He doesn't. Jamie's fingers tremble too much for her to use them.

"Nothing I do is good in your eyes. No matter what I do hoping to get things right, I'm still the disappointment of the century! Why do you keep me around when all you're interested in is telling me how frustratingly terrible and impossible I am? It's clear as day your lives would be a lot better if I wasn't there to disturb your precious peace over and over again."

Stella's eyes have gone wide. "Jamie–"

"I'll listen to you when you're down for talking about the rent money, Stella. I'm done with all of you tonight. Enjoy the rest of your stupid dinner. I'm sure you'll have a much nicer time without me."

What Nathan wouldn't give for that statement to have been sarcastic rather than sincere.

Jamie storms off without another word, leaving a deafening silence in her wake. Emilio sits like a volcano barely refraining from erupting. Linda and Stella wear the exact same look of horrified mortification. Gino's mouth hangs half-open, a piece of cuttlefish he's forgetting to swallow on full display. Around them, the patrons reluctantly turn their full attention to their own food and company again.

There is no way in hell Nathan is staying here with these people. He gives them all his nastiest furious glare, the one reserved for the scum of the Earth—bullies and muggers and used car salesmen. He slams his cutlery down, unable to keep his rage inside. "Are you fucking happy now?"

He doesn't await a reply. No use lingering here when the only person he truly wants to be around is fleeing elsewhere. She'll need all the love and support she can get. Nathan doesn't have much to give, but this he has in spades.

With a knot in his stomach, he leaves the restaurant, rushing after Jamie before she can disappear into the night.