Page 20 of A Silenced Midlife

"My parents are on their way, they'll be here any minute," I said, urgency creeping into my tone.

Lucifer raised an eyebrow, amusement playing across his features. "Phira and I are your parents."

"Stop it, you know what I mean." I tried to keep the frustration out of my voice. "They were at Ava's house the other night, and they know about magic now. I told them to come for dinner so that I could explain everything to them and—" The doorbell echoed through the house, cutting me off mid-sentence.

"Fine," Lucifer muttered, stepping back.

I yanked off my apron and chucked it at Lucifer. "You better be on your best behavior," I warned.

He caught the apron, smirking in that way that both infuriated and amused me. Before he could retort, the doorbell rang again, persistent, and impossible to ignore. I straightened my blouse and hurried through the living room to the foyer so I could open the door.

"Mom. Dad." I greeted them, trying to sound as calm as possible while my heart raced.

Their eyes went wide as they stepped inside, taking in the grandeur of the entryway I had grown accustomed to. Their gazes swept over the polished floors, the lavish decor, and the high ceilings adorned with intricate moldings.

"Wow, Olivia, this place," my mom started, trailing off as she searched for words.

"Come in, come in," I urged, leading them into the living room.

They entered the space where Sam, Sammie, Devin, Jessica, Luci and Phira were all lined up, resembling characters from The Sound of Music, poised and painfully formal. My mom glanced down at her casual attire, a blush creeping across her cheeks.

"I didn't realize this was going to be such a fancy occasion," she murmured.

A chuckle escaped me despite the knot in my stomach. "I was just nervous about everything we have to talk about," I confessed, hoping my laughter sounded more genuine than it felt. "It isn't fancy, not really."

My mom turned to me, her expression softening. "Oh honey, you're my baby girl. We'll get through this," she assured, enveloping me in a comforting embrace.

"Thanks, Mom," I whispered, allowing myself a moment of vulnerability in her arms.

"PopPop. Meme." Sammie, barreling into the embrace of my parents. Their laughter filled the room, warming it more than any fireplace could.

"Everyone, this is Lucifer," I said, gesturing to him with a slight nod, and then to Phira, "and this is Phira."

"Nice to meet you both," Mom said, offering a polite smile as she took them in. Dad had barely spoken, but he was a very quiet man, anyway.

"Shall we?" I motioned towards the dining room. "Dinner's ready."

We hadn't used the formal dining room much before; it always seemed too grand for just us. But tonight, the long table was set, the crystal gleamed, and the silverware lay perfectly aligned. The chandelier cast a soft glow over everything, making the gold accents in the room shimmer.

As they took their seats, I caught my parents' expressions—eyes wide, mouths slightly agape. It was like they'd stepped into a royal banquet hall. I tried to read their faces, hoping they weren't overwhelmed by the opulence.

"Please, start without me," I insisted, already turning back to the kitchen. My hands were steady as I lifted the tray of stuffed shells, but my heart wasn't.

Phira rose gracefully from her seat. "Let me help you with that."

"No, it's okay." The words came out sharper than I intended, driven by nerves. "I've got it."

I returned with the salad next, the bowl large and heavy but manageable. Then the bread. I could feel everyone watching me each time I left the room. Silence fell in my absence. It wasn't the quiet of anticipation for the meal, but all the unspoken questions hanging in the air.

"Olivia, it looks wonderful," Mom said, sounding cheerful as I placed the last dish on the table. At the same time she kept looking from me to Phira like she had noticed just how much I looked like Phira. Not identical, but we had several similar facial features.

"Thanks," I whispered.

"Everything's homemade," I added before I darted back to the kitchen, attempting to sound proud, though what I really felt was an anxious desire for them to understand why tonight had to be perfect.

Balancing a second tray of garlic bread, I maneuvered through the dining room doorway. My foot caught an unseen obstacle, thin air, probably, and for a split second, everything slowed down. The bread launched into the air, two slices pirouetting gracefully before landing on the polished floor.

"Oh, Olivia." Mom was up in an instant, scooping the fallen pieces and placing them back onto the tray as if they were wounded soldiers. She didn't even flinch at the sacrilege of floor-touched food mingling with the untouched. Then she put the tray on the table and was wrapping me in a bear hug so tight I could barely breathe.

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