Side Story 2: The Quiet House in Richmond, London

[Krei's POV]

Lunch at our house wasn’t loud. It didn’t need to be. It was the kind of calm that felt like jazz on a rainy afternoon, warm, steady, with pauses that said everything without saying much at all.

The long oak table had been in the family since forever, its edges worn smooth by generations of elbows. Today, it was dressed with linen placemats and a glass pitcher of elderflower cordial. A basket of fresh bread sat between a bowl of olive tapenade and soft butter that had been left out just long enough to spread without tearing anything apart.

I sat in my usual spot across from my mum, the sun filtering through the tall windows behind her like it always did. She was still in her reading glasses, a fountain pen tucked behind one ear, and her shirt sleeves rolled up like she was between paragraphs of a draft she hadn’t told anyone about yet. Dad was flipping through a real estate folio between bites of tomato salad, occasionally pointing something out to my grandmother or "Oma" as we call her, who sat at the head of the table in her usual high-backed chair, two rings on every finger and a scarf wrapped neatly around her shoulders.

"That property in Belgravia—the one with the green shutters—I think it should go to auction. Let the market set the price," Dad said, forking a bite of goat cheese.

"If we must," Oma replied, voice clipped but not cold. "But I’d prefer it went to a family, not some overseas portfolio." She looked at me next, lips quirking in that way that always meant she was going to say something pointed. "And how’s school, Christopher?"

I swallowed my bread before answering. "It’s fine. Latin's boring."

"Of course it is," she said, almost fondly. "It’s a dead language, darling. You’ll still learn it."

Momo, our golden retriever, let out a groan beneath the table and pressed her nose against my sock. I slipped her a bit of crust while the adults weren’t looking.

"Are you still thinking of inviting friends over this month?" Mum asked, adjusting her glass slightly. Her voice was calm but curious, like she already knew the answer and was just letting me say it out loud.

I hesitated. "Can I? I mean—just a few. Not for anything fancy. Just to hang out."

"Of course you can," she said.

Dad looked up from his notes. "Anyone we know?"

I picked at the seam of my placemat. "Daniel. Hugo. Maybe Evan. And... well. Aoi used to come over, but... she’s moved now."

That made Mum pause. So did Oma.

"Ah yes, to San Francisco, wasn't it?" Dad asked.

I nodded. "Her sister’s attending school there. Akane got accepted to some well-known academy with a really good science program. Aoi said she wanted to go too."

"That seems like her," Mum murmured. "she never leaves her sister."

"Strange girl," Grandmother added, not unkindly. "But clever. Although I don’t see why her sister had to cross the ocean for science, has Cambridge fallen into the Thames when I wasn’t looking?"

I smiled. "I miss Aoi. We used to play strategy games. She always cheated."

"A good strategist never cheats," Dad said. "They just think three moves ahead."

"She thought five," I muttered.

Everyone chuckled.

The meal stretched on the way all our meals did. There were no servers. No hired help hovering nearby. We were Astors, yes. But we still poured our own water.

Mum passed me the cucumber sandwiches—cut diagonally, of course—and said, "You know your birthday’s coming up."

I sighed.

"What?" Dad asked.

"I’m not celebrating it."

Oma arched a silver brow. "Pardon?"

"I’m twelve now," I said, straightening a little. "And I’ll be thirteen. That’s a teenager. Teenagers don’t have balloon parties. They don’t need cake shaped like cars or—or themed napkins."

"No one said anything about napkins," Mum said, amused.

"Still," I pressed. "I don’t want a party. I want a new game set. And books. History books. And maybe the new expansion pack for Mario bros., so I can play with the others."

Dad leaned back in his chair. "A man of taste."

"A man of restraint," Grandmother corrected, reaching for her teacup. "We’ll toast to your maturity with something from the cellar. But there will be cake. That is non-negotiable."

I shrugged. That was fair.

Oma passed me another roll without asking, like she knew I needed something to do with my hands. I tore it open and let the steam escape.

“I was thinking,” I said after a bit, “maybe I could start helping out more. With stuff around the estate.”

Dad looked over, surprised. “Like what sort of stuff?”

I shrugged, but not because I didn’t know. I’d just been thinking about it for a while, and saying it out loud made it feel bigger. “Like showing new tenants around. Or helping you organize things in the office. I don’t need to be in charge or anything, just... learn more.”

There was a pause. Not the bad kind. The thoughtful kind.

“You’re twelve,” Mum said softly.

“Almost thirteen,” I said, not looking up.

Oma tapped her glass with her fork gently. “Let the boy speak.”

Dad leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “You know what? That’s a good idea. We’ll start small. Come to the office on Tuesday. We’ll look at some of the newer property files together. See if anything catches your eye.”

“Really?”

“Really,” he said. “You’ve got the name. Might as well get the practice.”

I felt something lift in my chest. It wasn’t pride exactly. More like... excitement. The quiet kind. Like being invited into a secret room you’d always wondered about.

“I still want books, though,” I added quickly. “And the game set.”

“Non-negotiable,” Dad said with a grin.

“Maybe we’ll even get you a briefcase,” Mum teased.

“I want one with secret compartments,” I said, grinning.

“And a button that shoots out snacks,” Oma added.

We all laughed, and for a minute, it felt like time wasn’t moving. Like we could sit at that sunny side of the table forever with warm bread, glass clinks, and the smell of roast chicken lingering in the air.

Later, after the table was cleared and Oma was humming in the kitchen while arranging tea cups, I helped Dad carry the dishes to the sink. Momo followed behind us, her tail wagging like she thought she’d helped too.

“Tuesday, then,” Dad said, rinsing a plate. “We’ll start with the Kensington files. You’ll see what it’s like on the grown-up side of things.”

“Do I get a desk?” I asked.

“You can borrow mine.”

“Do I get a key?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Let’s not get carried away.”

I smirked and leaned against the counter. The window over the sink framed the garden in golden light. The hedges were overgrown in that nice kind of way. The kind that said people lived here. Not just visited.

I heard Oma laughing in the other room and the sound of Mum opening the drawer where she always hid extra chocolate biscuits.

It was just lunch. Just Sunday. But it felt like something was shifting. Like I was finally getting a little closer to the version of myself I wanted to be.

Because my family made it easy to believe I could.




This is the second side story~ This time, from Krei's point of view, just a quiet Sunday lunch at their house. It offers a glimpse into Krei's world beyond Aoi's POV.

The next side story arrives soon. Until then, thank you for sitting at the table with us. 🍞📚

~Edeshei 🧃