A hunk of bread weighed heavily in Peter’s hand. His fingers dug meekly at the crusted texture. He had yet to take a bite out of it and, though he badly needed it in order to keep his strength up during the performance tonight, he doubted he was going to get down more than a few mouthfuls.

                Certainly, the boy had lived through his fair share of awkward mealtimes in the past. That time in the restaurant with the man and woman approaching Suzanne with an offer to turn Peter into the next scientific miracle was a major contender, especially in the flustered silence that followed after his mother shooed them away. There was, of course, the recent example of his little sister babying him to a logical extreme by forcefully spoon-feeding him pizza in front of his girlfriend, lest he burn his tongue on a bite. Then there was that time when the three siblings were all too young to know better and Erica had flicked her tiny brother into a bowl of lukewarm soup, wherein he’d lost more than a few soggy articles of clothing before their mother fished him out between a thumb and index finger, to the amused delight of his gawking sisters.

                But this dinner. This dinner was vying for the top spot.

                The Clarks’ evening meal was mostly silent, save for the hesitant chewing from both Suzanne and Erica, neither of whom looked any more interested in eating than did Peter. They seemed to just be making an effort to provide a good example for their little thespian. So far, it wasn’t working. Other than these soft tooth gnashings and gulps, the only punctuation to the hush was the occasional flare-up of Jessica’s sobbing.

                Just when Peter thought his younger sister, red in the face and puffy-eyed as she was after an hour of crying in her room earlier, was out of moisture, she seemed to produce more. A visible little puddle was pooled between her elbows on the surface of the table as she rested her fists against her temples, eyes clenched shut as she descended back into mournful reverie.

                She hadn’t said a single word to Peter since the toilet incident. And he wasn’t sure whether he was grateful or not for it.

                Each time Jessica’s crying rose back up to an audible, choking level, without fail Suzanne extended a hand to her daughter’s back, massaging the girl’s arms and gripping her hand until the moaning lowered in volume again. Erica, meanwhile, was mostly folded into herself, nowhere near as tense as her mother or sister, but making no attempt to engage.

                Peter set his bread hunk back on his tiny plate set and dusted the crumbs from his palms. All he wanted was to get to the show, so he could visibly demonstrate for his family his capacity to function in the world without 24/7 surveillance. As of now, he doubted any of the three women would’ve felt inclined to even let him leave the kitchen on his own. Not without a chaperone, just in case he encountered a killer gnat in the hallway.

                He sighed, then took a deep breath, embracing the painful delicacy of the table’s atmosphere.

                “Hey… um…” Peter began. Instantly, his mother and both sisters all locked their attention to him. Somehow it was much easier to feel intimidated with the three women who cared about him most in the whole world watching him with varying degrees of fear, even compared to the crowd of students and parents he’d be facing in a couple of hours’ time in the high school auditorium. Those people were nothing. This was the real show.

                “Yes?” Suzanne spoke up.

                “I just… I know everyone’s… freaked out. And I understand,” Peter muttered, mustering confidence and diplomacy from nowhere. “But… I’ve also worked really hard, and so have all my friends. I just… don’t want anyone to… you know, be hating seeing me up there, when… when I’ve…”

                Desperately, the boy shifted his gaze from Erica, who averted her eyes, to his mother, who, against all odds, actually provided him with a warm smile. She bobbed her head.

                “Of course, sweetie,” Suzanne managed, even as a single quaver rippled through her first two words. Clearly, she had yet to even begin recovering from this day, albeit handling it better than her youngest child. “And we’re excited to see you perform. We’re… all happy you’ve had this chance.”

                Peter sunk further back against his chair, relieved at his mother’s decree. Whether or not she fully believed those words herself, she was still willing to give this two-day trial period a fair shake. Which was all he needed.

                “Aren’t we?” Suzanne said, clearing her throat and aiming most of her volume at Erica.

                “Sure, twerp,” the girl said. She shrugged, and actually allowed herself a tired smile, which caught Peter by surprise. It was enough to give him a case of the warm and fuzzies, seeing that single corner of his older sister’s mouth tipped upward in a friendly-type gesture.

                “Jessica?” Suzanne whispered gently. She laid her hand back on her daughter’s narrow shoulder. “Aren’t you excited to see your brother on the stage?”

                Dragging her soft knuckles across her tear-stained cheeks, Jessica rubbed her pink eyes and sharply sniffled again. Her breathing was still irregular, bookended by gurgles from her throat. She gnawed on her lower lip. Only then did the distraught blonde extend a hand, her fingers outstretched, reaching across the table with only the slightest tremble. Her shadow arced over the plates and glasses, engulfing Peter and his place setting with the shade of her palm.

                At a speed just low enough to avoid blunt force trauma, Jessica’s hand plopped down. Her fingers cinched easily under Peter’s chair, securing him up against the bulwark of her tender palm. With her tiny older brother and his seat clenched in a clumsy handful, the teen hopped from her seat and shuffled at top speed for the front hallway and the staircase.

                “Jessica!” Suzanne called, rising from her seat but not giving immediate chase, either too taken aback or too understanding of her child’s gesture. Frankly, Peter was willing to bet the only reason his mother hadn’t done this exact same thing to him herself was the precious extra time she’d had today to process the event. He couldn’t bring himself to be shocked as he found himself squeezed against his sister’s damp, tear-soaked skin. The jostling of her escape didn’t let up until she’d double-hopped up every one of the stairs, sprinted down the carpeted upper hallway, and slammed her bedroom door shut with only a single flick of the lock before flinging her body into the bed.

                Peter was saved the impact, of course, by his sister’s conscientious clutching of him up against her stomach as she dove for the mattress. Still, it was a rockier ride than he was used to in the comfort of Jessica’s usually steady and accommodating palm.

                Retreating beneath the covers, the thirteen-year-old drew her miniature brother up toward her face as she curled into the blankets and her sorrow. There was a knock at the door and a soft call from Suzanne, then another, but no follow-up.

                “Jessie,” Peter proffered gently as he was smooshed with equal affection and desperation against the cushy pad of his younger sister’s cheek. A fresh tear trickled into his hair from above. It was tricky getting agency out of his limbs, as Jessica had him pinned fairly possessively up against her chin by all ten fingers. His clothes were wet now, and it was hard to say how much of it was the clamminess of her skin and how much was saltwater. Her palm cupped under his rear end, contouring his body naturally into the curvature of her head and into the folds of her now-matted hair.

                “Jessica?”

                The only response was a hard sniffle and a snort.

                “Jessie…” he repeated in his best lullaby voice. The boy managed to wrestle his arm free from under his sister’s enormous thumb and stroked the back of his hand down as much of her cheek as he could reach. He came away with a forearm almost sopping in her tears. “C’mon, talk to me. What’s up?”

                The girl’s head turned slightly. Jessica regarded him directly at last, blinking the water from her eyes. She was still attempting only semi-successfully to gulp air through the dregs of tears. Then her lips parted.

                As her mouth puckered loosely around the side of her brother’s head, warm air puffed in rough patterns from the back of her throat. She kissed him hard, soaking what little of his hair had avoided her tears with sticky spit, then pulled back, as if to distinguish the gesture as its own statement, then leaned back in for another. The girl planted six more rough, moist smooches upon her tiny sibling’s face, ensuring to draw back each time with enough force of suction that Peter’s neck was forced to brace. On the final kiss, a string of saliva dangled pathetically from her lower lip and onto the boy’s cheek: a phlegmy reminder of how long she’d cried today.

                “I appreciate it, but that’s not talking,” Peter insisted. He wiped the gooey strand off his face, though the moisture seemed to cling to his hand. Figured. Just to show he was sincere, the boy leaned up as far as he could and landed a light peck on the girl’s broad cheek.

                “We don’t need to talk,” Jessica groaned throatily, uttering her first words in probably hours.

                “Why not?”

                “Why do we?” she mumbled. “I’m just gonna keep you safe from now on. All the time.”

                “I’ve got this show in two hours, though. I know you want to see it. Don’t you?”

                “I did.”

                “But not anymore?”

                “Not as much as I want you to be safe,” Jessica replied. She lifted an index finger, planting it atop her brother’s head. With only the slightest pressure, she ushered him lower into the sandwich between her palms and cheek. Due to all the tear moisture, he slid easily back fully into her grasp. Her breathing was heavy as her lips hovered open, clearly contemplating landing some more soppy kisses on his head. “We’ll just stay here, in my room, for two hours, and they’ll have to get someone else to play you.”

                The boy studied her face. As childish and impetuous as the claim sounded, even for someone of her age, she was serious. Almost deliriously so.

                “And tomorrow?”

                “We’ll just stay in here until tomorrow night, I guess,” she croaked. Her eyelashes batted. “I have snacks in the drawer. And water. And you can sleep right here, with me, where I can watch you.”

                “Hate to break it to you, but you’ve got a whole life of your own, too,” Peter reminded her, patting her finger where it resided atop his head. “You can’t just pause everything cuz I had one little mishap.”

                “I can have my whole life and still keep you safe.”

                She said it with such unrelenting promise that the boy had no doubt that, if Suzanne and the general bounds of society allowed it, the girl would reshape her entire existence if it meant she could keep him clutched in her hands until the end of time. After the kind of day he’d had, for a fleeting instant, that didn’t seem so bad.

                But he was the big brother. And it was moments like this that his role as such became more important than ever.

                “Jessie…” he said. “Do you remember what you did for me back before I was even in the play for sure?”

                “What did I do?”

                “You… offered to quit dance lessons, just so Mom wouldn’t have an excuse not to drive me home from school. You were willing to give up what you love for long enough to let me have a chance at finding something to love. You know?”

                Jessica shrugged mutedly, batting her eyes some more, and wiping away a stray tear with her thumb before it could plunk onto Peter’s face.

                “I thought that was… super cool of you. But it wasn’t just then. It was before school even started. I mean, before anyone else… before anyone else… you were believing in me. Just you.”

                “I… know.”

                “And… I guess now, I need you to… try to remember what that felt like again. To believe in me that much,” Peter said, chewing his lip. His head slumped against the wall of his giant sister’s curled fingers. “That I could take care of myself well enough to… be something.”

                Jessica nodded, or at least what Peter interpreted as a nod as her entire body seemed to lurch deeper into the covers. Her other hand formed a ceiling above his primary source of light and air, trapping him into a cocoon of her fingers as she pressed her head deeper into the pillow.

                For an instant, Peter was deflated. That was basically his ace in the hole.

                “Can we at least stay here a little longer?” Jessica piped quietly. “Just until it’s time to go to your show?”

                Almost laughing aloud with relief, the freshman shook his head until he thought it would come detached. He aggressively stroked his sister’s chin in the dim light.

                “Of course we can.”

                Putting on a smile for what seemed the first time in ages, Jessica cleared her throat, then plastered her brother’s face into the plush mound of her sticky lips for one last thick, mushy kiss of reassurance, which Peter was only too happy to endure. He suspected this bargain he’d struck would also include some increased mealtime supervision and probably a couple of sleepovers, but he didn’t even care about that. In fact, he even allowed himself to get comfortable in the pocket of fingers and palms that surrounded him on all sides, leaning his cheek down against the soft pad of his little sister’s hand and closing his eyes.

                Maybe, just maybe, there was a way to correct all of this mess after all.