Chapter 5 - A Normal Dinner

The air in the room seemed to crystallise, each molecule hanging suspended in an icy stillness.

All eyes were on the woman who had just entered, a figure who had effortlessly claimed the space as her own.

This was Sera's mother—or at least, the woman who filled that role in this strange new reality—Valeria Vildea.

She stood there in heels that were high, but not ostentatious, designed more for impact than for show.

Her face was an immaculate canvas, makeup applied with the precision of a surgeon, highlighting sharp cheekbones and steel-grey eyes that had clearly seen their share of battles—corporate or otherwise. Her hair was a similarly disciplined cascade of dark waves, as if even her tresses knew better than to step out of line.

She wore an impeccably tailored suit, the abyss-black fabric shimmering with an understated elegance that screamed expense. Masterfully incorporated into the suit itself was a sleek emblem right above the heart, a complex design of silver and neon blue that immediately drew my eyes, for I recognized it immediately.

It was a modernist atom, its nucleus replaced by a stylized "E," while miniature nodes resembling digital data points revolved around it. Fine strings of glowing binary code seemed to orbit these nodes, all set against a backdrop that resembled a digital grid. It was encased in a sharp hexagonal frame, completing the unmistakable look for the corporation's branding.

That emblem was more than just simple corporate branding, however; it was a statement of ownership, but also one of implicit power and responsibility.

At that moment, I realised she was someone who put her career before parenthood.

Her stance, her attire, her entire aura spoke of a life committed to climbing the corporate ladder, not tending to scraped knees or comforting a child after a bad dream. She looked like she could dismantle a hostile takeover as easily as most people could dismantle a sandwich.

And here she was, staring at me, her daughter, seated in an old, squeaky wheelchair.

I couldn't shake the feeling that in her eyes, I was currently registering less as a long-lost child and more as a variable in an equation; an element to be managed or, worse, mitigated. In her world of corpo backstabbing, economical and societal strength and capability, where did a wheelchair-bound daughter fit?

I felt as though I had already been assessed, categorised, and filed away as worthless trash in the span of a heartbeat.

Honestly, I was thoroughly intimidated to my very core, and I wasn't ashamed to admit it.

Never in my life had I encountered someone radiating such a palpable level of intensity.

She emanated an aura of unspoken threats and domineering authority. Sera's mother had a way of making her presence felt, of making sure you knew exactly where the power dynamics lay—and it wasn't with you.

Perhaps it was a lingering sentiment from my past life, or maybe just the innate rebelliousness that comes with teenage hormones, but a part of me—deep down—felt a compelling urge to challenge her authority, even if only in some minuscule way.

It wasn't born of spite, but rather from an instinctual understanding that this was my singular opportunity to earn not Valeria's approval, but her cautious, tentative tolerance. The one thing a career-driven corpo woman valued more than anything else, was a promising asset, after all.

Mustering the willpower to meet Valeria's eyes head-on felt almost as daunting as the earlier struggle to lift my legs onto the couch. The subtle upward twitch of her left eyebrow, almost imperceptible but loaded with scrutiny, threatened to demolish the fragile fortress of my resolve.

But this was a one-shot game; there were no second chances here.

So, clinging to my wits, I responded, my voice mimicking her own detached tone, though quivering ever so subtly under the immense mental strain of the situation.

"Mother."

The word hung in the air like a lead balloon, seeming to suck even more oxygen out of a room already thick with tension. I felt a constriction around my chest, an uncanny echo of that claustrophobic sensation I'd experienced back in my studio apartment.

It was as if the walls were closing in, the ceiling dropping lower, the very atmosphere congealing into a viscous substance I had to wade through. I could almost hear my own heartbeat throbbing in my ears, each pulse a desperate plea for relief.

Then, in a moment that lasted both an eternity and a fraction of a second, Valeria's eyes narrowed. It was as though she were peeling back the layers of my psyche, each gaze a laser cutting deeper into my core.

And then, for the briefest of moments, her lips curled into the most imperceptible of smiles.

It vanished almost as quickly as it appeared, like a flicker of lightning in a stormy sky, but its impact was undeniable. The atmosphere, while not lightened, at least seemed breathable again.

I exhaled, not even realising I'd been holding my breath.

Stiff as a general barking orders to her troops, Valeria declared, "Darling, be a gem and procure dinner for us. I will be in my office and I will not be disturbed for the next twenty-eight minutes. Gabriel, take care of your sister and help her get her bearings. Make sure she is presentable for dinner."

Without waiting for confirmation or even a nod, she pivoted gracefully and made her way toward the one room in the apartment that had remained mysteriously locked since my arrival with Oliver.

The whiplash was palpable.

To think that a woman with such an icy demeanour could refer to Oliver—the man who had welcomed me home with an emotional breakdown—as "darling" and "gem" without a hint of sarcasm or irony left me baffled.

Could this enigma of a woman really be the same person married to Oliver?

I had only had a brief brush with her presence, but the layers of her complexity seemed to multiply exponentially with each word from her mouth.

The moment the door to Valeria's sanctum—her office—clicked shut, the atmosphere in the room decompressed as if a pressure valve had been released. I sagged in my wheelchair, the tension draining out of me so quickly it left me feeling vacuous and spent.

'What a force of nature,' I marvelled to myself, caught between sheer awe and a residue of terror.

Gabriel broke the silence, his voice tinged with the same disquiet I had been grappling with. "What the fuck was that?"

"Seriously? You're asking me? That woman is my mother?!" I retorted, my nerves still vibrating like taut strings from the earlier confrontation.

Oliver remained seated on the couch, his face a mask of disbelief.

'Did I push too far?' I wondered, observing his expression. 'Maybe I should have held back, gauged the dynamics of this old-new family before attempting to win Valeria over. I hope this doesn't hurt my relationship with Oliver…'

Gabriel let out an uneasy laugh. "Yeah, she's... she's our mom. She's not around much due to work, but her influence is omnipresent. She's the financial pillar of our home. Her word? It's the law. But she's more forgiving than she lets on, as long as you meet her lofty—yet, honestly quite reasonable—expectations."

His voice trailed off, but the subtext hung heavy in the air.

"So, I've been a chronic disappointment, haven't I?" I ventured, fishing for confirmation.

Gabriel offered a reluctant, apologetic nod.

"Perhaps this new-and-improved Sera will finally stop being a disappointment then, huh," I quipped, trying to leaven the gravity of the moment. But the levity backfired, spectacularly.

Oliver's face twisted into a scowl, and for the first time since our meeting that morning, he raised his voice with an unexpected vigour.

"You take that back right now, Seraphine!" His words sliced through the room, arresting everyone in their tracks. "Just because Valeria measures worth differently does not make you worthless! I won't tolerate that sort of self-deprecation in this home. Do you hear me?!"

Rendered speechless, I stared at Oliver, grappling with this newfound dimension of his character—an unexpected manifestation of paternal love that was as riveting as it was jarring. The polarity between him and Valeria seemed almost comically extreme.

It boggled the mind to consider how two such disparate souls had ever converged, let alone committed to a life together.

Gathering my composure, I cautiously said, "Ah, I'm sorry. It won't happen again." I aimed to diffuse the mounting tension, to pull us back from the emotional precipice we teetered on.

Gabriel, ever the peacemaker, placed a calming hand on Oliver's trembling shoulders.

The physical touch seemed to serve as a tactile reminder of the day's many upheavals, my memory loss included. His face crumpled, contorting into an expression of self-reproach as he began to stammer out a flurry of apologies. His words veered from "failed father" to "undeserving" and even "worthless," each utterance laced with a profound self-disdain.

It was a jarring contradiction—this man who had just so vehemently defended my worth, now denigrating his own.

'Live by your own doctrine, Oliver. For fuck's sake,' I thought to myself, suppressing a chuckle born from the sheer absurdity of the past few minutes.

Gratefully, it was Gabriel who again intervened to defuse the situation—a debt I was amassing to him that I knew I'd need to repay at some point.

"So, Dad, any ideas what Mum would want for dinner?" he interjected, reminding Oliver of the domestic edicts laid down by the family's unyielding taskmaster.

Seeming as though he'd been jolted awake from a disorienting daydream, Oliver swiftly regained his poise and rose from the couch. "Right, I'll go 'procure' our dinner, as your mother would insist on wording it," he said, his voice tinged with a mix of irony and mirth.

He looked at Gabriel and then me, eyes lingering as if half-expecting some flashpoint of conflict to erupt between us. "Gabriel, assist your sister in preparing for dinner. Your mother appears to take a rather specific interest in her situation tonight."

With that, he made his way to the door, murmuring so faintly it was almost lost to the air, "...a proper family dinner again?!"

The door closed behind him, leaving Gabriel and me in the suddenly too-quiet apartment.

"So, that was a crash course in our family dynamics, wasn't it?" I muttered, still reeling from the emotional gauntlet I'd just run through.

"Yeah, I didn't anticipate your standoff with Mum. That was... unexpected to say the least," Gabriel said, a note of genuine awe tinting his voice.

"I don't know what came over me, to be honest. It just felt like the thing to do. What was my usual M.O. with her?" I inquired, curiosity overtaking my caution.

Gabriel chuckled, an awkward but genuine smile transforming his face. "Well, there were generally two modes for you. You'd either shrink into yourself, sort of wilting under her gaze, or you'd find an excuse to be literally anywhere else but in her vicinity."

I winced internally, picturing the tense, awkward family dinners that must have ensued from such behaviour. "Well, here's to hoping today's first impression might be a new beginning. Maybe she and I could find some common ground. God knows why I acted the way I did before."

A momentary silence stretched between us, Gabriel's eyes studying me as if trying to unlock a puzzle. Finally, he broke the silence, "You really have changed, haven't you?"

My breath stocked in my chest, as I felt like I'd been caught, laid bare.

But just as quickly, I realised he was referring to the change post-incident, not the utterly unimaginable truth about what really had happened to Sera.

No one could fathom that level of absurdity.

After all, I was basically living a sci-fi fantasy anime at this point. And somehow, that thought didn't feel as unsettling as it probably should have.

"I wouldn't know," I retorted, punctuating the statement with a wry, self-deprecating smirk.

Gabriel sighed audibly, his eyes rolling toward the ceiling as if searching for divine guidance, muttering something about 'blank' under his breath.

"Alright, time to get you prepped for dinner," he said, rising from the couch with a smile.

I felt a swell of gratitude when he made no move to handle my wheelchair.

Instead, he took a few purposeful steps, positioning himself at a respectful distance, allowing me the space to wheel myself toward our shared room.

As I manoeuvred into motion, a thought struck me: 'How the fuck did Gabriel evolve into such a remarkably balanced and considerate 16-year-old? In a cyberpunk universe at that!'

It genuinely baffled me, given the polarised parenting styles we apparently grew up with.

Of all the enigmas in this bewildering family tableau, Gabriel was the riddle whose sum didn't quite add up the most, but I could confidently say that I appreciated his existence.

As I wheeled myself into our communal room, Gabriel trailed in my wake, softly shutting the door behind us. The closure unveiled a smudged mirror-screen, adorning the door's reverse like some high-tech relic of vanity.

"Okay, time to get you dolled up for the family dinner," he announced, motioning toward the wardrobe with a dramatic flourish.

About thirty minutes later, Gabriel and I emerged from our room, transformed and ready for the family dinner ritual. The entire affair felt almost absurdly formal, but according to Gabriel, such were the traditions when Valeria managed to be home for a complete family dinner—an exceedingly rare occurrence, I was told.

She was, naturally, the one who insisted on the evening's pomp and circumstance.

Feeling strangely out of place, I guided my wheelchair down the hallway, attired in an elegant, cerulean evening dress. It wasn't anything extravagant by the world's high-society standards, but compared to my old-world clothing and the other options I had glimpsed in the wardrobe, this dress was the epitome of sophistication.

It elegantly clung to my anorexic figure, falling gracefully in slight ruffles toward the hem, adding an incongruous note of luxury to my wheeled mode of transport.

Beside me, Gabriel was a study in young sartorial splendour, donned in what could be described as a cyberpunk-style take on a tuxedo. Lacking the bow tie, his outfit nonetheless boasted a clearly expensive cut and make. The silk lapels of his tailored jacket caught the light, contrasting sharply with his usually casual appearance.

It was obvious that the tuxedo had been purchased a while ago; adolescence had worked its cruel trick of elongation, making him slightly too large for the ensemble.

Both of us had our hair styled—mine was pulled back in a simple yet elegant twist, while Gabriel's was slicked back for once, revealing the forehead usually hidden under casual locks. He had even temporarily dyed his hair black with some nano-dye!

Our faces were touched up with minimal makeup: A light dusting of powder to reduce shine and a dash of colour on the lips.

And so we arrived in the kitchen—a painfully mundane setting for our finery—only to find the table, a scuffed and well-worn piece of furniture, laid out with food that clearly had its origins in a local street vendor's stall. The juxtaposition between our dressed-up selves and the casual dinner setting was so jarring, it verged on the surreal.

I couldn't help but muse, 'What the actual fuck is even happening right now?' as I took in Oliver and Valeria across the table, completing the evening's odd tableau.

Oliver, always the softer presence of the two, wore a simple, charcoal-grey suit, well-tailored but lacking in flair. His demeanour was one of understated decency, and his attire seemed to echo that sentiment. It was a suit that spoke of reliability and comfort, not of opulence.

Valeria, on the other hand, was nothing short of a regal vision.

Her evening gown was a rich burgundy, a colour that matched her air of authority. It hugged her figure in all the right places before cascading down to the floor in an elegant train.

The gown was sleeveless, revealing toned arms that could've belonged to a queen or a warrior—perhaps both. The fabric seemed to shimmer as she moved, as if woven from threads of subdued power.

Her jewellery was minimal but carefully chosen: a single strand of pearls around her neck, matched by pearl earrings, lending her an air of timeless elegance. However, the aura she emitted was far from simply decorative; it was imposing, commanding attention and respect.

The whole atmosphere was bizarrely mismatched, like a collision of worlds.

On one hand, we were a family sitting around a shabby kitchen table adorned with food that couldn't pretend to match the elegance of our attire. Yet on the other hand, every fibre of Valeria's being commanded a level of respect and gravity that would fit seamlessly in a royal palace.

The stark contrasts left an indelible impression on me, a perplexing but oddly fascinating snapshot of the complicated dynamics that were evidently at play within this peculiar family.

I exchanged a quick, bewildered glance with Gabriel.

As our eyes met, it was as if he silently suggested to just roll with it—whatever 'it' was. I adhered to his unspoken suggestion without much thought. After all, the day had already been too riddled with incongruities to start questioning them now.

"You are late, children," Valeria intoned in a frighteningly neutral voice, as we moved to take our seats at the table.

'Ah, it's going to be one of those dinners,' I mused inwardly, trying to gauge what was expected from Sera—what was expected from me—in this high-stakes familial theatre.

Before Gabriel could leap to my defence, as if trying to balance the ledger of debts between us, I spoke, "My apologies, Mother. Given my current condition, Gabriel had to spend extra time assisting me to achieve a presentable state. It won't happen again."

I could feel the incredulous stares of Gabriel and Oliver piercing into me, though I couldn't verify their expressions; my eyes were riveted on the enigmatic matriarch seated across the table.

A brief yet heavily charged silence followed. When Valeria finally broke it, her words were carefully curated together with the preceding, heavy-set silence for maximum impact. "See that it does not. Now, partake."

Each syllable seemed to be weighed on a golden scale before being offered.

Her choice of the word 'partake' over 'sit' caught my attention; it was as if she were avoiding any language that might be interpreted as insensitive given my wheelchair-bound state.

With a barely perceptible flick of her wrist, she exuded a staggering level of authority, transforming the cramped kitchen into a grand hall where she presided like an undisputed queen.

Inside, my thoughts screamed in tandem with my pounding heart: 'This is absolutely insane. What the fuck kind of world did I fall into?! Get me out of here!'

Externally, I remained a portrait of composure as I manoeuvred my wheelchair to the kitchen table with as much grace as the rickety device allowed.

My knowledge of high-society etiquette was a patchwork quilt stitched together from movies, TV shows, and novels—none of which could claim any strong grounding in reality. Still, that didn't stop me from mimicking the most refined behaviours I could recall from my prior life's media consumption.

Rule number one? Follow the host's lead.

So I sat there, painfully upright in my ergonomic disaster of a wheelchair, watching Valeria like a hawk watches for the slightest twitch in the grass, waiting for her to make the first move.

For the briefest moment, a microscopic smile seemed to flit across Valeria's face, as if she were a predator sizing up potential prey. I vowed not to show any signs of vulnerability she could seize upon.

"I am inclined to see your return as a non-negative turn of events, daughter," she addressed me, her words wrapped in the circumlocution of a seasoned diplomat.

"Gabriel, how have your studies and career progressed since we last spoke?" she pivoted, giving me no further acknowledgment.

My heart sunk a little. So that was it?

A single, calculated remark, barely even a positive one, was all the interaction I was to have with her for my efforts?

Gabriel responded, "My tutor believes that I should complete my current assignments by the end of the month. She's confident that I'll perform adequately, given the right environment."

Once more, the surreal nature of it all struck me like a sledgehammer to the gut.

'This is beyond surreal. I must be dreaming, right?' I pondered, feeling more and more like Alice tumbling endlessly down a rabbit hole.

I had thought I was the lone actor in Valeria's high-stakes drama, but it appeared that everyone else knew their lines all too well.

"As for my career, I've received a bump—" A mere narrowing of Valeria's eyes interrupted Gabriel mid-sentence. His face twisted momentarily, as if he'd been struck across it.

A brief, unsettling silence followed, its tension palpable. Just as I began to wonder what the unspoken cue might be, Gabriel resumed, visibly choosing his words with more care this time.

"As for my career, my superiors have assessed my capabilities and bestowed upon me an enhanced role, marked by increased levels of responsibility. I now manage direct customer engagements, overseeing the accurate fulfilment of their needs, while also executing the financial transactions related to those engagements."

'Is Gabriel seriously embellishing this like he's padding a resume? All he's saying is that he's been promoted to cashier, isn't he?!' I marvelled at the spectacle, still struggling to square this stilted version of reality with my previous life.

"Acceptable," came Valeria's terse response. Then, as if flipping a switch, her demeanour shifted dramatically as she turned to Oliver. It was a transformation that, paradoxically, felt even more disconcerting than if she'd maintained her icy, corporate mien.

"Darling, how was your workday?" Her voice took on an unnervingly sweet inflection that felt like an alien overlay on her otherwise neutral, cold tone.

'I'm actually gonna fucking lose it.'

"Haa… Well, to tell you the truth, I can't even recall. My mind's been so consumed with Sera that work just faded into the background. I was practically convinced I'd dreamed the whole hospital episode and bringing her home. Can you believe it, Val? Our little Sera is back with us! I still can't wrap my head around our incredible fortune!" Oliver's words came tumbling out, a cascade of earnest emotion.

What struck me as utterly baffling was that Valeria not only tolerated Oliver's emotional outpouring and seeming negligence toward his work, but also appeared to hang on his every word.

There had to be a clandestine factor at play here, didn't there? Was Oliver holding some kind of blackmail over Valeria, a proverbial dead-man's switch that prompted her to act this way? Or was he simply an ace in… other aspects of spousal responsibilities, if you catch my drift?

I had thought Gabriel was the family enigma, but I had been woefully uninformed.

This, right here, posed a question that outdid any I had ever encountered. Even the Wall, in all its cryptic glory, seemed like a transparent brochure compared to the bewildering dynamics at this dinner table.

Suddenly, as Valeria asked a sickly sweet follow-up question of some kind, my attention was stolen by a notification inside of my HUD.

[System]: 100xp gained for Ego Attribute.

That was it. That notification sent me over the edge to insanity.

The rest of the dinner went by in a blur, as I had decided to fully submit myself to this supremely strange ritual with this totally normal family of mine…