Chapter Text
She's six when her father buys the pizzeria. It's more like a shell of a building though it comes with tables and chairs. He spends a few months with a construction crew: fixing the wiring, tiling the floors, painting the walls, and always coming home late and leaving early. He comes into her room each time, pressing a scratchy kiss to her forehead. She pretends she's asleep each time.
After a while, he asks if she wants to come help him at the restaurant. He phrases it as a question. She's learned at this point she can't say no.
She's seven when she meets her for the first time.
Her and her father had developed a routine over the summer: he'd wake her up to bring her to the restaurant and she'd “help,” mainly with painting or moving the lighter boxes. There are some days where he'd go to the back. Those days, he'd tell her to sit in the main room and wait for him. And she would. She wouldn't move, she wouldn't speak, she'd hardly breathe. At least if she's still, she can't do anything wrong.
It was one of these days, the days of waiting and stillness, that the door swings open. The sound makes her flinch out of her pensive idleness. A man walks in. She doesn't see until he comes closer that he has a child behind him. The girl is clinging to his leg, watching Vanessa warily. Her eyes are dark, her hair darker. There's something about her that's darker still. Something she recognizes from her father. A fire that burns. But hers burns to warm, not to maim. She's caught in her stare when her father comes in from the back room.
“Hen! I'm glad you could make it.” Her father extends his hand, a smile on his face that seems to stretch at muscles Vanessa didn't realize he had.
“Henry, yes,” the man replies. He's soft spoken, gentle as he takes her father's hand. His voice does not protrude like William’s does. It asks permission to be heard. He places a hand on the girl's shoulder. “This is my daughter: Charlotte, or Charlie.”
Charlotte doesn't move. She watches, with the same gentle curiosity as her father.
Vanessa remains seated until her own father turns to her.
“Vanessa,” an edge to his words, a spark in dry grass. “Introduce yourself.”
Vanessa climbs off the chair, extending her hand to Charlotte like she was taught. “I'm Vanessa. It's nice to meet you.”
There's a miniscule movement from her, a tiny shift from out behind her father. Her hand raises just slightly. But she never takes Vanessa's.
After a beat, Henry hunches down to Charlotte. He brushes a dark strand of hair out of her face. She doesn't flinch away. He's not intruding. He just asks, “Are you okay to spend time with Vanessa today while I help her daddy?”
And it's a question. One Charlotte is allowed to answer. And Charlotte seems to answer truthfully when she nods yes.