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As soon as I walk into the apartment, my parents clamp up. Our walls are so thin, I heard them talking while I was approaching in the hallway, but I couldn’t make out much of what they were saying, only that my mom was saying she didn’t want to do something, and my father was insisting it was the only way. I was glad when they shifted their conversation as I walked in because whatever it was that had them arguing, I didn’t want to know about it. My parents have always sheltered me from their problems, especially when my father was the Alpha and had so many important matters to attend to. I imagined that someday he would fill me in on the important aspects of leading the pack, but since it would be my husband who would take over and lead, and I was yet to be promised to anyone, I didn’t let the concerns of the pack trouble me.

Now, standing in the kitchen, surveying my parents’ faces, I wished I had known more about what was happening back home so that maybe I could’ve helped them find a way to keep the pack together. They said it had all been a surprise, that they’d had no idea the intruders were coming for the pack until it was too late. Overpowered by a stronger pack, we lost everything. Many of our guards and warrior wolves were killed or severely injured and taken prisoner by the attacking pack. I had no idea who they were or where they’d come from, and whenever I asked my father, he said they were a conglomeration, that many packs were aware of his power and did not want him to continue in his current state. So… they’d banded together to force him from our ancestral lands. They’d taken everything. Luckily, my parents and I were able to flee under cover of darkness. We sold my mother’s jewels to pay for the apartment and for the little food we ate and other necessities. I’d qualified for a scholarship for school because I’d always been a good student and because my parents now had no means to pay for it. So much had changed so quickly, but I was still in the dark about most of it. I might’ve been ashamed of myself if I hadn’t accepted long ago that my father prefers not to have the women in his family worried.

“Hi, Aria,” my mom says, stepping over and pressing her warm palms to my cheeks. “How was your day, honey?”

“It was good,”  I say, taking off my backpack and hanging it by the door. I won’t be needing it for a few weeks since the semester is over. I’ll take my books out in a day or two and see if I can sell them back to the college so that I can have a little money for them. Textbooks are expensive. I wish that they were available online at my school like they are at many others, but it’s a small school, and most of what we have is the least expensive version, including the furniture and the supplies for our science lab classes.

“Are you happy to have your classes over?” my father asks, managing to find a small smile for me.

“For now,” I tell him, taking my coat off and hanging it up as well. I shove my gloves and scarf into the pocket. I haven’t been wearing a hat. A few snowflakes that have shaken loose from trees and buildings have collected in my hair, but it wasn’t actually snowing while I was walking home. The sky looked like it was fairly clear. I don’t expect more snow this evening.

I look at my father and see that he wants to say something to me, but he only smiles and looks away. He looks so different now than he did just a few short months ago. His skin has wrinkled so that it looks like old leather. His hair is turning gray and falling out. His face has thinned. He has always been a strong, muscular man, but now, he is growing skinny and losing muscle mass. I know how badly he wants to let his wolf run, but he can’t do that here in our new city. So… he sits around the house most of the day, trying to make phone calls to his connections to see what he can do to help our family’s situation. I know this because I overhear on the weekends sometimes. He is almost always met with rejection. Occasionally, someone promises to send something that will help. I don’t think that my father wants money. I think he wants… alliances. But he takes whatever is offered with thanks. I’ve never heard my father beg before, and it makes me sad to see such a proud, honored man sink to where he is now.

I am not ashamed of him, though. I am proud of him. Even though he looks nothing like the formerly powerful man who led our pack for decades, I am proud of him for doing whatever is necessary to take care of his family.

I turn to my mother, who is now stirring a pot of something on the stove that smells slightly of chicken soup, though I have a feeling there are more vegetables and rice in the pot than actual meat. My body craves protein. It’s been so long since I’ve been able to feed my wolf a large piece of meat. Tonight will not be the night that that changes, though. I pretend that it smells delicious and pat my mother on the shoulder. “Yum!” I say, and she smiles at me.

I see more wrinkles around her eyes now than ever before. Her chocolate eyes search my face for hints that I am lying, that I am angry or disappointed that there isn’t more to eat. She won’t find that in my expression. I continue to smile at her and then move aside so she can finish what she is doing. The kitchen and living room are one tiny room, but it’s fine because we don’t have much furniture anyway. Just a table with three mismatched chairs and a couch my dad dug out of a dumpster. In the bedrooms, there’s a small used mattress on the floor in my room, and a slightly larger one in my parents’ room, also on the floor. They both smelled rank when we found them, but my mom cleans them every single day, and now the smell has faded. Either that, or I am growing used to it.

My mother cleans our apartment from floor to ceiling every day, but because it is in the basement, it always smells musty. It always has bugs and rats. Sometimes, when it rains or the snow melts too fast, the drains back up, and the floor forms puddles. I hate it--but I say nothing. Instead, I go into my room where I have a few clothes hanging from a wire across the blind-less window that is barely wide enough for me to squeeze through if I had to get out due to a fire, and sit on the mattress where a stained sheet and a moth eaten blanket are my only comforts.

I hear my parents speaking in whispers but don’t strain to know what they are talking about. I’ve left so that they can continue their discussion and because it is so crowded in the kitchen when we are all there.

All I hear is my father insisting, “We will speak more of it later, dear.”

My mother sighs loudly and goes back to stirring.

I lay down on my back and stare up at the ceiling. There are discolored rings on the ceiling from leaky pipes in the apartments above us. So far, in the months I’ve lived here, I haven’t had any sewer water drip down on me, but I wouldn’t be shocked if it happens. The landlord here is clearly a slumlord who doesn’t care about his tenants as long as they pay up.

It will be a struggle next month. I know that. My parents paid the first four months up front from the sale of Mother’s jewelry. But now… she’s doing all she can to find the rent money. She cleans other apartments when she can and sometimes is able to find a dishwashing job at one of the nearby restaurants for an hour or two. Money is tight for everyone, though. The economy is bad everywhere in the country, but especially this part of the big city. No one knows where their next meal is coming from; not even the rats.

I stare at the ceiling, and my mind wanders back to the handsome young man I saw outside. I bet he has plenty to eat. I bet he’s never gone hungry a day in his life. But then… I hadn’t either until recently. Everything in this life can change so quickly. We never know for sure what might happen. We have to be prepared for anything.

“Aria! Dinner’s ready!” my mom shouts, even though I could’ve heard her clearly enough if it had been a whisper.

“All right,” I say, infusing cheer into my voice. I need to be happy for my parents, even when I don’t feel it in my heart. I need them not to be worried about me. 

I take a deep breath and push the curtain aside so that I can re-enter the kitchen. Mom is laddling broth and a few vegetables into our bowls, and I notice she gives the largest bits of chicken to me. Normally, I would say something to her, insist she be fair and give more to Dad and herself, but I have tried that before, and she insists she doesn’t know what I’m talking about.

I sit at the table and blow on a spoonful of broth to cool it, a smile on my face. It is as fake as the idea that this is really chicken soup and not just broth and vegetables, but if my parents need me to be fake so that they can keep themselves together, that’s exactly what I will give them.