Whitney Writes…

Copia sat at his desk – let’s be honest, it was still the card table in the corner – staring bleakly at the stack of paperwork before him. He didn’t know how he was supposed to get all of this done. Even with the help of his assistant outside, there was no way. He tried to imagine any of his brothers dealing with this.

Without a doubt, Primo had accomplished it.

Secondo, well, no one really knew quite how that man had even functioned in an official capacity.

And Terzo, well, bless his little heart, but Terzo had always been… easily distracted, to put it nicely.

Copia rubbed his temples. He imagined the hair that was already greying there was multiplying like mad as of late.

“Why do you look so glum?”

Copia jumped, his knee knocking the leg of the card table, sending some papers scattering to the stone floor. He had not heard his mother enter the – his – office.

“Lilith help us,” she said wearily under her breath. “Glum and jumpy, one would think I hadn’t just moved mountains to give you that desk. To give you everything you could have ever wanted.” She gestured to the massive, ornate desk that monopolized the room.

“Yes,” mumbled Copia, “lucky me.”

“How long are you going to sit in the corner like a scolded child?”

“As long as you keep treating me like one,” he sighed.

“What was that?” his mother snapped.

“Nothing, Mother.” He stood up from his desk. Card table.

“Sister, while we’re in the building, darling, I’ve told you that.” Her voice took on a shrill edge that made Copia’s ears ring. He stared blankly at her, wondering what would happen if he just didn’t come back here one day. “Stop looking at me like that,” she said with a false-cheeriness to her voice now. “Here, I brought you lunch.” She held out her hand. In her palm rested a plump, vibrantly-red apple.

“An apple?” His brow quirked up as he looked from the apple, to his mother, and back again. “Gee… thanks. Sister.” He took the fruit from her, noting she did not also bring him a knife. He knew she knew how he liked his apples.

“Just eat it,” she said sharply, noticing the way he was glancing around as though he might miraculously discover a knife to cut the apple.

“I don’t like biting them. You know this,” he said simply.

“It’s not about what you like, any more, darling.”

Inktober 2023, Prompt #19: PLUMP