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“Oh. Well, can you–"”
“You’re in time-out.” She sighs, folding her skinny arms over her chest.
“I… Time-out?”
“Yes.”
Chuckling, I assess just how much I’m being stonewalled right now by a five-year-old, but she doesn’t share my amusement. What is this all about?
“Why am I in time-out?”
“You didn’t bring me a present.”
“Oh. Um, well, I had to run home and shower after work to get here on time for dinner,” I explain. And remove the present that I was given, I remind myself silently.
Sighing, her head swivels around to face me. I’ve never seen a child look so scornful. “You didn’t bring me a present last time, either.”
She’s… serious. Geez. I bring her a trinket now and then, or candy sometimes. I know she’s a bit dramatic, but I didn’t realize she’d graduated to demanding.
“Penelope, why aren’t you eating?” Violet asks.
“Uncle Cameron doesn’t love me anymore,” she whines.
Wow. That escalated quickly.
Violet casts me a suspicious look. “What? Why would you say that?”
“He hasn’t brought me a present in ages.”
Clicking her tongue, Violet frowns. Good. Maybe she’ll give my niece the education about not acting spoiled. I don’t want to risk being the one to do so.
“He’ll bring you extra presents the next time he sees you,” Violet assures her.
I will? What the hell?
I am speechless. Completely speechless. That frown wasn’t over Penelope’s bad behavior. It was for mine, all because I didn’t come bearing unwarranted gifts for my niece? I always liked Violet. She’s never snubbed me the way Dad and my brothers do, but I’m officially wary.
Sitting back in my chair, I set my fork down. I no longer have an appetite. No amount of salt will make me able to manage another bite. Glancing around the table, I feel like an alien, watching everyone chatter like a foreign species.
My family is so fucked up. I don’t know why it hits me like a newsflash. I think I’ve always known that they are to an extent, but I mean, they’re really fucked up. Aren’t they? Bossy, pretentious, unfeeling—the lot of them. With the exception of Mom, who falls into the oblivious category.
I want to go home.
I want my couch and my furry throw blanket. I want to crawl underneath it, turn the lights out, put reality tv on, and not come out for a month. I’m raw, so raw it’s like this ruse of a family dinner just stripped the flesh off my body. I somehow doubt that a comfort muffin and a cozy blanket could heal a wound that painful.
Maybe I’m fucked up too, because I know what would absolutely cure the sting of their condescension. Pete. He’d tell me what to do, in a good way.
His brand of bossiness heals me. It comforts me. He only tells me things I want to hear, things I want to do. It’s like he was scripted just to fix the mess that I am. I feel stronger after my time with him, not like my soul has been torn out of my body and then stomped on.
Handing over my unfinished plate to Leonora, I assure her that my lack of appetite has nothing to do with her cooking and that I’m simply not feeling well. Rising from the table, I excuse myself with little reaction, save for a frown from Mom.
“Really? So soon?”
I blame a headache that’s becoming very real and make my way to the foyer. Each step further away from my family makes it easier to breathe. Each recall of my interaction in the broom closet with Pete today becomes a drug that I crave another fix of. I need it. I need him.
As I go to put my car in drive though, my hand freezes. Why would Pete need me? I know I saw something in the way he looks at me, but where could it even go?
I’m a Fairway. What do I expect could happen—that I’d invite him to family dinners? Even if my family accepted my sexuality, which I live in fear of finding out, there’s no way I’d subject Pete to sitting through those dinners. I couldn’t survive the humiliation of him seeing the way they talk to me. How could he respect me after a meal like this one? I got dressed down by a five-year-old for crying out loud.
