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I’ve never wanted to down an entire bottle of whiskey as fucking badly as I do right now.
Before I can say anything else, Eve sets a piece of breaded chicken on the plate in front of me. She reaches for the pasta, her hands trembling as she puts a scoop next to the meat, making sure to not let anything touch. She finishes off by adding some green beans, then sinks back in her chair, her eyes glued to her plate.
“Following in Mommy’s footsteps, I see,” Roman sneers. Eve seems to fold in on herself, her hands held tightly in her lap. He leans closer, and I nearly see fucking red. “Well? Aren’t you going to serve me, little sister? Or do you only serve the men whose cocks you’ve sucked?”
My hands slam on the table, making the dishes rattle, and his head snaps up. His jaw tightens as he glares at me, but I just glare back. “Do not speak to her like that,” I snarl.
We stare at each other for a long moment, the tension between us building with every painful second. I wait for his retaliating words, whatever shit he’s going to spew from that vile mouth of his. But he just stares at me, goading me. I force myself to take a deep breath, then another. I have to calm down, but it’s damn near impossible when he’s sitting only a few feet from me, mocking me.
I see Eve wipe at her face from the corner of my eye, and I slide my gaze to her. Seeing her so closed off, so small and broken-looking, makes me deflate.
“Come on,” I sigh, waving my hand at Roman. “Eve worked hard on this meal. We can’t ruin it.”
“It’s okay,” Eve whimpers, her eyes still downcast. I want to reach for her. I want to take the pain away, but I can’t. So I just stare at her.
“Get yourself some food, sweetheart. Thank you for dinner.” She glances at me and gives me the softest smile I’ve ever seen from her. It immediately disappears when she looks at Roman.
He doesn’t notice, he’s too busy piling his plate full of food. He always ate a lot when he was growing, but I assumed he would’ve grown out of that. Apparently not.
Instead of setting his plate on the table, he leans back, holding his plate in one hand while he spreads his legs as far apart as they’ll go. He doesn’t wait for us, he just starts shoveling the food into his mouth, his gaze focused solely on that, nothing else.
I finally break and reach over, resting my hand on Eve’s shoulder, giving her a reassuring squeeze before digging into my own food. She slowly serves herself, her hands violently trembling with every movement.
No one says anything. No one looks at each other. We just eat in tense silence, Roman periodically refilling his plate, then leaning way back again, spreading himself like he owns the fucking place. Eve barely touches her food, but downs glass after glass of sweet tea.
Roughly, I clear my throat. There’s years of baggage between the three of us, but maybe if I can placate my son enough, he’ll leave again. Or at the very least, tell us what he wants from us, me, so he can be on his way back to whatever hellhole he’s crawled out of.
“So,” I say, drawing Eve’s attention. Roman still eats like someone’s going to take his plate from him at any moment, completely ignoring me. “What’s new?” I cringe as the words leave my mouth. What’s new? Everything is new.
His fork screeches on his plate as he flicks his eyes up to mine. “What’s new?” he slowly repeats, tasting the idiotic words like they’re a new spice. I grip my knife and fork tighter in my hands as I nod, clenching my jaw so hard it hurts my teeth.
“You look…” I take in his appearance again, and, not for the first time, wonder where the hell I went so wrong with him. I tried hard to put him on the right path, the righteous path, but he fought me at every turn. “You look well.”
He huffs out a humorless laugh as he shoves to his feet, ignoring me. I watch as he dumps the rest of his uneaten food in the garbage before turning to the sink. I glance at Eve when he flicks on the water, his back to us. Her lips part and her eyes widen as she watches him clean his plate silently.
The look on her face has my blood boiling.
I push my chair back, grabbing my plate before reaching for hers. “You done, sweetheart?” I ask softly, swallowing back my emotions the way I have all day. The way I have for years.
“What?” She glances up at me, looking just as shocked. She blinks rapidly, like a spooked animal. It irritates me even more.
“Are you done?” My fingers grip the porcelain plate as I wait for her to nod. Finally, she dips her chin and I move behind him, scraping our food into the bin before knocking him out of the way with my elbow.
“What the fuck—” His head snaps to me, his jaw tense. “I’m standing here.”
“Well, I need to wash these,” I say with a shrug, choking back the rest of the statement—it’s my fucking house. Don’t like what I do? Leave.
Roman lets out another laugh that makes me see red. We reach for the bottle of dish soap at the same time, but I get to it first. Triumph blazes through me as I pour it on the plate.
“Have you ever done this before?” he asks under his breath.
“I’m not an idiot,” I mutter, and he snorts. I choose to ignore him as I scrub my plate, trying to not think about the wet food sliding over my fingers as I rinse it off.
He finishes before me, and I step fully in front of the sink. I thought he’d leave, but he doesn’t. Instead, he leans back against the counter beside me, and the tale-tell sound of his lighter flicking to life, then the sizzle as he lights up a new cigarette fills the kitchen. I let out a long, tired breath.
Everything is going to be a fucking fight, it seems.
Just like when he was a kid.
