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Dean shakes his head sadly. “It’s okay.” He says softly, before picking up his cutlery. “Let’s eat shall we?”
Mom scoffs and rolls her eyes, but she also picks up her own fork. “Of course. You two haven’t touched your meal. It’s getting cold!”
We start eating, the silence tense, but it’s short lived. After a few minutes of uncomfortable silence, my mom breaks it. She clears her throat, her voice a tad shaky. “So what does Christie do?”
“She owns a boutique. Unlike some of us, she doesn’t have the luxury of a trust fund so she can’t sleep around and waste her time on random men.” I respond, offering her my best impression of a warm smile. I can tell I hit a nerve with that one. I can see Dean looking at me from the corner of his eye. He slides a hand over mine, rubbing circles at the back of my palm and I give him a reassuring smile in response.
“Wow. Impressive. Good to know that she’s doing well. Unlike some people.”
Her tone is almost mocking, and my gut clenches uncomfortably. I can tell the charade is almost over and I sure as hell won’t pass on the opportunity to show her ‘perfect’ son just how much of a hellhole this house can be.
“Mom!” Dean snaps, the annoyance clear in his voice. “That’s enough... Lily, you too. All I want is a quiet dinner with my family. Can you two not ruin it?”
I shoot my mother another poisonous glare and my brother turns red, dropping his head to stare intently at his plate.
“You should talk to your sister. All she does is sit around on the sofa all day and watch tv. Did she tell you she had the guts to talk back to me the other day?”
I scoff, dropping my fork back onto my plate, pushing my plate away. “And your escapades with other men? How about that? Why don’t we tell your son about—“
“Shut it! You’re a disgrace of a child!” My mother says, cutting me off and glaring daggers into my soul.
“That’s enough. Both of you!” Dean shouts, slamming his fist against the table. “Are you both listening to yourselves now?”
For the first time in forever, I hear Dean raise his voice. A pang of guilt shoots through me, but I fight it down. My mom’s features soften slightly, if only for a fraction of a second. She reaches out, squeezing his hand lightly. “I’m sorry darling. It’s just—“
“Sorry Dean.” I chirp in, the guilt still churning within me.
Dean turns to face me. “I was gonna tell you that I’ve spoken to a friend who owns an art gallery. Seeing as you love art and all, I figured working as his personal assistant would be good for you. It was supposed to be a surprise…but whatever. Now mom, can you stop tagging her as lazy– and Lily, would you please for fuck sake, give your mom the respect she deserves?”
“Pretty sure she’ll botch that as always.” My mom retorts with a smirk.
I shake my head and push my chair away from the table, standing up. “You’re impossible.” I turn towards the door without waiting for a response. I feel their eyes boring into me as I walk away, but I don’t turn around. I can’t. I make my way down the hallway, my heart pounding furiously in my chest.
* * *
As always my mom ruins my mood, makes me cry, and I come running to Christie’s house like she’s a lifeboat in the middle of a storm.
As soon as I step into her front door, the weight of the happenings at dinner are still heavy on my chest. The dimly lit hallway casts long shadows on the worn wooden floor, echoing the turmoil within me.
As I close the door behind me, the world outside fades away, replaced by the comforting scent of lavender and vanilla that fills the air. Everything about Christie feels calming. Like home. Home sweet home.
My breath hitches, and tears threaten to spill over as I make my way to Christie's living room. The room is bathed in a warm, soft glow, the walls painted pale yellow. The furniture is covered in an assortment of soft blankets, fluffy pillows, and colorful afghans, all knitted and hand made by local quilters. The fireplace crackles merrily beneath the chimney pot, and the small lamp by her sofa casts a bright, flickering light onto the room.
Christie, with her bright blue eyes and gentle smile, waits for me on the plush couch, her arms open wide. The moment I see her, my resolve crumbles, and I collapse into her embrace.
I sob into her shoulder, the sound muffled and raw, releasing all the pent-up frustration and hurt that has consumed me. Christie's hands gently stroke my back, offering solace in the form of silent understanding. Her words are soothing and soft against my skin. "There. There... I'm here now." She runs a hand through my hair, stroking it softly. She doesn’t say a word thankfully, and I don't speak either. We just sit, together, in silence until my sobs subside, leaving a quiet heaviness where there once was happiness.
I finally pull away from her, wiping my face with the sleeves of my jacket. "Thank you," I mumble quietly.
"It’s alright, my love." Christie reaches out and tucks a lock of hair behind my ear. “Give me a second, let me get you a drink.” She stands and walks toward the kitchen, leaving me sitting alone in the living room. It takes less than a minute before she returns, holding two glasses filled with steaming hot chocolate.
“Thanks, Christie.” I take one of the glasses from her. It smells heavenly, and the warmth radiates from its contents and immediately seeps into my veins. I sip slowly, savoring the flavor. “This is really nice. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Now, can you talk or should we watch tv? Knowing you, I know there’s a lot you want to get off your chest.” She settles down next to me, wrapping her arm around my shoulders. A familiar comfort flows through me, easing my troubled mind.
“I just don’t get it. What did I ever do to her?” I look into my drink, watching the steam rise from its surface, making the dark liquid dance. “All I’ve ever done is try to be a good daughter to her? What more does she want?”
“Lily,” Christie drawls my name, rolling the syllables. “Sweetheart, we’ve spoken about this time and time again. You’re not the problem, she is.”
