I walked slowly to the table, dragging my messenger bag behind me. Then, dropping into the chair, I crossed my arms around my waist and hunched over.
“We’ve been patient,” my mom said. “We’ve tried to give you time to work through your feelings. Well, it’s time to get over it and get on with life. This hiding in your room is going to stop.” My mom picked up her mug and took a sip of coffee. Her gaze never left my face.
“Sorry,” I mumbled. And then the tears came. I sobbed, laying my head on the table. I couldn’t get the image of the girl lying on the pavement, her blonde hair soaked in her own blood, because of me.
“You can’t fight them,” my dad said quietly. He leaned over and rubbed my shoulder.
“It’s my fault.”
“You have to give into your visions or things like that will keep happening.” My mom smoothed my hair over my ear. “Learn to look at the visions as a gift, Milayna, rather than a curse. You have the ability to help people in a way others can’t.”
It is kind of awesome. If I stop fighting it and learn to use it
My dad cleared his throat. “There’s more we need to tell you.”
“Oh,” I said between hiccupped sobs, “something tells me I don’t want to hear it.”
My mom slapped her hand flat against the tabletop, and I flinched. “You will listen, Milayna! It’s important. There are far worse things you could be than a demi-angel. People don’t get to choose their lot in life. This is the life you’ve been given. So stop whining and bitching and learn to deal. We’ll talk after school.”
My parents stood and walked out of the room, leaving me slouched in a chair at the kitchen table. I was supposed to leave for school, but instead, I sat at the table most of the morning, thinking.
Emotions tumbled through my brain like a dryer set on high. Some sliced through me, like my family’s betrayal and lies, leaving wounds still open and hurting. I opened my heart and pushed those emotions out. They were toxic and not something I had room for. Not something I wanted to keep. Other emotions were raw, but welcomed. Memories of family game nights, traditional Saturday morning breakfasts, trips to the mall with Muriel. That was my life. Was it really going to change as drastically as I pictured?
***
I was in my room when my parents got home from work that evening. I heard them talking and laughing when they came in. It was rare they came home at the same time, so I figured our impending conversation had something to do with that. I bounded down the stairs to meet them.
“You should change out of your work clothes. I made dinner.” Shoving my hands in the back pockets of my jeans, I rose on the balls of my feet and then lowered myself down again. “And I took Ben to Grams’.”
“Really? I thought something smelled good in here.” My mom smiled at me. We walked into the kitchen, and she went to peek in the oven. “Roasted chicken. It’s perfect.”
Dad took the lid off a pot on the stove. “Mashed potatoes.” He smiled and looked at me. I winked at him, and his smile widened. That was our secret sign that let him know I used extra butter—and not the diet kind that Mom used.
My parents went upstairs to change and wash up for dinner while I set the table. When we all sat down, my mom looked over the table and gave a happy sigh. “This is nice, Milayna. I didn’t feel like cooking tonight. Thank you. And thanks for taking Ben to Grams’ house. I wasn’t looking forward to fighting rush-hour traffic.”
I fiddled with my fork and nodded. “I wanted to help.”
We ate in a semi-comfortable silence until my dad spoke. “You skipped school today.” He took a bite of mashed potatoes.
“I had a lot to think about.”
“Yes, I suppose you did.”
I picked off a slice of chicken with my fork. “I’ve come to a conclusion,” I said. “I don’t like it, but hiding in my room and trying to fight my visions doesn’t change what I am. And I don’t particularly like the person I’ve been the last few days. I don’t want to be bitter and nasty the rest of my life.”
“That’s good, Milayna.” My mom nodded. “I’m really glad to hear you aren’t happy with how you’ve been acting because, well, you’ve been almost unbearable to live with.” She smiled to take the sting out of her words.
“I know. I really am sorry.”
We ate in silence for a bit. The only sound in the room was the scraping of utensils against plates and the ice maker dropping cubes of ice in the bin.
Shifting in my seat, I turned toward my dad. “So, what did you want to tell me? You said this morning there was more I needed to know. I think I’m ready to know the whole truth. I don’t want anyone else getting hurt because of something I did or didn’t do.”
“Well, first,” my dad said around a bite of asparagus, “it might help you deal with things knowing there are others like you out there.”