“You live in my house, little girl. You will respect my rules, but above all else, you will respect me.”
“But—”
“No buts,” he interrupts, clearly done with the conversation. “The no dating rule has been in place all along. We won’t change it just because you don’t like it.”
I know better than to fight him on this; my father is impenetrable. His word is law, and that’s the way it’s always been. As a Christian man, he rules his house like a master, the Holy Bible his law book. Unless God himself were to tell him that I could go, there is no way in hell I’m going to that prom.
“I went to the senior prom with you when I was sixteen.” I turn towards the voice, and a slow grin spreads across my face as I watch my mother stare back at my father. She doesn’t often speak up, but when she does, my father is usually quick to cave. She may not be God himself, but in this case, she’s the next best thing.
Chapter 2
Though everything else in this house seems to be exactly the same as it was the day I left, my mother’s kitchen has definitely changed. Gone are the bright blue walls and spotted cow figures that used to dot the shelves. A cheery, butter yellow color has taken the place of the blue, and the shelves now hold antique looking kitchen utensils and china. It’s bright and homey, and suits my mother perfectly.
The stove is covered in bubbling pots, while the countertop is filled with dishes and serving bowls waiting to be filled. The mouth-watering smell of roasting turkey permeates the entire house, and I can see her award-winning pecan pie on the cooling rack by the oven. The smells themselves are enough to fill me with nostalgia. As a child, I’d always loved Christmas, and my mother’s turkey dinner was to die for. The last ten Christmases just haven’t been the same without it.
“Sophie, why don’t you grab the milk out of the fridge and start mashing the potatoes. That was always your favorite job.” She smiles up at me from where she stands, removing the stuffing from the small turkey. “Clay, you can start taking the dishes in and setting them on the table.”
Clay and I both move to do as we’re told. As we work, my mother chatters nonstop, telling me all about the family I’d left behind, and what they’re up to now. I learn that Aunt Kate had been diagnosed with breast cancer, and my cousin Randy is now married with a baby on the way. She talks to fill the space, desperate to keep away any awkward silences, and though I don’t care one way or another about my asshole cousin Randy, or my nasty old Aunt Kate, I listen intently, responding with the appropriate murmurs and smiles.
The truth is, now that I’m here, I don’t have a clue as to how to fix this. I don’t know how to fill the ten-year void of heartache I’d created the day I left. I know that I’ve hurt both her and my father, but to be honest, I’m not here to apologize; they hurt me too. If anything, I just want this to be behind us, so that we can get back to loving each other the way we used to, and to get back to being a family again.
I finish mashing the potatoes, grateful for the mundane task, just as she finishes with the turkey. “Okay,” she says in an exaggeratedly bright voice. “Let’s eat!”
Together, the three of us carry the last of the dishes to the table, and my mother leaves us to go collect my father. “You okay?” Clay asks, wrapping a strong arm around my waist.
I nod. “So far, but now’s the fun part.” I glance up at him and bite my lip. “Dinner with my father.”
He smiles at my sad attempt at a joke, and squeezes me tight, pressing a kiss to the top of my head. “I’m right here, babe.”
My parents choose that moment to enter the dining room. My father glances at the pair of us, his eyes drifting down to where Clay’s arm surrounds me. His eyes narrow a fraction as he ignores us, and strolls into the room, taking his seat at the head of the table. I shoot a look to Clay, who smiles reassuringly, and we both take our seats across from each other. Nobody says a word as my mother hurries off to the kitchen.
Nerves flood me as I silently pick at the nonexistent lint on the freshly pressed red and gold tablecloth. My father’s anger is palpable, filling every nook and cranny of the room, threatening to crush my lungs where I sit.