Chapter 1
I looked at my mother over the low hanging lights and smiled nervously. She ignored it and continued watching. I swallowed the piece of bread that I had been holding. I could feel it making its way down my throat. It was painful. A tightening feeling spread across my chest as its journey came to an end. I looked at my mother again. She had shifted her attention to my father who’s mere presence at the dinner table was a miracle by itself. He let out a sigh. Clearly, he didn’t want to be here. That made the two of us.
“Why did you ask to eat bread when you knew perfectly well, I was making pasta?” my mom asked.
I looked away from the tablecloth and its tasseled edges. It was white, covered with lace and very pretty. I looked up at my mother again. I shifted a bit in my chair so that the lights would stop glaring and focused my attention on her face. My father put down his fork and picked up his glass of water. He knew what was about to happen. We all knew. And that was why nobody had made an effort to start any conversation until now. The calm before the storm. Better to begin on a full stomach.
“You made that yesterday too” I said quietly. Her face quickly changed into a look of outrageous disbelief. As if she couldn’t believe I was giving such a horrendous reason. With her lips parted, eyes widened, eyebrows lifted she suddenly looked ten years older. As quickly as the shock consumed her, she schooled her features into a look of helplessness. There she was. My mother. Her rosy lips in a pout, hazel eyes softened and framed with long lashes, dark eyebrows that had a small v between them and her face framed with choppy bronze bangs that beautifully complimented her tanned skin.
“Al honey I’m really trying hard here” she said. At this, my dad looked at me with a look of disapproval that was poorly concealed. I stared at them guiltily although I had no reason to be.
“Mom, I’m trying too. I know it doesn’t seem like it but I really am.” She stared at me for a minute longer as if trying to see if I was lying. Satisfied that I wasn’t she stood up from the table. She pushed the heavy wooden chair back and made her way to the kitchen. My dad picked up their empty dishes and followed her.
“Bring the serving bowl when you are done” my dad called out as he went.
I stuffed the rest of the bread in my mouth and chugged a glass of water to push it down. I grabbed the large pink bowl which had tiny blue birds painted on it. It was a Christmas gift from my aunt to my mom. She was a collector of all things beautiful. When I asked my mom if there had been any specific reason behind the gift, she had smiled knowingly but said nothing.
I stood up with my plate in one hand the bowl in the other and smoothly maneuvered myself out of the gap between the table and the chair. I walked past the stairway and the back door and entered the kitchen. My mother was loading the dishwasher and my dad was looking out of the window. I put the bowl in the sink and my plate in the dishwasher and walked out before they could say anything.
