Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 105506 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 422(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105506 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 422(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
My father said grace.
I briefly considered protesting this as I had many times before. My parents were tensed as if they were waiting for me to do that. It occurred to me how predictable I was in this house. I’d prided myself on being chaotic, individual, an anarchist against an oppressive environment. But there, my actions could’ve been tracked like clockwork. It was interesting.
It also occurred to me that I’d gone there for a fight. I’d gone there to reinforce all the negative ideas I had about these people. So instead of playing the part that everyone at the table was so used to, I took my mother’s hand and remained silent as my father said grace.
I couldn’t say if they were surprised or not.
The food tasted different than it had before. Better than it had before. I ate two servings. Which made Colby smile in satisfaction.
The conversation was stilted and awkward. I could tell my parents were desperately curious about what my life had looked like the past years. I also sensed that they didn’t want to make a wrong move and end the dinner with me screaming at them and storming off.
I had a history of doing that.
And they had a history of coaxing me into doing that.
“So, Colby, what is it you do?” my mother asked midway through the meal.
I pursed my lips, inexplicably wanting to smile at the seemingly innocuous question. I did internally applaud my mother for asking the question rather placidly and without any kind of judgmental undertone.
Again, the teenager in me wanted to shout, “He’s in a motorcycle club, embodies every single thing that you fear and we’re fucking.” But I kept my mouth shut.
“I’m a mechanic,” he replied with a smile. Colby had been relaxed, friendly and at ease since the second we walked in. He was also subtly but openly affectionate with me. He always had his hands on me.
Right then, his hand was on my thigh under the table.
Though it wasn’t at all appropriate, my body responded to that hand on my thigh with an ever-growing need. I’d discovered that my sexual desires had not dissipated in recent years. Hadn’t even dulled a little. Like the booze, I used it in excess to drown out my screams coming from that warehouse.
“That’s a good solid job,” my father said.
My mother nodded in approval. “Very respectable.”
I almost choked on my juice.
Colby shot me a look.
“And, uh, Sariah … school is still going well?” my father asked hesitantly.
He was venturing into territory laden with emotional landmines. My parents had not wanted me to go to college so far away. They had not been able to afford to send me to an Ivy League. And even if they could have, they would’ve done everything in their power to stop my mind from getting corrupted by such ‘dangerous ideas.’
They had wanted me to go to some kind of religious based college. They weren’t overly concerned with which religion—since they were Mormon and Jewish respectively—as long as it was somewhere that instilled a healthy fear of sin and promoted a ‘godly life’ … whatever the fuck that meant.
The news of me going to Brown wasn’t met with conventional parental happiness. The news of me dropping out would likely be met with conventional parental disappointment and maybe some sort of ‘I told you so.’
“School is going well,” I replied, not lying. As far as I knew, the college was still in business, still squirting out graduates. I just wasn’t one of them.
“That’s great,” my mother exclaimed, an octave higher than normal.
My father cleared his throat. There was no more food to focus on.
“Um, we’re kind of tired,” I said. “Long drive.”
“Of course,” my mother quickly stood up. “I’ve got fresh sheets on your bed and kept your room just as it was.”
This surprised me. I was sure she would’ve ripped down all my posters the second I left and disposed of all contraband. Maybe the weed I hid in my underwear drawer still remained.
“Colby, I’ve made up the guest room for you,” my mother added.
“No need, I’m sleeping with Sariah.”
I could not hide my gape as those words came out of Colby’s mouth. My eyes went to my father, holding my breath and waiting for him to argue.
My mother didn’t even faint or anything.
They just stared blankly between the two of us, silent for a few awkward moments.
My father then did the unthinkable… He nodded, clapping his hands together. “Right, then that’s sorted.”
“Right,” I repeated, unable to look at Colby.
“Well, um, goodnight, then,” I spluttered.
“Let us know if you need anything, honey,” my mom smiled at me.
Honey. When was the last time she’d called me that? Often, I realized, scouring my memories. I’d just shut it out. Focused on the fights, the rules, the stifling feeling of the role I was supposed to play.