Me, Myself, and Others

Dinner Calls

Awkward silence.

That's it. Can you guess why?

You see, my mother, Sandra, is never home, therefore I am always on my own. We don't talk, we don't spare each other a glance. So when she comes home there is always this thick, awkward silence that settles in the house at dinner.

Tonight, it is thicker than usual. She sits on one end, I sit on the other. Our broccoli and cheese casserole, curtesy of mwah, remains untouched. Its been ten minutes since she announced that we needed to talk.

She shifts, tucking a loose strand of reddish-brown hair behind her ear. I look so much like her, although my hair is redder and my skin is darker and my eyes gray instead of periwinkle. Most of my features come from my dad, but more on that later.

"This is good," she says, eyes not quite meeting my own. I don't reply. She's trying the small talk thing. That really isn't my thing.

I just shovel more food into my mouth. She takes a dainty bite, chewing slowly, looking at the space of wall above my head. I swallow.

"You had to tell me something?"

She seems surprised to hear my voice. She nearly chokes. I quirk an eyebrow. I'm waiting.

"Well, I-"

Her phone rings. I don't move. It's normal occurrence. She picks it up, giving me the apologetic look she always giving me. She's been giving me the look for three years.

"Hello? Sherryl, I told you I was having dinner with my daughter tonight..."

Her voice fades as she leaves the kitchen, looking agitated. I quietly gather up the dirty dishes and pretend to make washing them my goal in life. She comes back in, rubbing the sides of her face.

Over the years she's collected crows feet, frown lines, bags, and dark circles under her eyes. Being the CEO of a major corporation such as Firefox can take a toll.

She watches me watch her. She doesn't make a move to help. Instead she goes behind me, grabs a wine glass, pours some in, and sits at the table, sighing. "Listen, honey-"

"No, mom, it's fine. I understand. Your job is important." More than your own daughter.

I turn and walk away, admiring the pictures as I go. One in particular is my favorite. In it I'm eight, and my dad has me perched on his shoulders, and we're both marveling at the fireworks. It was the 4th of July then.

Mom had taken the picture without us knowing it, but neither of us minded. I picked up my photography skills from her.

In my room now, I gingerly pick up the new, expensive Nikon she gave me last month, to say sorry for missing my seventeenth birthday. I had many apology gifts. From teddy bears to laptops.

I let the camera hang around my neck, holding it as I sit on my bed, thinking. Mom is never here. Its always been me, myself, and I. No one else. Ever since dad died...she's been working more and more.

Footsteps. Soft, tentative, and slow. She stops outside my door. I hold my breath. She inhales. She doesn't knock. Her phone rings before she has the chance. I hear her footsteps retreating into her bedroom.

I sigh, placing the camera on my bedside table. I throw on my Kiss halter top and my Love joggers, tying up my hair into a ponytail.

Before clicking off my light, I look towards my closed door. "Night dad. Night mom." The light dies.

Sorry for the short chapter. An immediate update is coming I promise.
Teaser: Haley meets her new housemates.
Stay weird my purples! (Yep. Purples. Deal.)

Quote of the Chapter: Born to Rock. Forced to Work.

-Genesis ;)