Page 37 of Heated (Burned, Inc.)
“Mom, I’m sure Dad did his best, and you’re a genius at what you do. No doubt the food is going to be wonderful.”
I take a glimpse at my brother and sister, who have suddenly transformed into selective mutes. Levi, who honestly just doesn’t give a shit, leans against the kitchen wall, his thumbs rapidly flying over his phone. And Miriam returns my glance with a “You got this” look and thumbs-up.
So basically, I’m on my own.
Sometimes being the peacemaker fucking sucks.
Mom slides me a side-eye that’s worthy of its own GIF.
“Always taking your father’s side. I should’ve known.”
“Oh, come off it, Monica,” my father interjects, throwing his hands in the air. “She literally just called you a great cook. Which, while nice, she should be ashamed of lying on a Sunday.” He stalks toward the kitchen entrance, ignoring the glare Mom buries in his back like a Roman dagger. “I’m done with this conversation. The game is on. Call me when dinner’s ready. Come on, Levi.”
Levi lifts his head, a frown marring his brow as he stares at Dad’s retreating back. His lips part, and I don’t need a twin bond to predict the “No fucking thank you” that’s about to fall from his lips with full Levi disdain. He abhors sports. With the passion of a thousand suns. A fact our sports-apparel-store-owner and die-hard Denver Broncos–fan father can’t understand or accept.
But I give him a small hard shake of my head. Oh hell no. Not today, Satan. He’s got to take one for the team if we’re going to get through this quickly and with as little damage as possible.
A sneer rides his mouth, but he pushes off the wall and strides from the room.
“Mom, how’s the school year going so far?” I ask, turning back to my mother.
And thankfully, the question diverts her attention and bad mood. An hour later, when we’re all gathered around the dining room table, bowls of beef stew and white rice with steaming-hot homemade biscuits and butter in front of us, I start to cautiously relax. Mom and Dad have sniped at each other as usual but just over small things. Nothing that has the capability of setting off a shitstorm. Miriam is her usual funny and charming self, even eliciting laughter from Dad. Minor miracle there. And Levi is taciturn, but nothing inflammatory has escaped him, so I’m counting it as a win.
We might actually make it through this dinner unscathed ...
“Darlene said she saw one of your ads on the Facebook. She asked me if it was my kids’ company. I had to lie at Bible study; can you imagine? I was so embarrassed,” Dad says.
Ohfuck.
So close. We’d been soclose.
I glance up from my dinner to meet my father’s narrowed stare from the end of the table. He’s silent, waiting on me. Probably to apologize. That’s another thing. Technically, I’m not even the oldest child—Levi is by two minutes—but they treat me as if I am. Which includes when either my brother or sister gets in trouble, they look to me. I should’ve been watching out for them. Why didn’t I know Levi had been writing essays for the other students and charging cash for them? How could I have let Miriam participate in that student protest about college tuition funding prisons? Well, that had been Dad. Mom had been positively giddy her daughter had ended up arrested for the cause.
Still, they both blamed me for dragging my siblings into this ridiculous business venture. As if Levi and Miriam didn’t have fully functioning brain cells and hadn’t contributed their unique skills to the company. We were equal partners, having invested the same amount of money, sweat equity, passion, and time. But no. In my parents’ eyes, I’d failed in my responsibilities toward Levi and Miriam and them.
“So lying in the church parking lot would’ve been preferable to lying at Bible study? I’m not a theological student, but I don’t think God cares where you lie. It’s still shitty,” Levi drawls.
Oh double fuck.
Dad slaps his hand to the table, jerking his glare from me to Levi. While the rest of us jump at the sharp sound, Levi doesn’t even flinch, just calmly continues to spoon more stew into his mouth, completely unfazed by our father’s show of temper.
“The. Hell,” I mouth at him.
He arches an eyebrow back at me.
“Don’t you speak that way at my dinner table, in my house. I won’t put up with that kind of disrespect.”
“But it’s okay to disrespect our business? Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.” More spooning of stew.
I love my mother’s cooking, I do, but it’s just not that fucking good.
“Honor your father and your mother so that you may live long in the land the Lord your God is giving you,” my father growls.
“Fathers, do not provoke your children to anger, but bring them up in the discipline and instruction of the Lord.”
“Levi, please,” I murmur, praying—and I do meanpraying—my brother hears the message in those two words.
If he doesn’t stop, I’m afraid Dad is going to go apoplectic ... well, more than he already is, and that won’t be good for any of us. I just want to get through this dinner with as little conflict as possible. The arguments, the sniping, the digs—they don’t affect Levi the same as me. Sometimes, he seems to thrive on it. Like just now. Especially withour dad. Miriam has always done what a glance beside me reveals she’s up to now. Staring across the room, a tiny wrinkle above her nose. She loses herself in her head in a world where none of us can reach her. I’ve always envied her of that ability—that gift.
