Behind Closed Doors

Chapter 3

Mr. Bennett is quite tall, and is wearing a stiff suit and tie. Mrs. Bennett is about the same height as her husband with a willowy figure and is dressed immaculately. She's wearing a royal blue midi dress paired with hoop earrings and gold kitten heels. Brady is a carbon copy of his father, tan and muscular with dark brown hair that he obsessively runs his hand through, as if constantly telling himself how gorgeous he is. For a split second, we make eye contact and I notice the smug look of boredom and arrogance spreading across his face.

Mother greets the Bennetts graciously, like the perfect housewife she's forced to be, offering to take their shoes and jackets. Father makes his way from the living room where he was watching the evening news and welcomes them as well, signaling to us kids to come say hello. Obediently, we proceed from the corner of the room where we had been sitting, and walk slowly into the dining room where everyone else is. Father speaks first, "Alfred, Jillian, these our my daughters Adelaide, Cate, Esme, Lilia, and Izzy. You know," he says, winking at Brady, "Cate's just about you're age. Maybe you two can get to know each other, eh?" I sigh. The Bennetts have only been in our house for ten minutes and father has already completely charmed them. Brady nods nonchalantly, as his mother practically squeals with excitement. "Yes, Robert, that's a wonderful idea! Why, Brady hasn't had a girlfriend in who knows how long, and certainly never one as pretty as you." Cate stiffly nods in agreement, but then averts her eyes to the nearby couch. Father grins menacingly, like a predator who has just found his target.

For dinner, there is my mother's roast chicken and mashed potatoes, which are served out of her good pans, the ones with pink floral pattern and gold lining. We all sit at the dining room table, a large solid oak table, smoothly polished and converted into society's deception of beauty. If you think about it, we are all polished in some way. Some of us physically; changes in hair, weight, eye color, facial structure. But some of us have been polished emotionally,

warped and reconditioned to fit certain guidelines.
Guidelines that we have no say in.
Guidelines that are created by this world we live in, this
society.

Father is at the head of the table, of course, talking to Mr. Bennett about work and finance, while mother sits across from Mrs. Bennett and asks her questions about the fashion industry. To most people, this would look like a normal interaction. But, if you look closely, you can see the way mother catches father's eye, checking to make sure she said the right thing. The way she laughs and smiles just a bit too much. The way father positions his arm around mother's chair not as an act of affection, but as an act of dominance. I see these things only because I have the ability, because I've been raised and conditioned to notice. To be afraid.

Cate sits quietly next to Brady, barely saying a word the whole dinner while Brady talks on and on about himself. "So, I like, play basketball. I don't want to brag but, I'm really good. You know, I'm like the whole reason my team keeps winning." He boasts. Cate smiles promptly and nods. "You see these crocs?" Brady gestures to his foot, which is clad in a tan croc with a large split in the toe. "They were 10,000 dollars, not to brag or anything." Brady runs his hand through his hair, and I note that it looks even worse than it did when he arrived. He winks at Cate, who looks like she wants to disappear. "So, Cate, how were your finals?" Mr. Bennett asks, trying to make conversation. "They were fine." She responds politely, "I got straight A's again." "Wow, straight A's! I wish my Brady was as smart as you." Brady scowls, obviously unhappy that the attention has been taken off of him.

The dinner continues like this with Cate being silent, Brady being self absorbed, and the adults trying to make conversation. At one point, father glances at me across the table. I can see the look in his eyes, and realizes he wants me to smile more.

To engage in the conversation.
To be the perfect daughter I'm supposed to be.

Finally, dinner ends. Mother and Esme clear the dishes while Izzy, Lilia, and I go in the kitchen, serving homemade strawberry ice-cream. Father sends Cate and Brady in the backyard together, so that they can "eat their ice-cream in peace". Cate has looked miserable the whole night, so of course, when mother asks me to bring her and Brady their ice-cream, I am more than happy to oblige, stepping into my big sister role as easily as putting on a worn winter jacket.

Brady takes the ice-cream quickly without even muttering a thank you, and I see him hand one of the bowls to Cate. I then slowly walk back into the kitchen, still worrying about my younger sister. Of course, father is busy entertaining the guests in the living room, but when I walk in, he makes a beeline for me. "Where were you, Adelaide?" He says, his breath hot and smelling of whiskey. "Getting Cate and Brady their ice-cream." I say as respectfully as possible. "Don't sass me, young lady. You know how important it is that I make a good impression with the Bennetts, and your risking ruining it. Now, all of your sisters were somehow able to come and make small-talk with the guests, so why couldn't you?" He says, his voice dripping with sarcasm. I reel back abruptly. I know he won't hurt me now, not with the Bennetts around, but I can still feel the fear in my stomach.

The silent screams radiating out of my mouth.
The slight quivering of my lower lip that you wouldn't notice unless you were looking directly at me.

Once my mother sees the Bennetts out, and Cate runs up to her room, and my sisters go to get ready for bed, it will finally be time.