Shiloh
See, my parents assumed that when I initiated this divorce that I’d be shattered. So when I wasn’t, they worried. A lot. They checked my wrists for cuts and checked my weight as often as they could make me. As if a twenty-seven-year-old woman would starve herself over a divorce she chose to have. Please. I was done with that son of a gun the moment he tried to slap me. Even so, whenever I tried to tell my mother and my dear stepfather this, they’d always tell me “It’s not good to hide your feelings, Shiloh,” or “Shiloh, dear, it’s okay to be sad.” Thing is, I was never sad. Not sad at all. That marriage was fun the first month then after that it gradually went downhill. Two years was all I could handle, to be honest. But his attempt at abuse helped the process along tremendously.
So I wound up in my parents’ house, standing in front of my closet once again while I waited for my sister to show up with her boyfriend. My stepbrother was shuffling around in the room next to mine, dropping things and cussing every other second. I laughed, kicking the wall while I wiggled into skinny jeans. “You okay in there, Blake?” I guess I startled him because there was another loud thud and he yelled “Crap!” Still pulling my shirt over my head, I walked into his room. “Shiloh! Get out! Put on a shirt or stop flashing me or whatever just- dear God, why? Why me?” He grinned at me and rolled his eyes, turning to face me only when I assured him that I was, in fact, completely clothes.
“What do you keep dropping?” I asked, sitting down on his bed. Blake opened his palms, gesturing around the room. “Everything! I’ve dropped maybe eight pairs of shoes. Eight. I feel all jumpy, like something bad’s going to happen.” I pursed my lips, kicking his ankes slightly. “Sadie’s boyfriend is probably just a tattooed crack addict with a criminal record. Maybe you can sense it.” I joked. But now that he mentioned it, I felt it too. A buzzing feeling in my chest that something, thought I had no idea what, was going to go down.
If only we knew.
The neigbors’ dogs started barking, alerting of us of our sisters’ arrival. I ran back into my room to slip into my wedges and Blake rushed to button his polo. We were halfway down the hall to the living room- racing, like we’d done since our parents got married when I was six and he was nine- when the door was flung open and in sauntered my sister, a shaggy-haired boy in tow with his arms around her waist. Immediately, Blake and I exchanged a glance, becoming the defensive big siblings we were raised to be.
Blake puffed out his chest and walked out into the living room, moving to meet our sister and embrace. I leaned against the doorframe, sizing up Sadie’s newest heart-throb. He wasn’t tattooed; didn’t seem like the type to have a criminal record. And he was cute. Looked like Sadie hadn’t done too badly of a job this time around. I hugged Sadie and we gushed for a moment about how much we’d missed eachother. She reunited with Blake and our parents, then asked everyone to sit down. As Sadie began introductions, I walked in and sat on the arm of the couch next to Blake. “Shiloh, Blake, Mom, Dad.” Sadie said, pointing to each of us from the love seat facing the couch. I nodded and gave him a big smile, though Blake just gave him a stiff wave. I kicked his thighs. “Be polite, douche bag.”
Apparently that was extremely amusing, because both Max and Sadie fell out while my mother told me off about my language. “Mom, I’m twenty-seven. I can handle myself and speak however I please.” She narrowed her eyes. “Fine. Just remember you’re a woman of God.” I nodded, rolling my eyes. “So, where did y’all meet?” I asked, leaning forward a bit. “He was shopping for his sister’s birthday while I was shopping for yours.” Said Sadie at the exact moment Max told us they’d met in a Starbucks. They looked at each other. “No, you had your sister with you. I remember exactly.” Sadie said indignantly. “I take my sister to Starbucks sometimes.” Max replied with just as much force. Both Blake and I were rising out of our seats to send Max out of the house the moment he crossed a line, but we were stopped by a loud thud against the door, only to be followed by a sickly sliding noise. Blake got up and grabbed a rifle off the mantle over the fireplace, ever-paranoid just like his father.
