Shadows of Yesterday

Chapter 9: Sundays are for Explosions

For as long as I could remember, my family had always had the most boring Sunday routine imaginable. We didn't go to church or any kind of religious meetings, and my parents had never been fans of forced family bonding. Sundays were sacred hermit time—a day for all of us to hide in our rooms and recharge before facing the world again the next day. The only exception was my mom's unshakable rule: family breakfast. Every Sunday, no matter what.

Which is why my first Sunday back in Mirton completely threw me for a loop.

For starters, I woke up to the sound of my parents leaving for work after yet another hushed argument with Declan, something about him "not even considering what they said yesterday." What kind of office job required people to work Saturdays and Sundays?

Then there was "family breakfast," which turned out to be a half-empty box of frozen waffles with a sticky note slapped on it: "Make sure you all get some. –Dad."

But the real kicker? Declan was outside mowing the lawn. In 100-degree weather. Willingly. And he was wearing a long-sleeved, frilly shirt, a black cowboy hat, and neon pink rainboots like it didn't make him look like a randomly generated Sims character come to life. Meanwhile, Ben was dancing shirtless around the house while cleaning all the bathrooms in his swim trunks, blasting some obnoxious song at full volume.

I stood in the middle of the kitchen, waffle box in hand and eyes fixed on Declan's slow progression across the yard, my ears ringing with the painful sound of Ben's off-key singing.

What was happening?

After shoveling a few waffles into my face, I decided to deal with Ben first--mostly because the thought of going out in the heat made me want to evaporate on the spot. 

When I arrived in the upstairs bathroom, he was twirling the mop like a cane in a musical and singing into a hairbrush. Why there was a hairbrush in a bathroom only used by short-haired men, I had no idea. He also had on black latex gloves and slippers. All he needed to complete his picture of the world's lowest-budget Broadway production was an old-timey hat and some coattails. 

I interrupted his enthusiastic rendition of Wouldn't You Like? with a confused laugh. "What are you doing?"

He immediately stopped singing and spun around, blushing furiously. "Oh, hey there, Jackrabbit. Didn't see you there."

I repeated my question, and he bowed with a flourish and a goofy grin. "It's called being fabulous. You wouldn't understand."

"I see." I crossed my arms with a grin and a raised eyebrow. "And is Mr. Fabulous planning on actually cleaning?"

He stuck his tongue out. "Hey! I am cleaning. See?" He sprayed the mirror with glass cleaner to demonstrate his point. 

"Oh, real mature. And convincing," I scoffed.

"I know I am. Unlike some people in this house, I actually like to contribute to society every once and a while."

"Rude."

 I chucked a waffle at his head, which he deftly caught and devoured with an infuriating grin.

"Thanks! All that dancing sure worked up an appetite."

"You are so-- ugh. I just... I can't."

He mimed a hair toss. "Right? My awesomeness is enough to leave anyone speechless."

"Just keep the music at a humane level, please," I sighed.

"I won't!"

I rolled my eyes with another scoff and walked away. Moments later, the sounds of Ben's awful singing filled the air once again. I muttered something under my breath about strangling him with the mop and shuffled toward the back door to deal with Declan.