Fostered

Chapter Three

Dinner, to put it lightly, is already a disaster.

Evan just can't let that picture go. Every question is steered toward Ethan. Of course, I give no direct answers. I hardly give any answers. I poke at my spaghetti with my fork. The food is delicious, but I lost my appetite just moments after I took my first few bites and the questions came pouring in.

"How is everything?" Tina begins the dinner conversation.

"It's nice, thanks." I reply with a smile.

Evan decides that he doesn't want to talk about that. He wants to focus on more "pressing" matters. He has burning questions.

"So, is he your dad?" Evan asks, stuffing a fistful of garlic bread into his mouth.

I don't say anything. I only continue to twirl my fork around my heap of noodles.

"Is the spaghetti okay? Is there too much sauce?" Tina asks in a worried tone.

I almost feel bad causing her so much worry. "No, no. It's great. I'm just... Not hungry."

"I can make you something else." She suggests, gesturing to the kitchen.

"No, really. It's fine." I say.

"Oh, I know. He's your ex boyfriend!" Evan announces.

"Stop it." Steven warns his brother.

"Are you sure you don't want anything else to eat?" Tina pushes as Calla anxiously shifts in her chair.

"Really, I'm o-"

"He's your cousin!" Evan slams his hands onto the table top and nods with enthusiasm.

"May I be excused?" I ask, shooting out of my chair and making a bee-line for the stairs.

I practically sprint to my temporary bedroom and slam the door behind me. I pace the floor like a deranged animal, growling to myself and gritting my teeth. I stop and lean forward against the wall. I'm shaking with anger and some other emotions that I refuse to comprehend. Without hesitation I ball my right hand into a fist and lie a powerful punch into the wall beside the dresser. The drywall crumbles and pain shoots through my knuckles to my wrist. I pull my hand from the hole in the wall and blood oozes onto the back of my palm. One of my knuckles is split.

I sit down on the edge of the bed and freeze when somebody knocks on the door. I say nothing and the handle moves. Henry enters the room and I relax. He looks at the gash on my knuckles, then to the hole in the wall, then back to me.

"Rough night. I know." He says, "Come downstairs and I'll get you stitched up."

"No offense, but I think I'd rather be buried alive than see your son again right now." I blurt out.

Henry stares at me, expressionless. Then he starts laughing. I give him a nervous smile and he shakes his head.

"Tina sent him up to his room. He won't be bothering you anymore. Now, come on." He insists.

I stand up and follow Henry downstairs. He takes me into the kitchen and makes me rest my arm on the counter. He opens a first aid kid with literally everything they have in an OR inside. He gives me some medicine to ease the pain, cleans my cut, then stitches it up and dresses it. Calla watches from the living room couch. I hear Tina shouting at Evan upstairs. Steven is nowhere to be found.

He closes the kit and smiles at me.

"I haven't stitched up a kid in my house since Calla slipped and hit her head on the diving board when she was nine." Henry tells me.