Soft Served August

Prologue

I woke up to the sound of plates breaking, and sunlight invading my sight.

“Mommy?” I whispered, grabbing my favorite teddy bear. I got up from my little bed, and headed to my door.

I’m here again.

The door squeaked a little as I opened it, and it’s amazing how I could still hear that through all the screams, screams that seemed to have already occupied all the space in our huge house. And it’s quite tragic, because the most vivid memory I remember as I child were just them. Fighting. Everyday.

I slowly went downstairs, and saw my mom and dad. Their voices filled the room, every word echoing back and fourth and ringing in my ears. As if everything is happening all over again, history reoccurring.

“If you just went serious about this, we’d―” mom threw a plate at dad’s direction (which broke, of course, in the process) and it almost beheaded dad.

Almost.

Shame, I thought to myself.

“Oh! Serious? You want serious?!” mom took her favorite porcelain vase and pointed it at dad, “Okay, let’s be damn serious!” She threw the vase at the dining room.

I wanted to make a move, switch views perhaps, but I couldn’t. Because I realized just now how there were shards of broken glass everywhere. I know it wouldn’t hurt at all if I stepped on them, but I’d rather watch this. Even if I’ve seen this a lot of times, as it does repeat most nights.

“Mommy, you’re scaring me...” I heard a very familiar voice whisper. But she didn’t come out of the shadows just yet, mom and dad couldn’t even hear her because of their argument.

“Mommy, daddy, please stop...”

It was me.

“It’s your fault our business is doomed! And would you please stop throwing glass everywhere, do you know how much that vase costs?” dad shouted back at her.

No, dad, the fault is in our stars, I wanted to say, but it won’t change anything anyway. I’m invisible here. Now, and even before.

“Our business is more important than us? Our daughter? For God’s damn sake Jonathan, this is bull―”

“Watch your language, Caroline. Our daughter might hear you.”

“Now you care?” she said, “As if she wouldn’t hear us from all this noise we’ve been creating.” Mom’s face revealed no emotion, as did dad’s, and she slowly sat down on our couch, massaged her temples, and looked at him again.

My parents are in the brink of filing a divorce, and I’m... I feel nothing.

Well maybe I do, but not as strong as the emotions I felt back then.

“Okay, let’s be serious.”

“Finally.” Dad pulled a chair and sat in front of her. “Why did you have to leave it to Nicole?”

“It was Avery’s sixth birthday.”

“It was Nicole Dawson, Carol!”

“Don’t raise the tone of your voice at me,” she threatened, her eyes blazing at the sight of the man in front of her, and then she breathed out. “She was your secretary, and I saw nothing wrong with leaving it to her―”

“Yeah, nothing wrong with leaving her the pass code to our safe and secret files―good going, Carol. Well there you go, she robbed the company, we’re bankrupt.”

“Oh, so it’s my fault?” I noticed the change of tone in mom’s voice.

“Is it not?” he snapped. “I left the responsibility to you, and you passed it on to Nicole―”