Slight Detours | Wattys 2015

(18) ALLY

Twenty-three minutes spent with the Bateses, and already I had come to a wonderful conclusion. I even took the liberty to summarizing my one-sided views into three parts. One, Martha was both a pleasant woman and host. Two, Bill was an entertaining character, but unfortunately acted nothing like a father. And three, Jules was the devil’s spawn reincarnated.

And, yes, I was pretty sure my terminology there was a 100% accurate. She was a devil’s spawn. To be honest, I wouldn’t be surprised if her middle name was Satan. There wasn’t anything positive to say about her, really. Looking past her wistful accent, bombshell body, and overall stunning appearance, she was practically a dumpster truck in the making.

Considering all the prejudices, my logic went somewhat like this. Gorgeous brunette always equaled a garbage bin. Likewise, good-looking blondes, of course, equaled hypothetical toilet plungers and mothballs.

You see, I sort of have this unpleasant disposition towards all attractive people. I wasn’t jealous, I just had my reasons for hating them. I mean, isn’t them being good-looking enough of a torment that they actually have to have the most horrid attitudes?

Okay, that was a hypocritical stereotype, but someone had yet to prove me wrong.

“Well,” my conscience tells me, “Jared did.”

I'll admit, so far, he was the one exception to that rule, yet, staying true to that statement, he was one exception among a billion others.

Ironically, it’s Jared’s playful nudge that jolts me out of my opinionated half-state. I stare at him blankly for a second, half dazed and absorbed in his swirling blue-green eyes.

Why do you have to be so goddamn amazing, you idiot?

“You aren’t eating your pancakes,” he states crudely, a fork raised high and multiple slices of bacon hanging out of his mouth.

“What?”

I look down at my plate, then back up only to get lost in a frenzy of faces, mouths, all talking over each other. For a second, I’m frozen stiff, drowned in the multiple voices. In front of me, I see Martha offering me some orange juice. To my left, Bill haphazardly juggles three apples all at once and Jared continues to annoy me with further poking.

“Will you stop that?” I exclaim, louder than I’d meant to, earning me a smirk from Jules and shocked faces from Martha and Jared.

“Someone’s being a bitch,” Jules mutters, sending me a not-so-apologetic look. I glare in return.

“Watch your language, you lady,” Martha glowers, “No more insulting Ally, understood? She is our guest.”

A brief stare-down takes place between the mother-daughter pair, Bill looking overwhelmed and helpless as a mere spectator. Then, all of a sudden, he speaks up in an authoritative voice that has both Jared and I shocked.

“Your mother’s right,” he slams his fist on the table, the jarring sound ringing in my ears, “Juliette Elizabeth Bates, I have let you go off, doing whatever the hell you want for a very damn long time. So, the least I expect from you is to be civil and proper in return for me allowing you back into this household. I still have no idea what you’ve been doing out there, where you’ve been staying, though I do have a speculation that you’ve been making babies with that Everson boy you always tell me about, but you give me no choice but to draw the line. You will not be leaving this property until I let you do so. There will be no use of phones, computers, or television or so help me God I will deal with you myself. Is that clear?”

When Bill finishes, I can tell he’s tired and out of breath. His breathing his heavy, but he hold his head up high, dignified and demanding.

“Well, dad,” Jules spits venomously, “You haven’t exactly been a father for the past, let’s see, eighteen years of my life, so you have no right to tell me what to do anymore! You lost that privilege the second I was born.”