Asunder

Chapter 25 - Closed Doors

"How's your food, Kingsley?" mom asks me, eyeing my fork as it flips around nonchalantly in mashed potatoes.
I interrupt the movement of my wrist. "It's great, mom." I speak softly with the tilt of my head, glancing at dad. He's staring at me.

When I got back from Emma's place an hour ago, he was looking at me the same way. The disapproval, the dissent, the insult in his gaze has been following me around the living room and kitchen for a while now. Every time I glance at him, he's already staring.

I gather up a bit of courage: "It's great, dad." I dare to hold his gaze for awhile, but it doesn't soften. "You make the best potatoes."
He looks down to cut a piece of his steak. "You could have taste-tested them when they were done, but you were out."
I swallow, and turn to mom. She glances away from me.

"I'm sorry," my hands rest open-palmed on the table, "I thought five thirty was okay."

No answer. Only the squeaking sounds of utensils against china and the crooked smile on my dad's face. I don't know what to make of it, but every instinct tells me to be careful.

The time went by so fast with Emma. Conversation flowed out of nowhere about everything and anything, seemingly endless. I couldn't tell how much time had passed by. I was laughing with her in her living room when I noticed the clock; I spit out a goodbye and had to run to get home on time with only seconds to spare. I was expecting a bit of quiet when I got back, but not this.

The silence is too dense to breathe in. So I try to speak up, my voice sounding in a small squeak:

"How was lunch with the Kals?"
My mom opens her mouth to answer, but my dad beats her to it. "It was good." He takes a sip of sparkling water. "They're nice people."
I smile a bit, and feel a small amount of tension leave my shoulders. "Right? I think so, too."
"I guess that's why you'd rather spend all day over there," mom mutters.

I look at her. Her brows are raised and set to match the passive-aggressiveness of her words. But she doesn't look me in the eye as she cuts up a piece of meat. I know just by her tone and her face that the supper will end coldly. I search through my mind for whatever sentence could possibly diffuse the atmosphere, watching for the bitter deepening of her frown.

"I don't go there because I prefer it," I say softly, and then wince: even I know that sounds like a lie.
This time, dad chimes in, imposing through his intonation. "Then why do you go all the time?"
I straighten, and my fingers curl and uncurl as his stare bores into mine. "It's nice company, and it's summer so there's not much to do—"
"Then lets do something together, as a family," mom interrupts, but the proposition isn't sweet. Her frown is deep as she sets her fists on either side of her plate.
"Then why don't we?" I feel a sudden defiance furrow my brows.
"I don't know!" she exclaims, and I sigh quietly. "But we should figure something out instead of you being away all day."
I don't yield under her steel gaze. "You're away all day for work, mom."
"On weekdays." I'm keenly aware of the way her voice has risen. "On weekends, I'm here for you, so you don't have to be alone with him." She jabs a finger at dad. I don't dare look at his face to see whatever lies there. "And then you leave."
"You don't have to be anywhere for me, mom." My confidence has drained into a desperation. "I'm fine, honestly."
"Obviously not!" Though I know she's worried, she speaks loudly and almost angrily, as if I've failed at something, as if she's frustrated with me. "You wake up in the middle of the night or day, you're always tired, you eat like a mouse! You've only started to gain a bit of weight when you leave the house!" She gives a long sigh, and I hear my heart beat in my ears at her pause. "Should I not care that you can only eat and be happy somewhere else?"