No Strings Attached

Chapter 21: A Tired Day

After a long, hot shower, I dress in a white tank top and neon purple shorts then retreated downstairs, where my parents are in the kitchen, fixing plates of chicken and French fries.

As they were prepping, I can hear "Ribbon In the Sky" playing on the living room TV.

The warm smell of crunchy brown crust and salt-coated fries lured me to the kitchen table, where Mom and Dad scooped spoonfuls of gravy-drenched mashed potatoes and green beans from white plastic containers and dump them on their plates.

On the table close to me is a dish filled with fried chicken, buttery yellow French fries, and a small biscuit smothered in honey.

"Wow, " I marveled, staring at the food. "You guys must be—"

"Starving?" Dad guessed, chuckling. "You have no idea, Sugar Bean. Have a seat, Nadine."

Inspecting the food on my dinner plate, I notice my parents' dinner is a lot different than mine.

For one thing, Mom and Dad have green beans, two heaping mounds of gravy-soaked mash potatoes, and chicken breasts the size of a rock.

Shredding the fried chicken's crust, I tore the white meat and devoured it in seconds.

"Mm, " I swooned. "This is delicious. So, what are we celebrating?"

Taking a seat in front of my parents, I slowly tore apart the golden brown crust, plucked the white meat from its bones, and consumed it in minutes.

This chicken is delicious. I swooned.

And even though the meat is pretty greasy, it wasn't too salty or spicy.

Witnessing me peeling the flesh from its bones, Mom laughed, "Slow down, Nadine!"

I glance up from my half-eaten chicken, then blushed.

"Sorry, " I muffled, covering my mouth with my hand.

Mom laughed some more. "Have you eaten anything while we were gone?"

I swallowed a mouthful of chicken. "No, why?"

Laughing some more, Mom takes a paper napkin then offers one to me.

"Because you eat like your father on Holloween," she stated, gazing at him intently.

Dad, who was taking a bite from his potatoes, cuts his eyes in her direction.

"Honey, I am not like that," he says in disbelief.

Setting her fork down, Mom crossed her arms.

"David please, " she snickered, "you eat more Twix bars than any kid in this neighborhood."

He slumped his shoulders. "I just like them, okay?"

Like them? Dad has three bags of mini Twix bars inside his work desk.

"What about Snickers?" I joked, taking the napkin from Mom's fingers.

"Not a fan of them," Dad grunted. "Especially M&Ms."

I pretended to gasp. "What did M&Ms ever do to you?"

"I just find their commercials creepy," Dad explained. 

Attacking his stringy chicken with his fingers, he groaned, "I mean, seriously. M&Ms are candy—they don't talk."

I roll my eyes, wiping the chicken grease from the corner of my lips.

"Of course they don't talk, Dad, " I snickered, finishing my fries. "People use talking M&Ms to promote their product."

Dad chewed on his mashed potatoes without actually tasting them.