Last Names | Tyrus/Muffy

Part 10

Buffy's POV

The glass clinks as my mother places it down on the table.

"What time did he say he'd be home?"

"He didn't," I reply. "He just said he'd be back for dinner."

"Well," Mom responds, "he has about five more minutes or we're eating without—"

As if on cue, the door squeaks open, and both my mom and I turn our heads to the boy standing in soaking wet clothing, presenting what just may be the dopiest grin I've ever seen TJ wear.

"Am I late?" TJ asks.

"You're just barely on time," my mom answers, "but why are you so wet? It's not raining, is it?"

"I was at the park with my—" he hesitates "—friend. And we went in the fountain."

"Okay, well, go get changed into some dry clothes, then come back down. and supper will be ready," my mom orders.

TJ does as asked, leaving damp footprints on the hardwood floor from the door to the stairs. As soon as I hear him open and close his bedroom door, My mother continues setting the table, going toward the cutlery drawer.

"This isn't going to work," I mutter. "He's a conceited jerk who only cares about himself."

"Well, make it work," my mom snaps, whipping around to face me.

I freeze, taken aback by her outburst. It seems she's gotten tired of my complaining.

She sets the forks on the counter behind her and takes a breath.

"Buffy, I'm trying to make this as easy as possible, and I would really appreciate it if you'd put even an ounce of effort into being nice," she says.

"Mom, it's TJ—"

"It's your brother—"

"Half-brother," I correct.

She remains quiet for a moment as she turns back around to grab the forks and bring them over to the table.

"Nonetheless, he's family," she insists. "I need you to try to be nice. Maybe once you get to know him, he won't be so bad."

I don't argue that. I think she's about tired of me fighting her on this, and I don't know what more I could say to make her change her mind. She's stuck on this like a stone in cement.

"How am I supposed to get to know him?"

"Talk to him," she says. "Ask him questions. Express interest in what he has to say."

I let out an agonized sigh, to which my mom responds sarcastically, "That's the spirit."

A clunking of feet turns my attention to TJ, now arrived in dry clothes and socks that don't mark the floor. He makes his way over to the table, and I realize that even the way he walks annoys me. I try to shove all my irritation to the back of my brain and walk over to the island to where my mother has laid out trays of burger toppings for us. I don't look at TJ, sure that I'll end up scowling if I do.

"Thanks again for the dinner," TJ says. His politeness almost makes me want to gag. I don't believe one bit of it, but my mom chews it up and swallows it whole.

"You're very welcome," she replies.

Once we've all served ourselves, we sit down together at the table, my mom and I across from TJ in a way that makes it feel like he's about to be interviewed.

"So what's your friend's name?" my mom asks. "The one you were just with?"

"Uh, Cyrus," TJ answers.