Amor Rebelde

Chapter Twelve (unedited)

"And in her head grew a list of things she'd done wrong, names she'd been called, and mistakes she'd made. Slowly, these were the things she became."

~Julie Martinez~

My father's cheerful humming filled the tense air as my mother babbled away on her phone in a whiny tone that scratched my eardrums. My fingers gripped the pencil tightly as it lightly scribbled across the not so blank page. Words in my cursive writing filled the spaces as I finished my paper for English. The notes of my father's music danced around me as my mother's heels clicked against the wood floors. The aroma of freshly cooked spaghetti floated in the air, swirling around my nose.

Stomach growling, I quickly scrambled to collect my notebooks. Shoving them into my backpack, I stood. The chair scraped against the ground with a high pitch. I cringed, paused, and turned. My mother had stopped mid sentence and glared at me as if I were the devil himself. Air lodged in my throat as fear clawed up my body. My mother had repeatedly told me to keep from putting a scratch anywhere in the house for fear of what would happen to the resale value. She was going to sell it as soon as my father died.

Go, she mouthed.

Not wanting to risk punishment, I scurried past my mother and bolted up the stairs like a frightened animal. My heart leapt in my chest. Darting into my room, I shut the door, dropped my backpack, and jumped onto my bed. Next to it, my phone released a light beep. Slowly, I reached for it. My hands clasped around the cool electronic and as I was typing in my code, my mother's screeching voice called me down.

Shutting my eyes, I let out a strangled breath and hesitantly stood. We hadn't had a family dinner since I was five, and for some reason, my mother said one was needed tonight. She had a big announcement that concerned everyone--in reality, it probably was only going to change her. Any decision she made no longer concerned me, for all I cared.

Sighing deeply, I grabbed the cold metal of the doorknob and slowly made my way downstairs. The smell lingered in the air, but my stomach was so coiled I only felt sick. Shuffling, I avoided eye contact as I sat down across from my mother. My father sat at the head of the table, hands shaking from the effort he put into cooking dinner.

In front of me, a plate of spaghetti with tomato sauce sat. A glass of water was set to the right, but I didn't reach for it, even though my throat was drier that the Sahara Desert. Utensils clicked against the plates as my parents ate without a care in the world. When I felt the blistering gaze of my mother's glare, I hesitantly reached for the fork and began twisting strands of spaghetti around it. Of course, I didn't bring it to my mouth. I was too tense for that.

Silence engulfed us. After years of only talking the bare minimum to be considered a family, we had no idea how to begin a conversation that would last longer that a few awkward seconds. So, no one talked, and the tension filled the space around us. Nerves shivered inside of me as if I were being shocked, but I remained as stiff as an old lady.

Finally, my mother gingerly dabbed her mouth like someone of high class would do and cleared her throat. Her blonde hair was tied back into a tight bun as she patted the gray skirt of her work suit. Her green eyes darted between my father and I before a small smile lit up her face. Her eyes twinkled with joy, and for a second, I was reminded of the time when I was a young girl. Of the time my mother's laughter would fill the hallways of this very house as she danced happily with my father in the kitchen.

But, just for a second.

 Then it was erased with her next words.

"I was offered a job in California." Her voice was as giddy as a teen gushing about their 'first' love. Her eyes twinkled brightly with mystery as she glanced at my father, whose mouth was agape at the announcement. I shoved my food to the side with the fork I was given. "Isn't that wonderful? I can start at the end of the month!"