by Adriana Law
“Nice attempt to deflect the truth.” Sawyer shrugs a shoulder as he shovels a spoon full of salad in his mouth.
“What’s the truth?” Colton asks.
“That you’re whipped.”
“I like spending time with my girlfriend, so what! That doesn’t make me whipped.”
My mother jumps in.
“Victoria has been accepted into a number of prestigious colleges. She basically can take her pick. After college she’ll be headed off to medical school. I think Colton and Victoria’s relationship is strong enough to overcome this time apart. They have the same goals. The same drive.”
My hand goes numb and I drop my fork, the noise of it clinking against china drawing Sterling’s attention. I pick the fork up, pretending it never happened.
I look at my mother as if she is crazy. I’m not sure where my mother gets this stuff. Does she not have eyes? Can she not see the trouble I have with my hand? My limp? Can she not see that this crazy dream of hers of turning me into something I’m not is never going to work? My mother is living in denial. I’m not so sure she can face the truth. Sometimes I think my mother is the weak one.
“So you want to be a doctor like your mother? That takes … how many years does it take?” Uncle Bentley raises a brow, looking very much like his sons, unconvinced.
“I don’t want—” I start.
“Four years college, four years medical school, and after that she’ll become a resident which is another four years.”
Uncle Bentley folds his arms over his broad chest settling back in his chair, bearing down on me with his disapproving gaze. “So you’re looking at twelve years, minimum?” he asks me.
“Yes. Twelve years.” My mother nods, taking a small bite of roast. “Counting college.”
I think he gets it mother.
He whistles out a long breath. “How the hell will you have time for a boyfriend then? You’re going to be a very busy girl, too busy to be playing house with my nephew.”
“I don’t really want—” I start again, but no one will let me talk.
My mother interrupts. “It will be good for their relationship. Strengthen their bond. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, isn’t that what they say. They both know how important it is to pursue their careers before starting a family.” She holds her wine glass out as if to make a toast, smiling over at Colton and I. “Here’s to a perfect couple; may you grow to appreciate one another.”
“Still it will be hard,” Uncle Bentley persists.
My father clears his throat, wipes his mouth with his napkin, and places a hand over my mother’s on the table. “Honey, why don’t we let Tori answer her own questions?”
“What my father is working so hard to point out is that your girlfriend is about to dump your ass,” Sawyer tells Colton across the table. “You might as well give in now. The man is relentless. I bet a hundred bucks you’ll be in Los Angeles working for my father by the end of next week.”
“And I bet a hundred bucks he has you pumping gas by the end of the next week,” Colton returns.
“There is nothing is wrong with having to work your way up from the bottom,” Uncle Bentley confesses. “I started out pumping gas when I was a young man. Hard work conditioned me to go after what I wanted which was to never have to answer to anyone.”
Hello??? Am I even at this freaking table? I want to wave my arms high in the air until I’m seen and heard, calling a timeout for everyone, instead I motion for Sterling to pass the wine bottle. I finally get it. Why he is always plastered.
My father’s chair scrapes across the floor as he pushes away from the table and leaves the room. Everyone is silent. I guess they’re all assuming something pissed him off so he left. If they knew my father, they’d know the man has a high tolerance for bullshit.
“I’m not going to work for my father,” Sawyer mutters to Colton. “I’d jump of a bridge before I pump gas.”
“I know where a really high one is.” Sterling tips back his wine glass, his throat working to suck down what’s left in the glass.
“You and your swan make a cute couple,” Sawyer returns shooting a smug grin his brother’s way.
Sterling scratches his unshaved jawline with his middle finger, aiming it at Sawyer.
I’m glad I don’t have any brothers.
My shoulders finally relax when I sense this Dinner-party-from-hell is nearing its end, thankfully. Sterling seems to be having trouble focusing and his movements are sluggish, but at least he’s eaten something with all the wine he’s consumed. Maybe that will help him hold it together until the Bentley’s leave. Reaching out I bring my own wine glass to my lips, freezing at my father’s voice.
“Can you believe my daughter carves these,” he says, standing next to Uncle Bentley’s chair, smiling like a proud papa as he hands the Eagle to him. “Pretty talented isn’t it.”
Dad Nooo! Why? Why would you do this?
My gaze lands on my mother: her cheeks are beet red and I think I can literally see steam rising from the top of her head. Not really. But I can imagine the curse words that would be flying if she wasn’t swallowing them down with her wine. She sets the glass down a little too hard on the table, the tips of her manicured nails tapping crystal.
“I wouldn’t necessarily call it talent,” my mother pouts.
“Dad you shouldn’t—” I panic. They’re all focused on the Eagle. My hands tremble and I’m nauseous.
My father returns to his seat. This is not going to go over well with my mother.
“Wow. This is … unusual.” Uncle Bentley laughs; switching the Eagle from hand to hand like it’s a football, glancing down my way. “Why birds?” He turns it over, his wide fingertips running along the length of the cedar, over the groves that hint feathers, the slightly raised wings. “They’re nasty creatures that shit on everything.”
I fight the urge to reach across the table and snatch it from his hands so he can no longer sneer at it. He shakes his head, a rumble of laughter coming from his chest. “Odd.”
“It’s kind of cool,” Sawyer says, taking it from his father and holding it up to his nose. “It smells like cedar. Reminds me of the chest Sterling used to lock me inside of every time we’d go visit our grandmother.”
“Honey, do you mind putting that blasted thing up so we can have desert.” My mother tells my father.
She stands up, picks up a knife and starts slicing the apple pie. Mom serving desert? Wow. She is really out of sorts. She talks while she globs a piece of pie on everyone’s plate.
“It’s a silly hobby she does down in the basement. I’ve tried to get her interested in other things.”
“A girl who knows how to use a knife is sexy?” Sterling says, leaning in eyeing the piece still in Sawyers hands.
My mother chokes on her wine, sputtering and coughing.
“I’m impressed.” Sterling glances over at me wearing a smirk. “I never would have pegged you for the creative type.”
“Yeah and I never would have pegged you for the flattering type.”
“I’m not. Not usually,” he shrugs a shoulder, “But I can recognize talent when I see it.”
“Somehow I doubt that,” I snort.
He doesn’t take his eyes off me. It makes me nervous and clumsy among other things. I might combust in my seat if he doesn’t stop staring as if he can see straight to my soul. I shift in my chair. My hormones must be out of whack. Something chemical has to be going on inside my body to cause this heat inside my body. I blow strands of hair out of my eyes, my shoulders rounding him the chair.
Colton chuckles, his voice laced with arrogance as he speaks to Sterling, “I think you’ve made a bad impression on my girlfriend, dude.” He drapes an arm around my shoulder, crushing me to his side. I’ve never noticed how strong Colton’s cologne is. The alpine pine smell smothers me. It’s like having a Christmas tree constantly shoved underneath your nose: at first it’s pleasant, but soon your eyes start to water and you sneeze.
Colton proceeds straight into lets-embarrass-Tori. “Get this. Victoria is scared as hell of heights but she’s fascinated with birds. Explain that shit.”
“I’m not crazy about heights either,” Sawyer admits aloud and I give him a small smile, wondering if he only said it to make me feel better. Sawyer isn’t so bad. There is something charming about him even though he hits on anything with a vagina. He sits the eagle on the table. It becomes the hippocampus in the room.
Please, dad, do something.
As if my father hears my silent plea he reaches across, picks up the eagle and leaves the dining room to put it back in the living room. Coming back in he settles in his chair, offering me a weak smile. I know that didn’t go the way he had planned.
“It’s okay,” I silently mouth for only him.
My mother joins the conversation going on at the table, “She is. It’s true. Victoria is insanely terrified of heights. She won’t go anywhere near a Ferris wheel. She won’t walk over a bridge and she avoids going anywhere near her bedroom window.”
“You’re scared to go near your bedroom window?” Uncle Bentley chuckles.
“Victoria fell out of her window and broke her arm in three places when she was seven. It was my fault. The window should have been locked,” Dad offers.
I glare at my mother. I don’t know how my father puts up with her. It must be true love.
“It wasn’t your fault, dad.”
Uncle Bentley speaks, “I don’t hold myself responsible for either of my son’s accidents and believe me they’ve had plenty. My philosophy is, if you climb up where you shouldn’t and end up breaking a bone, you’ll learn not to climb.”
“Oh babe, you’re blushing. Are we embarrassing you?” Colton presses a kiss to my forehead. “It’s weird that’s all: your obsession with birds, your fear of heights, the limp and how you’re always dropping things. I mean C’mon you have to admit it’s funny.”
Can someone, please, put me out of my misery?
Colton rubs his index finger and thumb together for the others to see. “Her fingers get numb. Her little bird carvings are supposed to help with that.”
OMG. I’d told him that once in private!
“Numb fingers? That comes from nerve damage, am I right? How’s that going to work with practicing medicine. Isn’t that going to be a hindrance?” Uncle Bentley asks.
“Yes!” I snap and everyone goes quiet.
“I want to see these carvings,” Sterling says drawing their attention to him. “Where did you say they’re at? In the basement?” He suddenly stands and loses his balance, tumbling into the table. His hand knocks over the vase of flowers. Water and flowers spill out everywhere. It causes a domino effect: the vase rolls knocking over wine glasses, red spreading in the wet table cloth. He grabs onto the table cloth to steady himself and almost jerks it clean off the table. Fragile crystal shatters tipping over on china. Sprigs of lavender and baby’s breath actually land on top of my plate.
“Dammit. That wasn’t supposed to happen.” Sterling laughs out in the silence, fumbling to right the vase that started it all. There is a huge crack in the rim of it. It was my mother’s favorite.
“Man, the crotch of my pants is soaked!” Colton growls, coming up out of his seat.
“Damn, it looks like you pissed your pants. Did you?” Sterling asks Colton.
“Go to hell. Do you screw up everything you touch?” Colton returns.
The two guys hold gazes.
Water drips from the cockeyed table cloth forcing us all away from the table.
“I’d appreciate you not cursing in my house!” My mother sneers, throwing her napkin on top of the mess. She levels Sterling with a disgusted look. “In fact, I’d appreciate it if you would leave my house. I knew you were going to be trouble the instant I laid eyes on you.”
My father steps around the table and takes my mother’s elbow. “Olivia, he didn’t mean to do it. It was an accident.”
“AM I the only one who can tell the guy is obviously on drugs? He CAN BARELY STAND without holding onto something for heaven’s sake! Open your eyes, William.”
Sterling’s palms slam down on the table top jarring everything upon it and I jump back with a gasp. His hair falls forward into dark menacing eyes. His unshaved jaw clenches. He pins my mother down with his pissed off gaze. “Lady, you can’t control me like you try to control your daughter, but what you can do is take this fork here,” he holds a piece of the silver my mother had been afraid he’d steal, “and stick it up your highfalutin ass!” He raises a brow challenging my mother to say another word.
Her mouth snaps closed.
Mine is gapping. No one has ever talked to my mother like that.
“I think you need to listen to my wife and leave. You’re not going to make us uncomfortable in our own home,” my father interjects, positioning himself between Sterling and my mother even though they’re on opposite sides of the table.
Uncle Bentley tosses his napkin on the table, his expression hard and unforgiving. “You’re right. My oldest son has disgraced your family and his own enough for one night. I apologize for his clumsiness and bad behavior.”
“Screw all of you! I don’t need this shit!” Sterling scoops up his wine glass, about the only glass that is still standing, tips it back gulping down the last of the wine in his glass. He sets in on the table and stalks from the room.
My chest rises and falls quickly watching him go, adrenaline pumping throughout my entire body. I get the feeling this will be the last time I’ll ever see Sterling Bentley. I’m not sure how I feel about that. I’d do anything to have him look at me just once before he walks out of my life. Just once and I’ll know this spark I’m feeling is not in my head and he feels it too. He punches the wide casing on the doorway and keeps going, never once looking back.
“I’ll go make sure he doesn’t windup killing himself,” Sawyer tells his father following Sterling out.
“I’m going home,” Colton pouts, stalking from the room, dragging his pride on the floor behind him.
The focus is no longer on me.
Thanks to Sterling.
Manipulative, Lazy Brown-headed Cowbird
Victoria
I knew something significant happened tonight. My father exposed the part of me that my mother hated most to everyone around that table. He’d forced her into a corner and I knew, like any cornered animal, she’d fight her way out.
I just didn’t know it would be so soon.
After everyone left I went upstairs to change out of the dress. I tug on a pair of gray cotton sweat pants, folding the band around my waist twice until the sharp slant of my hip bones are exposed and slide on a tank top. I gather my hair pulling it up into a ponytail and sit on the side of the bed, lacing my tennis shoes before I head downstairs to help clean up from the party.
My father is standing at the kitchen sink, suds up to his elbows. Since when did my mother forgo a chance to force us all to clean? She is adamant about never going to bed with a messy kitchen. A sick feeling churns in my stomach.
I descend the basement stairs quickly in a panic.
“What are you doing?” I scream, seeing my mother shoving my carvings in a trash bag. Her movements are jerky and it’s difficult to keep up.
“It’s time to get rid of these things. It’s an unhealthy attachment … you and these … these … stupid carvings.” Her voice is calm, void of all emotion, which makes it creepy. “All they’re good for is collecting dust. Things are going to change around here starting now. I gave up my silly little fantasies of becoming a ballerina. It’s time for you to grow up too, Victoria. I’m sorry, but it has to be this way.”
I want to grab hold of her and shake her until she stops. Or slap her, hard.
“No! Don’t touch them! You have no right. It’s not my fault you’re unhappy with your life! Don’t take your failures out on me! Grandma was right about you! You always find something to complain about.”
“I’m p
erfectly happy with my life. Or I will be—” She stops. The cold indifference falters and I finally see some emotion. “It’s time you let the past die! If I have to hear one more word about how that woman was a saint—”
“Why do you hate her so much? You were never there for her! You never tried to be there her! She was dying and you didn’t even care!”
“You have no idea what you’re talking about! You were seven years old! You barely knew the woman!”
“What’s going on?” my father asks coming down the basement steps. “What’s with all the screaming?”
“She’s throwing all of my carvings in the trash!” I feel the first sting of tears since my grandma’s death, but I force them away. Dammit! I WILL NOT cry! Not in front of this heartless woman.
My father gently reaches out, turning my mother toward him. If anyone can talk sense into her, it’s him. Dad tilts his head, faint impressions of dimples beginning to show. “Honey, don’t you think you’re being a little irrational?” His tone is that of a grown up reasoning with a small child. “Victoria’s carvings are not really what you’re angry about. You need to take a breath and calm down before you do something or say something you’re going to regret.”
“Tell her, William,” my mother snarls. “Tell her the truth about that woman or I swear to God I will.”
My father’s gaze full of pity meets mine and I clutch at my stomach.
There’s no way to stop her once she’s gone mad.
“I don’t think this is the time to—” he starts.
My mother turns, screaming directly at me, “For God’s Sakes, I can’t take another day of this! I thought after that woman died I’d finally find some peace. But I can’t with YOU always bringing her up! Even now, from her grave, my mother is trying to control everything in this house!” She pins me with her wild-eyed gaze and a chill runs down my spine. “Do you want to know the real Beverly Hamilton? She was a bully, a manipulator. She had to be in control of me, of everything. What she called brutal honesty was plain cruelty. THAT was your grandmother. Not this perfect bird-watching compassionate woman you THINK she was. Honesty, Victoria, you have NO idea what you are talking about!”