by Sarah Tork
I was and am. I was and am! If that makes sense. This girl will change when she sees fit. Not for anyone. Especially not for cheating, ‘It was just a drunken kiss’ ex-boyfriends. The line progresses forward as the DJ changes to a more relaxed big-band track. My mom probably made the order, thinking something light and fun would be more appropriate while all her important guests ate this high-class food.
Speaking of high-class food, what did she pick for this buffet? After a few minutes waiting in the line, I finally stand in front of the plates and cutlery table. I pick up a lightly warmed plate, with a napkin wrapped cutlery medley. I’m jumping with anticipation; I’ve never been this happy to eat.
First table is two selections of salads, a mixed green, and a Caesar. I smile happily, approving both choices. I grab some Caesar salad and put it on my plate.
Next table.
The first tray has steam coming out of it. I smell something tomato-y and cheesy; I hope it’s lasagna or some sort of pasta. Workers from the kitchen stand behind each tray, spooning out equal amounts onto everyone’s plate. I halt in front of the first and peer into it to see what is smelling so good.
It smells so good; that is, until I actually see what it is.
“What is that?” I ask the food attendant, horrified at the cheese covered pancake shaped vegetable.
“Eggplant Parmesan,” the food attendant quickly answers, and my eyes widen at the same time my mouth drops. I quickly close it and pull my plate back.
I hate eggplant! Mom knows this! I inhale through my nose and quickly shake it off. It could just be a coincidence; perhaps it’s the facility’s specialty, and knowing Mom, she always wants the best.
Even if it’s fucking Eggplant Parmesan!
“No, thank you.” I quickly move to the next tray. It’s some sort of rice dish, but it looks gooey and sticky. There is also some sort of white meat sticking out of it.
“What’s that?” I ask the next attendant, while trying to mask the look of confused disgust on my face.
“That is squid risotto, the attendant answers. My plate jerks back at the word squid.
Squid! How could she? This time I’m unable to hide the look of distain from my face; I have stomach issues whenever I eat anything from the octopus family. Again, Mom knows this.
Next table. There are three more trays on this table and I stop in front of the first one, praying that it’s something I can actually eat. I peer over the tray then look away while desperately trying to hold back the frustrated groan that’s been stewing since I passed the salad bowls.
Onions. Lots and lots of onions cover some kind of meat, I think chicken. I let out a small breath before asking the million dollar question again.
“What’s that?” I ask the third food attendant, an older woman who looks like she’s on the cusp of retirement.
“Chicken and onions,” she answers tiredly, which is also code for ‘Bitch, if you don’t want it, move on’. Fuck!
All I hear is ‘onions’, and I cry silently as I cling my plate to my body.
I hate onions. Yet again, Mom knows this. So why would she have a tray with chicken and onions? And who makes a dish with just chicken and onions, anyway? I don’t care if it turns out to be a specialty of this place; it’s fucking gross.
But I’m hungry.
“Can you give me the chicken with absolutely no onions on it?” I ask the woman. She peers into the tray and moves things around with her tongs.
“I’ll do my best,” she says, then grabs a piece of chicken with the least amount of onions on it and places it onto my plate. I look back and forth between the chicken that still had onions on it, and the woman, horrified and confused that maybe she didn’t understand what I asked her.
There are onions everywhere, on the chicken and on my plate! I look at her and she lightly shrugs her shoulders as if to say ‘What can you do? This is life!’ and looks past me to the person behind me.
Fuck! I’d have to do some careful maneuvering when I went back to the table. All I know is if one piece of that disgusting vegetable gets into my mouth, there will be hell to pay.
Don’t mess with me when it comes to onions. It’s bad enough that she had eggplant, then squid, which I couldn’t eat. But to pick a dish with onions as a main star, knowing full well how much I hated them? That is mean and it is deliberate. I quickly twist my neck and search the room for her, finding her seated at her special table, laughing it up with her people, eating this poor excuse for food.
Look up and face me! I urged her silently, hoping she’d look up and catch my death glare. She doesn’t.
“Are you going?” The person behind me asks, breaking my focus. I shake it off. I turn to them.
“Sorry.” I move to the next tray and peer in, preparing myself for another disappointment. But I blow out a sigh of relief when I see a selection of roasted potatoes. I hold out my plate happily for that. The next tray has some sort of lemon infused fish. I hold out my plate and ask for a little bit. Even though I don’t like fish, it’s still better than going hungry. The last tray, I’m praying, praying hard, that it’s something good. I stop in front of it and peer in reluctantly.
It’s pasta!
Thank God!
But what kind of pasta? It doesn’t look like your typical pasta.
“What is that?” I ask the older man, who also looks like he’s on the cusp of retirement.
Trust Mom to pick a place that employs senior citizens, making them work for practically nothing while being made to work like slaves. Mom doesn’t give a shit; she doesn’t care as long as she gets what she wants. Who cares who suffers?
“Eggplant—” he begins to say.
“What?!” I moan, horrified.
“Lasagna,” he finishes saying.
Eggplant lasagna?!
How could she?
I’m crying inside; it hurts so bad. All I’ve got on my plate is a tiny bit of salad, nasty onion covered chicken, potatoes, and a small piece of lemon fish, which I hate. That’s right, I’m admitting it right now: I fucking hate fish and am eating it only under duress.
Fucking eggplant lasagna.
This is a tragedy. I physically hold myself together; my neck urges itself to twist around and scour the room yet again for Mom’s traitorous face and give her the death glare of all death glares.
For fucking eggplant! For fucking onions, and for fucking squid. And let us not forget that nasty-ass fish, which she’s practically forcing down my throat with her expensively manicured, clawed fingers!
Bitch!
She obviously took my hate-list of food and made an entire buffet out of it!
“No, thank you.” I jerk my plate back and turn away from the buffet table and come face-to-face with Ben’s table, where Ben is happily munching on his overloaded plate while talking with the people seated next to him.
That bastard loves and eats all kinds of foods. He isn’t picky with food like I am. He isn’t picky with lips either; you know, just pointing it out.
He picks this beautiful moment, while I look like I’m on the verge of cracking, to look up and make eye contact.
This is not happening.
He breaks eye contact and looks down at my plate; a sneer breaks across his face and he begins to snicker. Taylor, one of our parents’ friend’s kids who is our age, looks up at the sound of Ben’s laugh, follows his line of sight to me, glances at my plate, and he too bursts out laughing.
“All your favorites, right, Marisa?” Taylor laughs out loud with food in his mouth. “Come join us.”
I narrow my eyes at them, and my jaw clenches at the sound of their laughter. “No, thank you. I’m going to sit with my sister.”
“You’re going to sit at the kids’ table?” Taylor asks in astonishment, looking between Ben and me. Ben stops snickering and leans back in his chair, looking at me, waiting for my next answer.
“That’s right, the kids’ table. Where I belong!” I tell them and walk past them with my plate
of food. I see Ben from the corner of my eye shake his head, and then the sound of Taylor’s laughter takes over as I make my way back to the kids’ table.
“Dude—” I hear Taylor say, but the rest gets drowned out by the music, so I don’t hear what else he’s going to say to a clearly exasperated Ben.
I wish I’d walked away a little slower. I want to hear what they are talking about.
Probably about me, and how I’m so stubborn and childish at the same time.
Hopefully about how hot I look tonight too, and how much he screwed up when he kissed that slut.
Probably not that, but a girl can wish can’t she? I arrive back to the table, all the kids are already there, happily eating with no problem.
How come, out of everyone, I’m the one who had a freaking picky eating problem? Why am I always the one who has to be different? And not in the good way, more like always-the-cause-of-trouble kind of way.
I place my plate down, and smooth my dress as I sit carefully. I dig into the salad first, as it looks to be the most appetizing.
“How is everyone doing here?” Mom’s high–pitched, fake happy voice towers over us while I eat the first forkful of salad. I look up and her eyes are wide and excited.
Everyone mutters a ‘good’, hoping that would be the end of it; but it isn’t, because her eyes settle on me.
I didn’t join the ‘good’ mutters with everyone else. Clearly, she’s waiting on my horribly disrespectful manners.
It is time to be fake, not because I’m a hypocrite who says she’s never fake, but because I want to have some fun. And what better way to have fun than to play with Mom’s emotions while everyone around will be watching?
I put the fork down.
“The food, oh my God, it is absolutely amazing. I don’t know how you did it all, simply wonderful. So good!” I practically yell in faux joy, also using a thumbs-up to illustrate how yummy the food is.
Mom’s eyes narrow for a moment before returning to the fake enthusiasm she must have mustered up before coming to my table.
What is she up to?
“That’s lovely, I’m glad you’re enjoying it!” She yells back, looks away, and moves along to the next table. I glance around the room and it seems like everyone is staring. I look across the dance floor to the other side, at Ben’s table. He isn’t looking, but his body seems to be shaking with laughter. He looks up and instantly makes eye contact with me; his stature and attitude seem to tell me he rather enjoyed the brief spectacle Mom and I made.
Like always.
I look away scowling. I glance at my table; everyone is staring at me too. “What are you guys staring at?” I pick my fork back up and become very fascinated with my salad.
“Marisa, you guys are so funny, you and Mom. I’ve missed it,” Darcy says, giggling. Jennifer, Ben’s sister, joins in, as do Cameron and Johnny.
Just great.
“Whatever,” I mumble, and take a mouthful of salad.
****
Over the next fifteen minutes, I manage to clear my plate, sans the onions, which I carefully place on one of the smaller plates that each table is scattered with.
I am so hungry; I can’t believe I actually ate the fish. The kitchen attendants come back out and clear the empty plates on each table. I check my phone for any messages when the DJ begins to play a familiar dance track. Darcy squeals overjoyed and turns to me, her eyes wide with excitement.
The lights in the room dim as the colorful party lights hanging over the dance floor turn on, flashing over the entire room.
Uh-oh, I know that look! I begin to shake my head, when Darcy gets up all of a sudden and grabs my shoulders.
“Marisa, this is our song!” She practically shouts. Jennifer gets up beside her and jumps up and down, nodding her head. I glance around the room and see everyone getting up to go to the dance floor.
I pat my stomach in a soothing sort of way. “I just ate so much; I don’t feel good. Maybe I should sit this one out, Darcy.”
“But this is our song, Marisa!” Darcy shouts in disbelief, her eyes on the verge of disappointment if I say no again.
“Alright, alright, I’m coming.” I get up, smoothing my dress in the process, and allow her to push me to the now-crowded dance floor. I slowly sway to the heavy beat of the song, as Jennifer and Darcy dance wildly to the track. Behind them, I see Mom and Gwen busting a move with their friends.
After dancing to a few more dance tracks, my feet are killing me. I want to sit down, and I will once this track finishes.
I am a minute away from foot comfort. I glance up at the sound of high-pitched squeals and see Mom and her friends come over and start shaking their hips around us. I look away embarrassed, hoping the track will finish, like now. I glance around the group for Mom’s partner-in–crime, surprised she isn’t there with the crew busting a move like they were back in the good old days. Mom comes over next to Darcy, and dances with her, leaving me to awkwardly dance by myself.
That’s when it happens. I look up to see Gwen pushing through the crowd, dragging someone in with her.
Ben.
She pulls him toward Mom and Darcy, and grabs his hands, forcing him to move to the music a few feet away from me.
What are they doing? Something about this seems fishy. All of a sudden, I feel a hand on my back push me forward. I look down and see it’s Mom pushing me.
Subtle!
Towards Ben! Of all people.
Why wouldn’t they quit this? Ben and I…it isn’t going to happen.
Not ever.
I jerk back a few inches like I’m dancing to the music. I glance at Ben who is staring at me with his jaw clenched; he seems uncomfortable.
I hear the song dim to an end and breathe a sigh of relief.
Finally, this, whatever it is, is finished. I stop dancing and turn around to march straight back to my seat, when a pair of hands grabs my arm and forcefully pull me back. I turn to see Ben grabbing my other hand, as the DJ begins to play a slow song.
“What are you doing—” I begin to say, as Ben’s arms circle around my waist.
“Let’s just dance,” Ben murmurs a few inches away from face.
I hold my breath.
“Why would you want to dance with me?” I ask him slowly, my arms circling his neck instinctively.
“Because our Moms won’t leave us alone until we do,” Ben says, jerking his chin to our parents who are dancing together within the overcrowded dance floor.
I don’t know if I can do this.
This feels wrong. Yet it feels so right.
Chapter Six
*Demetria*
9pm
I haven’t spent a great deal of time getting ready. But when I decide to immediately surprise my love, there is simply no time to spend on small, pointless things when I could be in the arms of Xander. I am eager to surprise him at the hotel we frequented during our time together all those months ago. There is no greater motivation than my man and his hands.
I’ve been miserable since the last visit.
Mother called Charles, our driver and bodyguard, to pull the car around. I don’t speak to Charles, Mother’s rules. That’s why she is coming with me, to give Charles instructions and to make sure I’m okay.
Ah, a mother’s love knows no bounds.
It’s late in the evening on a Saturday, so the streets of downtown Ottawa are quite busy. I usually stay at home and sleep, but thanks to Xander, I’m a changed woman. I dream of nights now, where I could stay up all night making love to the man I wanted to spend the rest of my life with.
How glorious it is; a dream is about to come true.
It doesn’t take long to get from our house to the hotel. I can hardly contain myself, I’m so excited.
I lean towards Mother and order her in a hushed, stern tone. “Tell Charles to pull to the curb, right now!”
Mother blinks once and nods.
Good!
I roll my eyes and return gazing at passer
sby out my window.
Ugh, how pathetic; their lives must be so boring. Unlike mine, which is filled exponentially with joy and excitement in every single turn.
Damn, my life is good.
I smile knowingly as Charles pulls the car to the curb. I immediately grab the door handle to get out when Mother’s hand grabs hold of my fab, oversized, mink fur coat.
How dare she!
“Darling – darling, please wait. Are you going to tell Mommy where you’re going?” Mother dares to ask.
My eyes roll exasperatedly.
What a bitch!
“I’m going out for the night. Do not call me or disturb me until you get a phone call from me,” I tell the door in an annoyed voice.
“Darling, please, that’s not enough information. I can’t just let you go out to God knows where. Mommy will surely have a heart attack if anything happens to her little Demetria,” Mother pleads.
Christ! Will she not leave me alone? Xander’s warm embrace awaits me. She’s keeping me away from my Xander.
My eyes widen at the thought of Xander waiting for me, naked and with his arms open wide to hug me. At that thought, I quickly yank my arm out of her grasp.
“I’m going out right now. Do you understand?! I will call you when I’m good and ready!” I tell her once more, here’s hoping she’ll get it and get lost!
Mother nods and I get out of the car. I don’t want her to know that I plan on going into the hotel, so I cross the street and walk into a coffee shop.
Tim Horton’s, I’ve never been in one of these. I turn around once I’m inside, check through the window, and watch Charles drive the car away.
I breathe a sigh of relief.
I turn around and stare at the half-full store.
Ugh, commoners.
I glance at the counter and there’s no one in line. I’m thirsty and can use a drink while I wait for Xander. Knowing he’s probably at some charity fundraiser like from before; he’ll call me around 10:30 to come and meet him at the hotel across the street. I will wait inside this place, right up on that stool in front of the window, which showcases the entire front entrance of the hotel and the valet.