by Nicky James
My inability to stay focused lately was irritating. My thoughts scattered so many times, I lost track of what I was doing. When my phone went off, I happily rolled over to grab it.
It was a message from Iggy.
Iggy: Good morning. Was wondering if you had plans for your Sunday. I’m taking Ma to church at ten, but I can be free all afternoon. Would you like to come over?
I smiled as warmth spread through my body. Ever since our trip to the gardens, I hadn’t been able to get Iggy off my mind.
Arden: I should be available this afternoon around 1 or 1:30. I have Sunday brunch to get through first.
Iggy: Sounds good. Do you need a ride?
I considered the possibility of getting Mom’s car but knew if it wasn’t for work purposes then I’d need a proper reason. Dating Iggy was something I still wasn’t ready to share with my family.
Arden: Probably. Unless I can convince Phoenix to drop me off after brunch.
That was being hopeful. The likelihood was, Phoenix would tell me to eat shit and die. He’d been especially growly since Iggy and I hooked up.
Iggy: I’ll make it happen. Leave it to me ;)
A burst of excited energy helped me get out of bed and shower—since I had a plan for my day now that went further than putting on a fake smile and dragging my feet through family time.
I ignored my reflection and dressed in jeans and a hoodie—completely contradictory to the thirty-degree heat wave blasting Dewhurst Point. Anywhere with air conditioning made me shiver.
Once I was more lively, The Chaos had returned from church. It was the one day of the week my brothers and sisters were allowed free rein of the TV and gaming systems without chores or extra-curricular practice stipulations held over their heads first.
The roar of noise above told of frantic feet, running upstairs to bedrooms to change from church clothes so they could be the first to claim one electronic device or another. A year ago, I’d been among The Chaos. Now, I was barely welcome in my own home. Shunned. Pushed aside, yet not completely discarded.
Not yet.
Knowing Phoenix, Carrie, and Bryn would be arriving right behind the herd, I headed upstairs to make my obligatory appearance—even though it wasn’t always a warm welcome.
Church brought out a bitter bite in my parents since it reminded them of the outcast living among them and all the evil that lurked within me that I refused to shed.
Mom was already pulling things out of the fridge. She never changed before Sunday brunch. Her dress of choice was sage green with small yellow flowers all over it. It hung to her knees and was cinched at the waist with a yellow satin tie. Her heels matched the ensemble.
If I’d been permitted a voice in the matter, I might have suggested her pearl earrings and necklace as opposed to the gold chain and hoops she wore instead, but my knowledge of fashion was another topic of non-discussion—at least with Dad around.
Dad remained dressed in his suit but always lost his tie the minute he was in the house. He caught my eye when I rounded the stairs from the basement. It was Dad who carried the redheaded gene in our family. His hair was thick and rusty brown, a splash of inheritance from his mother—my grandmother—who was as ginger and pale as they came. Dad’s complexion was darker. He and Phoenix looked a lot alike. Bryn, Forest, and Baxter took after Dad’s side too. Although, they were fairer and had my grandmother’s fiery red hair. The rest of us took after Mom with our blond hair and smaller sizes. Paisley was the odd duck. A perfect mixture of both our parents.
“Glad to see you’re joining us,” Dad said, his expression tight, jaw tense.
“I’m invited, aren’t I?”
“Of course you are,” Mom chimed as she pulled a bowl down from a high cupboard and started cracking eggs. “What part of this meal will you eat?”
“Just plain toast.”
I didn’t miss the low grumble Dad made as he shifted around Mom and grabbed the two packages of bacon off the counter. Carefully, he laid the strips onto the pan. Before the overwhelming aroma filled the air, I excused myself and went into the front room where Baxter and Luca challenged each other to a Mario Kart race. Forest sulked in the corner, and Mya was sprawled out on the floor with a book.
I plopped down beside Forest and ruffled his hair. “What’s the trouble, big guy?”
“He’s being a baby because he was too slow and didn’t get to be first to play,” Luca said, eyes not straying from his race.
“Really, Luc? How old are you? You couldn’t let him be first?”
“Shut up, asshole.”
Forest’s eyes grew, and he flipped his head toward the kitchen and back before launching off the couch. “I’m telling you said that.”
In a burst of activity, Luca dropped his controller mid-race and hightailed it after Forest who darted toward the kitchen calling out to Mom and Dad.
Luca called after him, “Whatever he says, it’s a lie!”
Baxter groaned and tossed me the abandoned controller. “Quick, take over for him.”
I slid over on the couch and jumped into Luca’s place, zipping around the track and doing all I could to catch up with Baxter who was easily a half a lap ahead of me. There was no turning it around. He won easily, and we started the next race just as the commotion in the kitchen peaked.
During our third race, Luca stormed through the front room to the back stairs and ran up them two at a time toward his bedroom. After a second, a door slammed loud enough to punctuate his feelings on whatever had happened.
“Shouldn’t be lipping off,” Baxter said as he launched a red shell in my direction, sending me spinning off course. “Bet he’s grounded again.”
I’d have inquired about the again statement, but a sharp rap at the front door cut me off before someone pushed it open. Phoenix called out a greeting, and I heard Bryn and Carrie come in behind him.
I tossed the controller at Forest who’d returned and plopped down beside me. “Take over, big guy. Kick royal tushie.”
Forest giggled and zoned right into the game.
I wandered to the front hall where Bryn tackle-hugged me like she hadn’t just seen me the day before. I was used to it. We’d grown closer over the last few years, and she always felt it was her responsibility to make up for the lack of support I got from the rest of the family—even when I told her it wasn’t.
Phoenix glared in my direction as he and Carrie removed their shoes. Carrie handed Phoenix a covered tray, and he grinned before waving it under my nose. “Mmm… homemade apple crisp. Smell that, brat? Soak it into those pores.”
I whipped my head in the opposite direction as Bryn sneered and shoved Phoenix toward the kitchen. “Don’t be a jerk.” Turning to face me, Bryn’s expression softened. “It’s got apples in it. You like apples,” she said hopefully as Phoenix laughed and wandered down the hall.
“And about a pound of lard which might go to his hips if he’s not careful. God forbid he gain an ounce of fat on that body,” Phoenix called over his shoulder.
“It does not have a pound of lard,” Carrie corrected. “I made it with oats and reduced all the sugar so it would be healthy. It’s actually not bad for you,” she said with a sympathetic look in my direction.
“I’m sure it’s amazing.”
I took Bryn’s arm, directing her into the front room, reminding myself to go with the flow. Let them believe what they wanted. What they didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them.
Carrie hadn’t quite figured out there was no point in trying to please me. Because everyone was convinced I had weight gain issues, she tended to ensure she made a conscious effort to bring dishes to Sunday brunch that were “healthier” as she put it.
Bryn and I settled on the oversized chair by the big bay window, snuggling close as we watched the boys gaming. When Mya broke out of her book world for five seconds, she grinned at Bryn.
“Hey. I didn’t see you come in.”
“That’s cuz your nose is buried. Whatcha reading?” Bry
n asked her, kicking her foot out and trying to force the book into view with her sock-covered toe.
Mya wrenched it away but checked over her shoulder before looking back and grinning deviously. She held up the book, and I studied the cover, but before I could read the title, she slipped a second book up from underneath where it had been hiding.
The Hunger Games.
Mom and Dad would lose their shit. They had banned that series and the Harry Potter series from our house when Ivory brought them home from the library years ago.
Mya giggled and tucked it back inside the other book before holding a finger to her lips. “Don’t tell.”
Bryn shook her head. “I really am the only good child in this whole family. Everyone has gone to the dark side.”
“It’s much more fun here. You should join us. Be a rebel, Bryn. Break the rules. Swear a little. It feels so good.”
“Never!” She pinched my side making me yelp and sneer. “Hey, wanna come over after brunch? I was gonna do some scrapbooking and could use your creative eye. My roommates won’t be home so it will just be us.”
“Can’t.” I lowered my voice and spared a glance at my siblings who were all engrossed in their own tasks. “I’m meeting up with somebody.”
Bryn’s eyes grew. “Your Clue victim somebody?”
“He’s not a victim, but yes. Same one.”
Bryn grinned. “I Googled it, by the way.”
My eyes grew to saucers, and I hissed, “You what?”
Bryn startled and flamed crimson red all the way up her neck and over her cheeks. “Not that! Oh, Mylanta. Can you imagine?”
“Yeah, I had a mini heart attack just now. What are you talking about?”
“Your rights.” She lowered her voice and scanned the room before continuing. “You know, the whole marriage thing. I didn’t know it was legal. Did you know you can legally adopt children too? That is the coolest thing ever. You can have a family someday if you want to.”
I laughed and ducked my head. “You poor thing. You really need to move out from under that rock you live under. I knew that already. Gay couples have been marrying and adopting kids for years now.”
“Well, I didn’t know!”
Phoenix poked his head around the corner and Bryn and I snapped our mouths closed. “Food’s ready. Come eat.”
And The Chaos rolled through the front room and into the formal dining room where we all ate Sunday brunch. Even Luca was required to join us, despite his pissy attitude.
It was not my most favorite day of the week. For one, my family barely accepted me. Also, sitting amidst all those smells was difficult. Sitting amidst my family with the smells and eating my plain toast was nearly impossible. If I couldn’t control my body’s reaction to seeing the yolky eggs or smelling the bacon and hash browns, I’d end up bringing up my toast. And I hated throwing up the scant bits of food I was able to eat. Then, Dad would get huffy, Mom would talk about making more useless appointments, and Phoenix would try to kill me with his death glare because God forbid I draw attention away from him.
Good times.
I joined my family around our large dining room table and ducked my head for the prayer—which always included a sly remark about “showing Arden the right path.” Then it was anarchy as everyone tried to fill their plates at once. My toast was separate from the rest of the food, and I drew my lonely plate forward, studying the half slices of toasted bread like they might kill me.
Because they might.
I hated leaving others in charge of my food preparation. I couldn’t trust Mom to check the expiration date every time she opened a loaf of bread, or to examine the surfaces for any unusual markings before putting it in the toaster, or to sniff out possible existing molds. Instead, I had to do it after the fact which my father hated seeing. It took skill to hide it.
He called it picky eating.
I called it survival.
The best I could manage was nibbling small bites. It took forever to consume anything worthwhile.
The hubbub around the table was typical. Multiple conversations happened one on top of another, and the volume was always elevated.
I breathed through my mouth to avoid aggravating my stomach and did my best to disappear. Dad had long ago given up making me eat what the family ate. Mom gave me grace during family brunches to avoid a scene, but during the week, she constantly thrust food in my face. Somehow she was under the illusion I ate that food when she wasn’t looking.
I called it ostrich syndrome. If you didn’t look at the problem, it wasn’t there. Whatever helped her sleep at night and got her off my case.
My entire life was a lie.
“So,” Dad said, wiping a napkin over his mouth. “Phoenix, Luca, I’ll be needing a few strong hands to help me out this coming Wednesday evening. Tully Boudreaux needs a piano moved from his place to his daughter’s house down on Walnut Street. Are you two available?”
I peered up from under my fallen bangs and glared between the three of them.
“Carrie and I are taking painting classes Wednesday nights,” Phoenix said with a shrug. “They’re already paid for, I don’t really think we should miss out.”
Dad sighed and nodded, glancing at Luca. Luca nodded but wouldn’t lift his gaze, still radiating anger at being grounded for swearing in the house. “Can I get my sentence reduced if I help?”
“We can discuss it. I might need to call Bill and see if his boys can come help too. A piano is likely too much for just the two of us.”
It was like I was invisible. Every fucking time. Don’t ask Arden. Arden is too small and too weak… and too gay to be seen in a fellow church friend’s house.
“Um… hello? Were you even going to ask me?”
“Oh, honey,” Mom said, shaking her head adamantly. “You are much too small to help move a big piano. You couldn’t possibly.”
“I’m not a weakling!” Except I kind of was. “You always do that. You act like I have nothing to offer. Like I’m useless.”
I fucking hated being seen as weak.
“Sweetheart, you’ve always struggled with physical things. Aren’t you afraid you might hurt yourself? Carrying a piano… no. Your dad is just trying to protect you.”
“I don’t need protecting. I’m not weak, or fragile, and I’m not afraid of hurting myself. You’ve treated me like I’m made of glass my whole life, it’s getting exhausting. Don’t snub me like that.”
“Arden, you will not speak to your mother that way. She is simply stating facts. You are too small to help. It would be like me asking Mya to assist.”
“Wow, that was not insulting at all. Thanks, Dad. You know what, I’m not hungry anymore. May I be excused?”
“You may not,” Dad barked. “You will finish that poor excuse for a meal first. Besides, Carrie made a wonderful apple crisp dessert. You will try some like everyone else. I’m getting sick of this nonsense.”
Correction: Dad had apparently not given up forcing me to eat food with everyone else.
Bryn squeezed my leg under the table as a flood of panic rippled through my body.
“Better not take too long either since apparently I’m your ride this afternoon,” Phoenix added with a sly smirk.
“I’m not eating apple crisp,” I mumbled through a hard lump in my throat.
“While you’re living under my roof, you’ll do as you’re told.” Dad’s volume kicked up a few notches, and the younger kids grew silent.
“If you make me eat it, I will only vomit it up the second I leave this table.”
“You will not!” Dad slapped his hand on the table as he spoke, emphasizing his point.
Phoenix coughed, “Attention whore,” into his closed fist as he chuckled from the other end of the table.
“Okay, enough at my dinner table!” Mom snapped. She pointed a sharp finger at Phoenix. “You might not live under this roof anymore, but if you use that language here, I will still wash your mouth out with soap, do you hear me? And you,
” she pointed at me, “quit causing a ruckus.”
“I didn’t cause—”
“You did! You’re being ornery and contradictory, and you’re picking fights. Finish your toast and leave my table.”
“And he’s having crisp,” Father interjected.
“He’s not because Carrie worked hard making it and Arden will do nothing more than waste it in the toilet the minute he leaves the table.”
“Told you,” I mumbled, being the ornery ass I was accused of being.
“I’m making you another appointment. I’ll call Carl Yemen on Monday. Arden, this has to stop. You are losing too much weight. It’s concerning.”
“I’ll get right on that.”
The table fell silent, the scraping of forks across dinnerware was the only sound aside from Forest continuously banging his heels against his chair legs. It wasn’t often all of us could be in a room together and not make a sound. It was eerie in a way.
The answer to my problems—according to Mom—was always make another appointment. Mom couldn’t fix me nor could she figure me out. When attention reverted to my lack of eating, she called Carl Yemen—a member of their church and the new counselor at St. Andrew’s High School. According to Mom, Carl held all the answers. Carl would help save me from the troubled hole where I’d fallen.
Carl was an idiot.
Because it was all part of playing the game, I begrudgingly went whenever Mom made the call. An hour of listening to Carl preach and I’d be out of the spotlight for a couple of months at least. It was a sacrifice I’d made plenty over the years.
I didn’t finish my toast, and no one forced me.
It wasn’t that I wasn’t hungry. I was always hungry. Hunger was just a state of being. One I’d grown accustomed to. The problem was, it took me too long to eat anything. Fighting the rising panic slowed me down and made each bite cautious and careful. Too many nights at work, I didn’t finish my dinner because time ran out. Too many days passed without my having consumed near enough calories. This morning, I’d weighed myself only to learn I’d lost four more pounds. I was officially under a hundred now.