minds: Where had their mom’s concern about children needing happy homes been when their father was still alive?
There was a beat of uncomfortable silence, during which Julia tried not to look at Claire, tried not to catch her reflection in the mirror, tried not to listen to Elise’s noises in the stall, tried not to think about her family. Tried to pretend that everything was normal—that they were gathered together to mourn the loss of her father and that nothing stood in the way of that. But it was impossible. She knew, as she always had known, that when it came to her family, there would always be more questions than answers, more discomfort than joy, more queasy silences than laughter.
Maybe that was why she’d emotionally bugged out on Eli so long ago. In her world, emotion was a complicated and fruitless monster.
She cleared her throat and edged around Claire as the toilet once again whooshed into life behind the metal stall door. She mumbled something about needing to get back to Eli and plunged out of the stuffy restroom and back into the garish colors and sounds of Sharp’s.
At the table, Eli had eaten a good portion of his catfish and was sitting in his usual pose—arms crossed over his chest, chin pointed downward, tucked into himself, silent and brooding. Bradley was scooted sideways in his chair, one arm slung over the back of it, talking up the waitress, who was nodding and giggling like a crushy teenager. Julia could almost swear that Eli shook his head, ever so slightly, disgustedly, every time Bradley opened his mouth to speak.
Julia poked around on her plate a few times, hoping to find her appetite, but there was nothing to be had. Her chicken still looked pale and fleshy. She tossed her napkin over it and pushed the plate away, just as Claire and Elise came back to the table and scooted in.
Claire’s head was tilted down, but Julia could feel her sister’s eyes pointed her direction. She was half afraid to meet them, though. Half afraid that she would see in them what might have been said in the restroom after she’d left. She just wanted some peace for a few moments.
“...were only planning to be here until today,” Bradley was saying, and the waitress nodded as if she’d never heard anything so riveting. Julia rolled her eyes. No wonder Maya was so insecure. The man didn’t even attempt to hide his flirtatiousness. She tried to block him out, but his voice broke through again. “...only brought clothes for two days. Hopefully nothing tragic happens or I’ll be out of underwear.”
Just as the waitress threw her head back to laugh at his incredibly indecent “joke,” Bradley sitting there smugly, that arrogant grin on his face, his eyes roving over to Claire and back to the waitress again, Julia saw it happen.
It was just the tiniest flinch, really. Could have been mistaken for an involuntary spasm. But it was there.
Eli’s elbow flicked sideways about three inches, knocking into the full soda the waitress had just set down on the edge of the table between him and Bradley. The cup teetered, swerved, and then tipped, soda and ice sloshing across the table and down the front of Bradley, landing with a liquid
thwack
in his lap. The glass shattered on the floor.
The whole room seemed to suck in its breath as Bradley jumped up, brushing at the front of his clothes frantically. Eli’s face immediately turned shocked, contrite, as he said, “Sorry, Uncle Bradley. I didn’t see it there.” And as Bradley dabbed at his crotch with a handful of paper napkins, his face furious, Julia heard her son add in a low voice, “Wow, how ironic, huh?”
At that moment Julia and Claire locked eyes across the table. And they both grinned.
Attempts—II
W
hat he liked best about the farm was the way the frozen grass crunched under his feet. Not that this was something special about the country—the grass in Kansas City crunched when it was frozen too. What was different about it on the farm
There was a beat of uncomfortable silence, during which Julia tried not to look at Claire, tried not to catch her reflection in the mirror, tried not to listen to Elise’s noises in the stall, tried not to think about her family. Tried to pretend that everything was normal—that they were gathered together to mourn the loss of her father and that nothing stood in the way of that. But it was impossible. She knew, as she always had known, that when it came to her family, there would always be more questions than answers, more discomfort than joy, more queasy silences than laughter.
Maybe that was why she’d emotionally bugged out on Eli so long ago. In her world, emotion was a complicated and fruitless monster.
She cleared her throat and edged around Claire as the toilet once again whooshed into life behind the metal stall door. She mumbled something about needing to get back to Eli and plunged out of the stuffy restroom and back into the garish colors and sounds of Sharp’s.
At the table, Eli had eaten a good portion of his catfish and was sitting in his usual pose—arms crossed over his chest, chin pointed downward, tucked into himself, silent and brooding. Bradley was scooted sideways in his chair, one arm slung over the back of it, talking up the waitress, who was nodding and giggling like a crushy teenager. Julia could almost swear that Eli shook his head, ever so slightly, disgustedly, every time Bradley opened his mouth to speak.
Julia poked around on her plate a few times, hoping to find her appetite, but there was nothing to be had. Her chicken still looked pale and fleshy. She tossed her napkin over it and pushed the plate away, just as Claire and Elise came back to the table and scooted in.
Claire’s head was tilted down, but Julia could feel her sister’s eyes pointed her direction. She was half afraid to meet them, though. Half afraid that she would see in them what might have been said in the restroom after she’d left. She just wanted some peace for a few moments.
“...were only planning to be here until today,” Bradley was saying, and the waitress nodded as if she’d never heard anything so riveting. Julia rolled her eyes. No wonder Maya was so insecure. The man didn’t even attempt to hide his flirtatiousness. She tried to block him out, but his voice broke through again. “...only brought clothes for two days. Hopefully nothing tragic happens or I’ll be out of underwear.”
Just as the waitress threw her head back to laugh at his incredibly indecent “joke,” Bradley sitting there smugly, that arrogant grin on his face, his eyes roving over to Claire and back to the waitress again, Julia saw it happen.
It was just the tiniest flinch, really. Could have been mistaken for an involuntary spasm. But it was there.
Eli’s elbow flicked sideways about three inches, knocking into the full soda the waitress had just set down on the edge of the table between him and Bradley. The cup teetered, swerved, and then tipped, soda and ice sloshing across the table and down the front of Bradley, landing with a liquid
thwack
in his lap. The glass shattered on the floor.
The whole room seemed to suck in its breath as Bradley jumped up, brushing at the front of his clothes frantically. Eli’s face immediately turned shocked, contrite, as he said, “Sorry, Uncle Bradley. I didn’t see it there.” And as Bradley dabbed at his crotch with a handful of paper napkins, his face furious, Julia heard her son add in a low voice, “Wow, how ironic, huh?”
At that moment Julia and Claire locked eyes across the table. And they both grinned.
Attempts—II
W
hat he liked best about the farm was the way the frozen grass crunched under his feet. Not that this was something special about the country—the grass in Kansas City crunched when it was frozen too. What was different about it on the farm
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