Family Ties (8 page)

CHAPTER NINETEEN

The next day, the doorbell announces a visitor in the middle of doing the dinner dishes. No one comes to the house except for Arissa and she would call first.

“You
what
?” my father shouts.

I turn off the water and strain to listen.

“Please, sir. I would like to take your daughter out on a date,” Jason states.

My heart leaps into my throat and lodges there, threatening to cut off my air supply. I force a deep breath to clear the airway. No, J. What are you doing? It won’t work!

“Didn’t she already tell you we said no?” Father asks.

“Yes, sir. But, if you would just listen for a minute, I’ll tell you what my plans for the date are.”

“Why would I want to do that?”

“Because you are a fair and honorable man.”

No, he’s not!

“You don’t even know me,” Father says.

“You’re right, sir—“

“Quit calling me sir!”

“I’m sorry, sir, but my parents taught me to be respectful of adults.” 

I set the sponge down and tiptoe to the corner, peeking around at the front door. Father stands with his feet planted slightly apart and his arms crossed over his chest.

“You have one minute,” he says, glancing at his watch.

“I would like to take Sara to the football game Friday and then out for pizza. My parents will be with us and she’ll be home by midnight.”

A long uncomfortable silence hangs in the air.

“She’s grounded for the rest of the week.”

“I know, sir. But it was my fault she left class before it started. I pressured her to tell me why and it upset her. She felt like the only thing she could do was leave.” 

“She’s still grounded.”

“May I take her to the football game next weekend?”

“We’ll see about that, young man,” he answers, then shuts the door in Jason’s face.

I scramble back to the sink and wipe down the counter. Large fingers tangle themselves in my hair and wrench my head back. My hands cover Father’s on instinct, struggling to pull my head up without tearing my hair out.

“What kind of game are you playing?”

“I’m not playing any game,” I answer, closing my eyes and bracing myself for his next move.

He yanks my head harder. “Don’t lie to me.”

I let out a scream.

His face is less than an inch from mine. “I want to know what you are up to.”

“Nothing!” I cry out.

“Lies!” He jerks my head again.

“I’m not lying!”

“Then why was that boy here tonight? Did you think we would give in to someone else?”

“No! I didn’t have anything to do with that. I didn’t know he was coming. I’m not lying. Why would I? What would I get from it?” 

“Nothing. You’d never get anything. You’ll never get anything if your friends run interference for you.”

I’ll never get anything regardless.

His grip tightens and I wince. Pain shoots from each shaft of hair he pulls, but if I scream any more than I already have, he’ll make sure to double the pain.

I know retribution, in his interpretation of the word, is coming, but I don’t know what it is.

He shoves my head forward, submerging my face in the dishwater. I release his hand and grip the counter for purchase, fighting against his strength to bring my head up. My toes scrape over the mat underneath us, searching for a foothold. My lungs constrict without oxygen and I exhale what little air is left, the bubbles floating up, almost tickling my cheeks. Lightheaded, I try to shake him off.

I’m going to drown in the dishwater.

Father hauls my head back, almost mercifully. I know he only does it so he won’t have to explain how his daughter died. I gasp air in, then cough when the tinge of the dirty, soapy water enters my mouth.

“No boy could ever love damaged goods like you,” he says, shoving me to the ground.

I remain in a crumpled heap, fighting to regulate my breath as tears flow unrestrained.

One boy
does
love me, even if he doesn’t know I’m damaged goods.

CHAPTER TWENTY

The grass in the quad is cool beneath me as the sun warms me from above. Jason eats a sandwich from home in front of me. Groups of friends are scattered around us. Some are quietly eating and talking. Others are telling jokes and goofing off. Arissa is off somewhere with Bobby, a boy in our English class.

“I’m sorry about your father getting mad,” he says.

“You have to understand, my parents aren’t like yours. You can’t rationalize with them because they do what they want, when they want. It doesn’t matter if it’s fair or not,” I explain.

“I just want to take you on a date.” 

“I know you do. But, it’s not going to happen, no matter how much I ask.” 

Sara must remain miserable.

“What if we did a group date?” he asks.

“They’d never go for that.”

“They might if you told them you wanted to go out with a bunch of your friends.”

“Jason, I don’t have a bunch of friends. I have you and Arissa. That’s it.”

“Well, we have friends and they can be your friends too.”

“They won’t buy it,” I say, hanging my head.

His fingers intertwine with mine in the grass so no one else can see. His warmth flows into my hand and spreads through me like a drug, inviting me to give in. To ride on a cloud, carefree and happy. 

But my father’s voice keeps me chained,
No boy could ever love damaged goods like you
.

“What if we kept it here?” he suggests. “At school? If we happen to go to the same places outside of school, then so be it.” 

“Are you serious?” I can’t believe he’s asking that. He knows about my parents’ spies here.

“Yes.”

“If I try to do it on the sly…I don’t even want to think about what they would do.” I know exactly what my father would do. 

“How bad could it be?” he asks, as if he just caught a glimpse of what I’ve hidden from them.

“The worst,” I reply.

He pauses a minute. “I won’t push it then. But this won’t change how I feel about you, Parker. Not one bit.”

Hot tears well up and I tip my head down, letting my hair hide them. Jason cradles me into his chest, the scent of his cologne sitting on his shirt as if waiting for me. This is where I want to be, but my parents keep denying membership.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

I push myself up from a huddled position at the cool porcelain toilet and drag the back of my hand over my mouth. I check the orange-ish vomit in the bowl, and my stomach lurches. I know I have nothing left, but the dry heaves continue as I clutch the toilet seat.

I brush my teeth once the heaving subsides and wonder who the ghost with darkness living under green eyes is in the mirror. Seven straight days of this has not been kind to me.

I find my mother in her bathroom applying mascara, wearing a green silk blouse and black pencil skirt.

“Mother.”

She draws back, but continues with her makeup without looking at me, even in the mirror. “What now?” she asks, irritated.

“I need to see Dr. B.”

“What for?”

“I just threw up again.”

She drops her tube of lipstick, pressing her hand to my forehead. “You’re not feverish.”

“It’s the seventh day in a row, Mother.” I keep my tone serious in the hopes she won’t brush me off.

She straightens, giving me a scrutinizing once over. Her hard gaze shifts into something different. Something I’ve never seen because they’ve always looked upon me with cruelty and disdain.

She snatches her phone off the counter and scrolls with her thumb. “Go wait in your room.”

I’m checking that I have everything I need for school in my backpack when she comes to my room five minutes later.

“I’m picking you up from school at one.” She hands me a folded piece of paper. I already know it’s a note for the office. The coldness in her eyes is gone, yet she keeps them averted.

I hold my breath, unable to turn away from the frog splayed belly-side up like a pet begging to be rubbed. Only the frog isn’t a pet. It’s dead and I have to dissect it with Jason, who looks too eager wearing a half-grin, an apron, and safety goggles.

The formaldehyde is nauseating, but my lungs burn and my head spins from the lack of oxygen. I let out the carbon dioxide and suck in some air. The pungent odor of the fixative overwhelms my nostrils, churning my stomach.

Not again.

I shove my chair back and race out the door with my hand covering my mouth. I make it to the bushes lining the walkway before losing the crackers I ate between classes. I lean against a pole supporting the overhang and a large hand flattens between my shoulder blades, startling me.

“You okay, Parker?” His voice is full of tenderness and concern as he hands me a bottle of water. “You haven’t looked well all week and you’re more pale than you were in English.”

“Thanks.” I swish some water around my mouth and spit it out into the bushes. I gaze across the grass to the cars passing on Santa Fe Drive. If I tell him how sick I’ve been, he’ll hover. “My mother is taking me to the doctor this afternoon.”

“But are you okay?”

I bite my lips together and shake my head.

“Do you want to see the nurse?”

“She’ll only make me sit in the office until Mother picks me up. And she won’t pick me up until it’s time for the appointment.”

I tell Mr. Langston about the odor being too much for me and he allows us to work on a table that he and Jason bring outside.

“Do you want to eat lunch outside, or in the cafeteria?” Jason asks as we clean up at the end of class.

“Outside. I don’t think I’m ready for cafeteria smell.” Or to hurl again.

The left side of his mouth curls up. “You’re right. It’s almost as bad as the formaldehyde.”

“Worse,” I joke, letting out a small laugh.

Arissa darts out the door when the bell sounds and starts in with a million questions. It takes both me and Jason telling her I’m fine before she relaxes. Jason helps Mr. Langston carry the table back inside as Bobby arrives for Arissa. He’s all moppy sun-bleached blond, pale blue eyes, and tan skin from hours of surfing. They take off hand in hand, leaving me alone with Jason.

His hand slips into mine and I don’t pull away. Partly because I’m weak from vomiting, and because I don’t want to push him away anymore. I want to be allowed something good, even if my parents object. The longer you starve a person, the more they want food. Crave it. Need it. They starved me of real human connections my entire life and now that I have a taste, I want more of what I missed.

He leads me to the end of the building, into the grass under the shade of the trees with no one else in sight. We sit next to each other, taking our lunches out of our backpacks. I have no interest in eating and pass him my lunch.

“You need to eat something, Parker,” he insists, passing it back.

“Seriously, J. I’m not hungry.” I drop the brown bag in front of us as he removes his sandwich and unwraps it. “I’m afraid I’ll throw up again if I eat.”

His mouth opens to say something, then changes his mind and bites into his sandwich instead. I rest my head on his shoulder with a deep desire to close my eyes and sleep. He stills at the contact for a moment, then drapes an arm over me, pressing me into him.

Relaxing in the privacy of the outskirts of campus I understand what tranquil feels like. No worries. No thoughts of my family. Just me and Jason in this moment we steal for ourselves.

Mother turns onto Santa Fe Drive in the opposite direction from Dr. Bannister’s office.

“I thought we were going to Dr. B’s,” I state.

“I’m taking you to Dr. Black,” she answers, as if I should know who Dr. Black is.

Upon checking in, Mother fills out the paperwork and I take in the gawking from the women around me.

What is their problem? I don’t know who they are and they don’t know me.

“Mother, what are we doing here?” I whisper.

“Hush. I can’t think,” she hisses, hunkered over the clipboard.

I remove
Raisin In The Sun
from my backpack and read until a nurse calls me back. Mother follows us back and paces behind the nurse as she takes my vitals and then sends me to the bathroom with a cup to pee in.

I set the half-filled plastic specimen cup inside the little door next to the toilet. Mother has an odd look I can’t place when I leave the bathroom. It’s the same expression from this morning.

The nurse shows me into an exam room, giving me a paper “gown” and a paper sheet. The gown is an open crop top. The thin paper makes the chill in the room more obvious. The short exam table and the awkward paper getup prevents me from sitting or lying in any kind of graceful or modest manner no matter how I twist and turn. There’s just no way.

An older man with short, gray hair enters with another nurse and my mother. Shallow lines crease his face in a pleasant way that makes his smile look more genuine. “Hello, Sara. I’m Dr. Black. I understand you’ve been sick.”

I nod my affirmation, still not sure why I’m here and not Dr. B’s.

“When was your last cycle?”

“I haven’t had my first period yet,” I answer, bewildered. 

“According to the pregnancy test, you’re pregnant,” he says with a gentleness that takes some edge off the shock.

My eyes dart to Mother and that look is there again. Fear coupled with worry. She knew when I told her this morning and said nothing.

My father impregnated me with his carelessness. Just when I think he can’t do any worse, he does.

I can’t have this baby.

Three sets of wide eyes stare at me.

“Are you sure, Sara?” Dr. Black asks.

“Am I sure of what?”

“Sure that you don’t want the baby.”

“I said that out loud?”

“You did,” he confirms. Mother and the nurse nod their agreement.

There’s no way I can have a baby, let alone one that my own father fathered. That would be cruel, condemning it to a life like mine. And there’s no way to explain it to anyone.

“I don’t want it,” I say.

Relief floods Mother’s face and she pulls out her phone while leaving the room. Probably calling the culprit.

“Lie back for me, Sara. Hips at the edge down here.” He gestures to the end. “I need to do an exam before we can schedule a D and C. We’re going to take some blood at the end for tests as well.”

I position myself asked, completely exposed to strangers, feet in the stirrups. He takes a firm hold of my knees and spreads them further. I gasp at the sudden image of my father over me poised to enter. Silent tears fall from the outer corners of my eyes.

“I’m sorry, but this next part is going to be cold,” he warns.

He wasn’t kidding. The metal implement is cold with uncomfortable edges, violating the part of me my father takes pleasure in defiling. I bite my lips together to keep from crying out.

“You and your boyfriend might want to reconsider the rough sex,” he announces.

I nod in acknowledgment, not giving any hint to the truth. No telling what lies Mother told when she called and before they joined me in the room.

He removes the instrument and appears at my side. “I’m going to give your mom a prescription for birth control should you both decide it’s best for you.”

“You don’t tell
anyone
,” Mother says in the safety of the car. “Only your father knows.”

Why would I tell anyone this sick secret?