Heart Bones(14)

I transferred the eggs to a plate, grabbed a fork and tried to rush out of the kitchen toward my bedroom. He reached me in the hallway, grabbing my wrist and pushing me against the wall.

“Is this how you treat guests?”

He grabbed me by the jaw and kissed me.

I was struggling to get away from him. His mouth was painful. Stubble dug into my face and he smelled of rotten food. I kept my teeth clenched tight, but he just kept squeezing my jaw harder, trying to pry my mouth open. I finally hit him upside his head as hard as I could with the plate of eggs.

He pulled back and slapped me.

Then he left.

I never saw him again. I never even knew his name. My mother woke up a few hours later and saw the broken plate and the uneaten eggs sitting at the top of the trash can. She yelled at me for wasting the last two eggs.

I haven’t eaten eggs since that day.

But I’ve slapped plenty of my mother’s boyfriends since then.

I say all this because when I stepped out of the shower a few minutes ago, all I could smell were eggs. The smell is still lingering.

It’s making me sick to my stomach.

There’s a knock at my door as soon as I finish dressing. Sara peeks her head in and says, “Baptismal dinner in five minutes.”

I have no idea what that means. Are they super religious or something?

“What’s a baptismal dinner?”

“Marcos and Samson have dinner with us every Sunday night. It’s our way of celebrating the end of the influx of renters. We eat together and wash away the weekenders.” She opens the door more and says, “That dress looks good on you. Want me to do your makeup?”

“For dinner?”

“Yeah. You’re about to meet Samson.” She grins, and it makes me realize how much I hate being set up, even though this is my first experience with it. I start to tell her I already met Samson, but I keep that to myself and hoard it along with all the other secrets I’ve kept in my life.

“I don’t really want makeup. I’ll be down in a few minutes.”

Sara looks disappointed, but she leaves. At least she takes hints well.

A few seconds later, I hear voices downstairs that don’t belong to any of the people that live in this house.

I stare at the wrinkled sundress I’ve been wearing all day. It’s wadded up on the floor by the bed. I pick it up and change back into it. I’m not about to go downstairs and try to impress anyone. If anything, I’d like to achieve the opposite.

My father is the first to notice me when I reach the bottom of the stairs and make my way into the kitchen.

“You look refreshed,” he says. “Is the room okay?”

I nod, tight-lipped.

Sara spins around and I can see the surprise in her eyes that I’ve changed back into my old sundress. She hides her shock well, though. Marcos is standing next to her, pouring himself a glass of tea. When he makes eye contact with me, he does a double take. It’s obvious he didn’t expect to see the girl from the ferry at dinner tonight.

Samson must not have told him about seeing me sob on the balcony earlier.

Speaking of Samson, he’s the only one who doesn’t look at me. He’s digging through the refrigerator as Sara lifts a hand and waves it toward me. “Marcos, this is my stepsister, Beyah. Beyah, this is my boyfriend, Marcos.” She throws a thumb over her shoulder. “That’s Samson, third wheel and next door neighbor.”

Samson turns around and eyes me for a moment. He lifts his chin in a nod as he pops open a can of soda. All I can think about as he presses the can to his lips to take a sip is how I just saw his mouth on some other girl’s neck.

“Welcome to Texas, Beyah,” Marcos says, pretending he didn’t meet me on the ferry earlier.

I appreciate that the two of them aren’t making a thing of it.

“Thanks,” I mutter. I walk into the kitchen, not sure what to do. I don’t feel comfortable enough to ask for a drink, or to make my own plate of food. I just stand still and watch everyone else move about comfortably.

As hungry as I am right now, I’m dreading this dinner. For whatever reason, people feel the need to alleviate awkwardness with questions no one really cares to know the answers to. I have a feeling that’s how this entire dinner is going to go. They’re probably all going to be batting questions at me the entire meal, and I really just want to make a plate of food, take it to my room, eat it in silence and then go to sleep.

For two straight months.

“I hope you like breakfast, Beyah,” Alana says, walking a plate of biscuits to the table. “We sometimes like to switch things up and have it for dinner.”

My father sets down a pan of scrambled eggs. There’s bacon and pancakes already on the table. Everyone starts taking their seats, so I do the same. Sara grabs the seat between Marcos and her mother, which means I’m left with the seat next to my father. Samson is the last to sit, and he pauses when he realizes he’s seated next to me. He sits reluctantly. Maybe it’s just me, but it seems he’s trying to subtly shift his attention away from me.

Everyone begins passing food around. I skip the eggs, naturally, but the smell is overpowering all the other foods. My father starts in on the questions as soon as I take my first bite of a pancake.

“What have you been up to since graduation?”

I swallow, then say, “Work, sleep, repeat.”