Chapter Five

Family dinner, silence, confrontation, repeat.

It’s silent, and not a terribly awkward silence. Not when you’re used to it. There’s the occasional cringeworthy sound of a knife or fork scraping across a ceramic plate, and that borderline gross sound of chewing that’s amplified simply because there’s no other sound in the tiny dining room.

                There’s four wooden, short back chairs at the table, but round white plates are only in front of three of them. The plates were once highly decorative, elaborate paintings of floral designs on each. As time passes, at least sixteen years since these plates have been around for as long as I can remember, the flowers have faded and the plates went from ivory white to a now dirty grey.

                Beneath each plate is a tan, woven polyester placemat. And beneath these placemats is a rectangular table, although without the leaf in the middle adding length it’s almost a square, brown in color and sitting fairly low.

                Despite the quality of our dinner wear, it still takes time and thought. Connor’s time and thought. And what does he get in return? He gets endless bills in a mailbox that would be overflowing if he didn’t bother to check it every morning before he leaves for work.

                More scraping. It doesn’t bother me quite as much as it would bother most people, but occasionally it just sounds unbearably sharp and I can’t help but draw my shoulders up until my neck virtually disappears.

                I shuffle my food around my plate, getting a nice mixture of mashed potatoes and corn on my fork before scooping it into my mouth.

Connor emerges from the kitchen, an ovular platter with a similar design to our plates in hand, with a defeated look on his face. I’m not sure why at first, but as he sets down the slightly brown looking chicken breast I gain more insight. Okay, so maybe I’m not exactly Sherlock Holmes since the evidence is placed right in front of me.

“Left her in the tanning bed too long, huh?” I offer the joke in an attempt to brighten his spirits, and in that department I never fail.

The tall blonde cracks a tiny little smirk as he shakes his head. “She just wanted to be like all the other popular chickens.” I laugh even though it really isn’t all that funny. For whatever reason when Connor says things, they just seem funnier.

“Well, I’m sure she still tastes just as good as them,” Connor and I share a glance at each other, acknowledging the realization that while the first joke was funny it should’ve stopped there. Frankly, it just doesn’t make sense anymore.

We’re siblings for Christ sakes. We genetically have the same sense of humor. Again, I am not a science scholar so don’t quote me on that.

“Whatever, I’m digging in,” I reach forward with a clean fork, jamming it into the side of this slightly charred meat, pealing a piece off before plopping it down onto my plate. All the while, I’m watching the woman across from me.

I have a glass of some cheap convenient store lime soda, Connor has water and she has a glass of boxed wine. And she’s silent. She’s just. So. Silent.

She will make eye contact with me occasionally, but she never looks at Connor. My brother. Her son.

If there’s ever a time to test the extent of my acting abilities, why not now? I force a super cheery expression on my face, complete with a huge smile that makes dimples appear that I didn’t even know I had. “How was everyone’s day?” My voice is a level parallel to chipper, but it cracks because I’m just not used to it.

Connor and my mother - our mother - just give me the same look. You know the look. The ‘is this b***h serious, we’re not the Clintons’ look. It’s the first thing they’ve done together in as long as I can remember.

Despite mocking me, Connor chimes in. “Fine. You already know, so I won’t elaborate.” He goes from mocking me to being bitter towards our third seat occupant in three seconds flat.

                “Yeah, but mom didn’t hear the story,” I add, trying to coax him into at least acknowledging her existence.

                He shovels a big piece of chicken into his mouth, chewing it as he points lazily with his fork towards Mom. “She doesn’t care,” it’s a harsh accusation, and it sounds even worse with the way he’s chomping.

                I glance over at my mother, a panged expression on her face. She forces a smile onto her face quickly, reaching her hand over and placing it on Adam’s forearm. “Of course I do, honey.”

                He retracts his arm aggressively almost as fast as she put hers there, swallowing as he shakes his head. “Oh, no you don’t! You don’t care and you haven’t for a very long time.”

                “That’s not true.” It doesn’t sound like she’s trying to convince him, more like she’s trying to convince herself.

                “Isn’t it? When was the last time you called me at work with something to say other than ‘hey, can you grab a six pack and a pack of cigs on your way home?’ Huh? When?”

                My mother’s face is contorted into all sorts of pain, emotional pain, as the wrinkles surrounding her lips become more defined. “Connor, stop,” my voice is calm but stern as I stare my older brother down from across the table.

                “No. Why should I? She doesn’t care, Candice. You know it, I know it. Hell, even she knows it.”

                “I do care. I care about both of you,” the tone at the end sounds like she wants to continue, but Connor doesn’t allow it to happen.

                “Stop lying, Janice!” Usually when children use their parent’s first name, it’s a sign of lost respect, no matter their age.

                “Connor, I’m still your mother…” It’s an affirmative statement, it’s a desperate attempt to re-establish the family status quo that’s broken down in the Cornell household and, based on Connor’s expression, it’s failing miserably.

                “Then start acting like one.”  His voice is low and deep, the typically expressive face seemingly devoid of all emotion. The sound of his chair leg dragging over the linoleum floor is like a knife in the unbearable silence that’s now taking place. He rises, pushes his chair in and walks behind my mother in a b-line for the front door.

                Her eyes are clamped shut, her head bowed as she makes any and every attempt to avoid bursting into sobs right here in front of me. I grab the paper towel that’s folded in half beside my plate, swipe it across my lips before slamming it down on my plate and leaping from my seat. The screen door swings shut but I throw it right back open as I trot to catch up to my brother who’s now two houses down on the sidewalk. “Connor!”

                It’s not the greatest neighborhood, and it’s already dusk. I’m worried about him being out here, and that worry is clearly mutual. “Go home, Candice.” His voice is gravelly, his hands tucked into the pockets of his loose fitting jeans. Despite him telling me to go home, he doesn’t stop, turn around or even glance over his shoulder to see if I’m obeying his weak command. 

                “You go home. What the hell are you doing?”  I continue my trot until I finally catch up to him, the cracked and crumbling sidewalk barely wide enough for the two of us to walk side-by-side.

                “I can’t keep doing this every night, Candy.”

                “Then don’t. Stop picking fights with her.”

                He scoffs, kicking a loose chunk of concrete into a nearby yard. “Yeah, that sounds so easy, doesn’t it?” Those blonde trusses of hair whip in the wind as he shakes his head. “She’s so f*****g frustrating. And then she has the nerve to say she cares?”

                I reach up, placing my hand on his tense shoulder. “She does care, Conn. She’s our mom.”

                His eyes roll, and I’m beginning to think it’s a habit of every single person in my life. “I wish everyone would quit reminding me.”

                “Well, if you’d stop denying it,” my tone serves to lighten the mood, my chin wrinkling as my lips curve into an odd half smile, half frown.

                My attempt to change his attitude fails, and that’s devastating to my tiny ego. Being a sister is one of the few things I have going for me and right now, I’m bombing. “Please stop following me. Don’t you have homework?”

                “Of course. The question is: do I ever do it?”

                “Maybe you should,” I can feel his shoulder shrug beneath my hand. “Increase your chances of being able to get out of this s**t hole.”

                Okay, so this part of Chicago is bad. No, this area of Chicago is really bad. But it’s the only home we’ve ever had. I tend to daydream about being famous but I never dwell on that meaning being away from here. Connor’s brain operates on the polar opposite end of the spectrum. He doesn’t care what he does or where he goes as long as he’s far, far away from here.

                “Connor, just come home. I’m sure she’s already asleep in her chair and you won’t even have to talk to her.”

                Once we’ve walked roughly a hundred feet from the house and travelled alongside a long line of parallel parked cars, Connor finally stops beside a blue Buick. “I’ll be back later.” He crosses in front of the car, putting the key into the keyhole on the door before yanking it open. “Don’t wait up.” He slips in and pulls the door shut.

                “Connor!” I try to pull open the passenger side door, but he’s already locked it. He wastes no time before the engine is roaring and he’s maneuvering out of the tiny space and disappearing down the street. “Connor!” Be it my own frustrations or the reality of tonight’s events finally setting in as my adrenaline fades, the cause doesn’t matter. All that matters is that tears are streaming down my face and I’m standing on the sidewalk in the dark staring - screaming - at a car that’s speeding off.  “Connor!”

                “Candice?” A voice calls out questioningly from behind me as if answering for my non-compliant brother. 

Reviews

[Lalochezia]

Excellently depressing. I can clearly picture the dinner scene in this broken home and I'm in awe of your style. There are quite a few expressions I fill mentally file away for future use.
Connor's and Candy's love for one another is very indearing.

I spotted only one error:
the occasional cringeworthily sound of a knife → it should be CRINGEWORTHY

[Mark Alexander Boehm]

Noted and corrected.
I greatly appreciated the review! Thank you.

[Cyndy Robinson]

I am going to guess the voice is the senior, lol. I like the way you end your chapters, there is always a hook.