Chapter Text
The music playing is decent at my father's wedding.
The moderate pianissimo and soft strum of the acoustic guitar blooming out of the speakers lift my pounding headache. It did not, however, stop my mother from her inconsiderate comments that has been sprouting since we arrived. I find that ignoring her has always been difficult, so I toss that thought away and recollect to reality.
"I'm not angry, I just think it's fucked up how he invited us, put us in the back, and didn't even have the decency to have you - a writer - write his vows!"
"I'm pretty sure that's not how things work." A subtle sip of my wine. My tongue peeks out and collects the crimson residue. A tropical taste lingers, leaving my buds savoring the flavor as I scrutinize the crowd of middle-aged adults dressed in tight fabricated dresses. A shift occurs next to me with a powerful sigh following after.
Slightly turning my head, I act as if I can't hear my mother's words.
"Whatever, and I'm not jealous. If anything, I'm glad your father found someone else because God knows I didn't want to deal with his weak, punk ass."
"Mom -" Finally, having enough of her sprouting nonsense and insults, I glare at her and almost slam my glass down."We are literally near the children's area. Besides, when it starts we'll head up to see better, okay?"
Carla, or otherwise my mother, rolls her eyes and crosses her legs in her ruby red dress. She licks her teeth for any red lipstick and tuts her lips. Leaning in her chair, she stabs a piece of her sliced pineapple and shoves it into her mouth.
"And he gives us fruit for appetizers. I'm over it."
In actuality, she isn't, because my mom is stubborn, and she holds burdens longer than she holds her curling iron to her hair.
I roll my eyes and grip the skinny body of the transparent wine glass to take another sip. I could at least agree with her on that. The appetizers were shit if they meant to fill us up.
"I was hoping we'd have more, so I could barf when the kiss happens." My mom imitates a vomiting motion, and though I try not to fall into the childish pit of anger she has toward my father, I still snort and place my hand on my forehead.
"I don't know how you managed to raise me alone," I whisper to myself with a hint of humor in my tone. Mom looks offended for a while before she points her plastic fork to me to indicate speaking.
"Actually, you were a quiet kid." She says, "You always sat down and was always quiet. I never had any problems with you. Until you were older, of course. My only problem was keeping my blood pressure low and affording my hair extensions. So really, I don't know how I managed at all." Mom pulls her plastic ivory fork out of my face. "Why would you ask such a stupid question? You were probably the most boring child."
I scoff in an offense and point to my sister, Mikasa, who sat at a table in front of us with her annoying mammal husband.
"Really? I'm boring. Have you seen Jean? He looks like Nicolas Cage's fifty-year-old son. Mikasa has picked the epitome of a boring life." I announce proudly, defending my honor as a son with an actually interesting character. My mom laughs so loud that people in the front tables turn to glare at us. She bangs the table, clattering the silverware, and wipes a fake tear.
Speaking of the devil, Mikasa, with her silk black dress flowing from her shoulders and hair curled at the ends, turns around and analyzes us. For sure, we were pretty loud.
"What are you guys laughing at?" She asks with interest and her eyebrows scrunched up. Jean, her husband with horse-ass hair and my high-school not-so-best friend, turns as well and puts his arm on the chair to see better. My mom puts her hand to her chest and breathes out before answering. She flips a curl away from her glowing red face.
"Nothing sweetheart!" She flutters her hand at my sister and pushes her full, dark brown ironed hair behind to her back. "Eat your broccoli and ranch, dear!" Mikasa rolls her eyes and visibly shows her munching on a carrot. She's a vegan. She must love this shit right now.
"I think your father built this wedding for Mikasa and his wife's standards. What about me?" Mom continues her rants again. I only look into the crowd and try to tune her out as much as possible.
"I carried both of them for a total of nine months. Her in my stomach and his wife's load of complaints about how she wants to be a family on email. I can't even get chicken on a stick?" I sigh loudly at her and lean in my seat. My mom wiggles her nose and glares at the decorated stage almost miles away. She lifts her wine glass and before drinking, she growls out.
"Stupid cu -"
"Okay." I grab the transparent glass from my Mom, giving her a comforting side look, and place the glass on the far left of the table. "No more drinks. This is probably the reason we were put in the back, Mom." Mom stretches her neck at me and gives me a knowing glare.
"Why would you be back here then?" She searches my face for a precise answer. Before I can answer, Mikasa walks up behind us to search in Mom's purse. She leans over to our height and speaks.
"Because you both have the same mind. If anything, I would think you two are the fraternal twins." Mikasa pulls out a deep chocolate brown lipstick and applies it carefully by looking into her phone's reflection. "Whenever Mom is sad, Eren is sad. Whenever Eren is angry, Mom is angry. Hell, there was even a time when you both picked the same couch, bed, table, and floor decoration when you moved in together. And yes, that is surprising. You are both mutants of the mind." After finishing applying, she throws the lipstick in the purse and smacks her lips.
"Unless Dad just doesn't like you."
"I'll go with that," I respond, almost offended that she considered me and Mom attached to the hip when we were in the same womb together. It's not my fault she scattered along to Jean and I found my own way afterward. Mikasa, ever since she had been with the asshole, has been more of a distant cousin that visits every month.
"I never asked to be Mom's stunt double." I stubbornly cross my legs over each other and glare ahead at the wedding stage. My mom rolls her eyes and flickers her hand at the chuckling Mikasa.
"Ah, you made him mad now. Go back to your farm! Shoo!" Mikasa waddles away in her tight dress, making sure to give me a mocking wink and a shallow middle finger when she flips her hand out of her face. I ignore her and look over at Mom, who now was pouting and obviously ready to get the day over.
"When are we starting?" Mom yells with a clap of her hands. "If I have to complain one more time -"
"I would like to announce the intermission of appetizers -"
A clear, crisp voice announces. The lights in the building dim down, and suddenly there are fluorescent bulbs gleaming around the room - illuminating guests' faces and the individual on stage. His hazel hair was flipped over and out of his face with the sides of his head shaved down. His suit supported dark colors, such as grey, black, and deep brown. His eyes sparkled as he spoke into the microphone.
"- and our special guest to sing our groom and bride's song. I would like to introduce -"
"Is this some concert?" I mutter to my Mom as I look around the room irritatingly. "We've seriously been sitting here for an hour just eating peeled apples and nasty ass celery." Ironically, just as I said those words, waiters flooded into the room with plates on their palms in the air. They selected tables and sat the plates on them - it all full of delicious sliced meats and other foods that seemed unhealthy.
I sit up in my seat and yell.
"Mikasa! Send them over here! It's deer and peacock!" Mikasa turns her head angrily to glare at me.
"Vegan special for my table. Sucks for you." She mouthed. I don't know how I heard her, but that didn't really matter in my head. I roll my eyes and lift my hands up in disappointment. As a waitress comes over and places a plate on our table, I hurriedly grab my fork and peek over at my Mom.
"Mikasa got the special treatment again. But look -" I point to the small, silver glass bowl full of mushrooms and garlic in front of me. "I get mushrooms. He did this on purpose. He knows I hate mushrooms."
"I like mushrooms though," Mom says. She stabs her fork into the mushy food and eats it with her hand under her chin. "Mhm."
"You think he gave you that 'cause he likes you? Hate to break it to you, but if he doesn't care about me - he sure as hell doesn't care about you."
"Wow, thanks Eren. It's not like we weren't married or high school sweethearts and prom king and queen and homecoming cou -"
" - a divorced couple because he decided he liked rich, black-haired women more."
"Honestly!" Mom starts, curiosity on her face as she crosses her arms. "I think it's because she doesn't have kids that are annoying. He is always getting Mikasa shit, but that's because Mikasa is the only one who stays away from him." She shakes her head and tuts her lip.
"It's like he is thanking her for her distance. Pathetic. If he comes out these doors in the next five minutes I am going on stage and punching him in his di -"
"Maybe I didn't treat you,
Quite as good as I should have,"
"Oh, I like this song," I say casually, my teeth tearing the chicken on the stick apart roughly. I sway slightly to the music and chew. Suddenly, my mouth senses something wrong, as it normally does, and I spit out the chicken quickly onto the wide metal plate holding the food. Ignoring the 'Really, Eren' from my mom, I grab a napkin and rub it on my tongue until it burned. I look at my Mom with disappointment and shock. "Mom, he put basil on this."
Silence. Mom's jaw drops and she pushes the tray away. I curl my lip up and lean in my chair while wiping the table in disgust. "I fucking hate basil," I growl out. "Child abuse."
"It really is."
"Who the fuck puts basil on chicken?" No, seriously. Who?
"Eren, we should just go -"
"More wine?" Me and Mom's face lift up at the sound of the announcer's voice near us. He holds a deep forest green bottle in his hands, tilting it to showcase its label and pricing at the top right corner. His smile shines with his overly white teeth, probably bleached a dozen times, and he pops open the bottle of wine to release the smell.
"Simple velvet. Requested especially for the Jaeger family." He smiles again and pours the wine into our empty glasses. I intertwine my fingers and place them in my lap, waiting for him to finish.
As he gets to Mom's glass, I speak.
"Tell my father, a special message from the Jaeger family, to order some fucking Papa Johns because this meal is shit." I grab a napkin, roll it, and throw it on the plates for dramatic effect.
I ignore Mom taking clumps of food and laying it on her lap on a napkin while nodding at the man. She's definitely taking those home.
"No offense to you sir, but we've been sitting here for the past hour and when I finally get some chicken, it tastes like any section meal of Kris Jenner's cookbook. I'm not amused."
The announcer's face is somewhat surprised, his eyes wider than dinner plates and as he pours the wine, it drizzles off to the side. Mom makes a noise and pushes the bottle away from her glass.
"Listen," Mom laughs and takes the transparent glass. "- trying to get me drunk on the first date? Risky." She makes a tutting noise as she sips the overflowing wine. "Also tell him to hurry the hell up. I have a nail appointment in the morning and I refuse to stay here past eleven."
"Y-yes, Ma'am." The announcer nervously stutters out. He shuffles away toward Mikasa and her farm, having the same agenda. I cross my arms and lean back in the chair, digging my tongue into my teeth to get out the remaining pieces of chicken. I grab a napkin from the table and wipe my mouth roughly. Leaning toward Mom, I groan outwardly.
"We should get Wendy's after this. Ugh, god." I lick my lips, "- fast food at night. Divine."
"Oh, really?" Mom gasps with a raise of her waxed eyebrows. She rolls her eyes soon after and picks up a piece of turkey meat from the expensive silver plate and places it onto a garlic cracker. "You sure you don't want to eat your 'salmon deluxe' or 'cauliflower mac and cheese' at home? Sure seems to be on the menu often."
"Hey, if I didn't cook you'd be up my ass anyways." I try not to think about how we sounded like a married couple, and how the roles have flipped from my stressful childhood. "If you want a five-star meal, find a rich boyfriend. I got enough on my back, ma'."
"Mhm." She closes her mouth, finally, since I hit a chord that she doesn't like to hear. I sigh slightly and grab the velvet cloth on the table, fiddling with it to ease the tension I had just made.
When I was eighteen, I had about two thousand dollars saved from my part-time job in high school. I decided to move away to a cheap apartment in far away Illinois, away from my poor neighborhood in New Jersey where I grew up in nothing but poverty.
Soon after a year of working full-time at a movie theater, I decided I had enough money to start college. I applied to the best university for my needs and majored in political science and economics, and minored in business philosophy. I joined a club for journalism and soon wrote for the university papers.
So if I do say so myself, my undergraduate life was fulfilling and contained many accomplishments.
Mid-way into my bachelor's degree at twenty-two, I applied for Harvard Law School. They declined at first, of course, but my friends (when I had some) encouraged it because they always saw me as a stereotypical nerd who studied every day, which I did, so that concluded my whole personality. In reality, half of the time in college when I was studying, I was daydreaming about what would happen in the next episode of RuPaul.
However, months after searching for another university to go to, Harvard reevaluated and placed me in their school on a whim. I sucked up all loans I could and went there for three years. I obtained my Juris Doctor degree and followed to become a corporate lawyer. I moved to New York, a childhood dream I always had, where I now work for Smith's Law Firm at the age of twenty-eight. I now make a nice amount of money, good enough to get myself a decent house, and have a financially stable life.
This is the story I tell people at company parties. My amazing life story - how I got to where I am, so young, and how I manage to be still one of the top lawyers in the company. I smile my white teeth that I brush with baking soda twice a week and sip rich champagne that always tasted like old sprite. I would then tell the story with more comedic effect and in the end, hope to have a sharp index card handed over to me just to stroke my ego.
I've never mentioned, fortunately, my mother who I had to take care of since I moved to Illinois. Who I had to make sure ate and didn't get into trouble with any of our neighbors. Who I had to come home to and hang out with all the time because she wanted bonding time, not realizing that I was a college student studying for my LSAT that would determine my life. Who is one of the reasons I don't have friends because she always comes first.
I can't blame her much though, because if it wasn't for my father leaving her strung with no money, this wouldn't have happened. If anything, I probably wouldn't have become a lawyer because I wouldn't have needed money as bad as I needed it then. I probably would have been traveling the world, as I always wanted to, and found myself enraptured in writing fictional stories - as cheesy as that is.
But I digress because Mom doesn't like to talk about it - and I don't either.
I snap out of my thoughts when the lights at the wedding simmer down, a fluorescent glow illuminating the building that was rented for more money than needed. The whole area soon had a tint of burgundy, and I remind myself that at my wedding - I want to have the lights a bright baby blue with quivering white reflections, like the inside of the ocean I've never seen before.
The pianist in the front begins to play a soft tune, and everyone begins to stand up and head over to the sides of the aisle. They completely ignored the signs at the sides of their tables, announcing that they stay in their seats the whole time for the sake of organization. However, no one really reads here, so phones are out with bright lights recording, and I spot a photographer in the corner on his knees.
I decide to stand up, not looking at my Mom considering my thoughts told me not to, and head over to Mikasa and her husband. As I walk over towards her, I notice Mikasa already looks like she wants to tear up as she tells her husband that she is happy for her father. I stand next to her and stay silent.
"It's so beautiful. We should have done this." She elbows him into his side, making him groan out loud and shout how if he could afford it, he would have.
That is usually the case with everyone, because without a doubt if money was never an issue the world would be perfect. I say nothing and look at the bulky doors at the end of the aisle, ready for them to open so I could get delicious ivory vanilla cake and leave in my ugly ass box mini-cooper.
"Hold me close and hold me fast, this magic spell you cast."
A soft voice sings with guitar chords following in after.
"This is La Vie En Rose."
I roll my eyes and press my fingers in between the corners of my eyes.
"Am I at a damn indie concert or a wedding?" I whisper too loudly than I wanted to. Mikasa's face snaps over to me, and I somewhat regret my words when she slaps me with her handheld leather purse.
"Shut up," She begins with a tone that tells me she is ready to scold, but she doesn't get to.
The bulky doors of the building open, showing my father dressed in a simple onyx suit with burgundy accents, such as his tie, socks, and watch. His hair is pulled into a tight bun, which I remember in the back of my head to make fun of with Mom later, and he is wearing the special edition glasses that he bought for almost a thousand dollars. He struts with his mom, who is my grandma I've never met, and smiles at the crowd around him. I cross my arms as lights flash around me, making me squint my eyes.
"Is this an indie concert or a wedding?" I hear Mom say next to me.
I look over at her and notice how easily she could have been mistaken as the bride if she was in the aisle. With her beautiful crimson flowing dress, glowing eyes, and classy posture - she looked compatible with Dad.
But I'm not that reliable, because I always wished they got back together.
"That's what I said," I announce to her nonchalantly. When my cocky father walks to the end of the aisle, he helps his mother to her elegant 'queen' preserved seat and stands near the clergy afterward. The crowd moves to the front more, almost forgetting that the bride was up next.
Eventually, the sides of the aisle are somewhat empty until the flower girl comes out, her tiny fingers throwing out rose petals, and a set of glimmering velvet heels are clicking behind her.
As I see the woman my father was marrying, I could not help but feel anything but hate and admiration for her.
Her dress is gorgeous, puffy, and sparkling like she was a Disney princess. She wears no veil, but only has her ebony hair curled down to her elbows. Her lips are painted red, of course, and her makeup is done slightly with subtle eyeliner, eyeshadow, and hardly noticeable fake eyelashes. Everything about her shines with beauty and individuality, and I hate it but also find it oddly comforting.
She walks with a man who is slightly raunchier. His suit is a simple black and white with a red bow tie. His hair is slicked to the back, and he seems to be enjoying the attention the most. He waves and smiles like crazy as he walks with my stepmother.
As they pass us, my fingers tighten on my elbow in frustration. The drive home was going to be hell, because just by not hearing my mother's jokes about her dress, or her hair, or her dirty nails coming to life like she said they would aggravate me. I knew she was hurting, and I hated it because she was, and I hated it because she has somehow made me despise my step-mother whom I've never even met, but also admire her for the aura she released that felt more motherly than my mother's own.
"She is beautiful." I finally hear my Mom speak, and her voice is softer than it has ever been. "She really is."
I want to make a joke, but I know now is not the time. I peek over at my Mom's puffy face, her lip slightly puckered up and eyes glossy.
"Let's go to the front." I nod my head slowly and waltz over to the front of the building with my mother by my side. A deep baritone interrupts all talking and flashing pictures.
"We come here today to celebrate the proposal of Grisha Jaeger and Kuchel Ackerman in the beauty of roses." The clergy announces loudly into his microphone. "We come to celebrate a proposal of commitment, of forever love and loyalty. By the arms of God, these two were bound together and torn to find each other once again. They have gone through the trials of life, and have still found each other with nothing but endearment."
"See," Mikasa's distinctive voice whispers in my ear. She stands next to me, hands collided with Jean's, and grins slightly instead of her consistent scowls. "It may look cliche, but it'll feel unreal when it happens to you." Mikasa gazes in front of her and grips Jean's hand tighter.
"That is if it ever does with your attitude."
"Go away, loser," I grunt at her.
She chuckles and pushes through the crowds to the front. I watch her until she disappears and pushes my hands into my pockets. I can't be angry at her though, because she is right. If I ever have a wedding, it'll probably be in the nursing home as I'm dying from old age. I tighten my fist into my pockets and hang my head. In some way, I was hoping I could fall asleep standing up so I wouldn't have to deal with the romantic screams and 'aww's'.
"Grisha Jaeger, do you accept all of Kuchel Ackerman's baggage? Her ways of life and her love till death do you apart? Do you promise to be there when she needs a hand to hold, and love her when no one else will? Do you wish a life fulfilled to commitment and forever happiness with Kuchel Ackerman?"
"I do."
"And do you, Kuchel Ackerman, accept all of Grisha Jaeger's baggage? His ways of life and his love till death do you apart? Do you promise to be there when he needs a hand to hold and love him when no one else will? Do you wish a life fulfilled to commitment and forever happiness with Grisha Jaeger?"
"I do."
"Then ladies and gentlemen, I bound you too together forever, under the roses of love, and announce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride."
So much for being a family.
"Eren! Mikasa!"
Oh great.
I turn my head slightly at the call of my name, and so does my twin sister. I was in the process of grabbing my suit jacket and my mother's purse, who was currently in the bathroom probably wiping mascara-stained eyes, and I was evidently ready to leave for the night.
Our father walks over to us with his bride hand in hand. Immediately, she smiles at me grimly and nods her head. I ignore her looks and only face my father who had finally gotten away from all his business partners and relatives bothering him.
I lean against the wooden chair next to me and try to calm down from the anger building up in me at the sight. I knew going to the wedding was going to end badly, but I still came for some stupid ass selfless reason.
My father grins with his piano-like, ivory teeth and hugs Mikasa slightly. Mikasa's face shows warmth, something I could never understand that she had for our father.
"I hope you enjoyed yourselves." He announces softly. Mikasa ultimately nods and grins at her new stepmother. They had met previously, evidently, and seemed more relaxed near each other than I wanted her to. I couldn't help but feel as if Mikasa betrayed us by choosing to be cordial with the not-so-witch of the land.
My father then turns to me and his smile falters a bit. He holds out his hand for a firm handshake. I don't even want to touch his hand, but I do because I'm twenty-eight and I can't act as I did ten years ago.
"Where is your mother?" He asks.
"Better Than Sex mascara is expensive, so she is probably trying to preserve what is left." Of course, he didn't understand, but his wife did. She took a deep breath and gazed around the room, her deep grey eyes avoiding mine at all cost. I glare at her and stuff my hands into my slack's pockets. "Is there an issue? I'd like to leave early because I do have work in the morning."
My father's eyes glimmer with pride, almost making me scoff, and he holds up his hands in excuse.
"Ah, yes. The big shot lawyer. I forget!" He elbows his wife a bit and his grin grows wider. "I won't hold you any longer, but also know that I am having a special dinner tonight as well. It won't go past eleven, but it will be down the street in Dominic's. I have invited your grandfather," He winks slightly because he knows how much I adore him, "- your cousins, business friends, and relatives on her side." He looks at his wife lovingly. "I expect you to at least get to know the other side of the family, so showing up would do some good."
I try not to gag at the thought of becoming a family with these random people. My family has always been my Mom, Mikasa, and often Dad.
"Good to know. I'll tell Mom." I say with a fake smile. My father begins to walk away once he notices other people he can invite to the dinner. Mikasa, who I forgot was standing feet away from me the whole time, walks over to me and looks up at me with curiosity.
"Are you going?" She asks. I laugh and grab my jacket, looking at her like she was crazy.
"Of course not. What the fuck do I look like? His son? Please." I grumble sarcastically. "It's obvious I'm his trophy. He just wants me to go and say 'I'm a sexy ass lawyer' and hopes I'll either get invitations to a bigger company or a girlfriend." I shrug my jacket out and bring out my phone.
"And where the hell is Mom anyway? I know it's waterproof, but I'm pretty sure they have soap in the damn bathrooms."
"I mean, even if that was his plan - I don't think it would be bad for you to find a girlfriend," Mikasa tells me. I glare at her. She doesn't know me at all. "What?" She grumbles.
"You really think I want to spend the rest of my life with someone who loves me because I'm a lawyer? Mikasa, how the hell are we twins? Aren't you suppose to know this?"
"Yeah, like I know your entire thought process when half of it consists of various episodes of Bad Girls Club."
"Fuck you." I sprout. I notice her husband, Jean, walking over with two drinks in his hand. "- and fuck you too!" He scowls on his way. He points to me with his index finger and turns to Mikasa. I cut him off with the tut of my lips and grab his drink. Drinking it, I point to both of them and scowl.
"If it weren't for this lame-ass marriage, Mikasa would know that I can't stand that show anymore! I only watch Rupaul, damn it!" When Jean finally opens his mouth, my mother shows up out of the blue with her mascara perfect and cheeks a rosy red. She smiles and grabs her purse in my hands.
"Are you ready to go?" I nod with excitement and slam the wine glass down.
"Yeah, lets -"
"Hey Ms. Jaeger, you know Mr. Jaeger is having a feast tonight?" My head quickly turns at the sound of Jean's voice. He is subtly drinking his wine, a smirk making its way to his lip. Mom turns around as well and looks at me for an explanation. Luckily, I don't get to because Jean's ass steps in again.
"It's supposed to be a relative come together. Plus its free food, so." He shrugs and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. I count to three in my head, trying to remember that this was supposed to be a peaceful place at the moment.
"Oh really? And where is this at?"
"Dominic's."
"Oh, I love Dominic's!" Mom turns toward me and giggles like a fifteen-year-old. "We'll be there! What time?" Jean looks me right in the eye and at that moment, I remember how much I hated him in high school. I should have gotten Mikasa out of that farm years ago.
"In about thirty minutes."
Dominic's had been my mother's favorite restaurant ever since she was little.
My grandma and grandpa had gotten married there, and it was the place Dad proposed to Mom too.
It had also been the place Dad would take me on all of my birthdays, making it hard to forget the area and how its shining lights gave my eyes sparkles of green and purple.
So as I walked through the fancy restaurant that hadn't changed much with my mother walking in front of me, I couldn't help but be reminded of how everything had changed.
My fingers graze the tables of soft, white cloth as we walk. The restaurant seems to be bought out, so we walk through the area with no eyes gazing upon us.
My heart pounds and pounds from memories of my childhood, and suddenly when it seems I can't bear the memories anymore - we finally find our table that is long enough to fit a generation of children.
The table is decorated with red roses and candles, mostly because the lights are dimmed down in the room. My father and his wife have designated seats at the ends of the table, and apparently, the 'Jaeger' family is meant to sit on one side, along with his wife's family on the other side. I strut slowly toward the seat with my name on an envelope.
Mom is set to sit to the farther left of me, right next to Dad, which I can't stress enough is a bad fucking idea.
I pull my mother's seat out for her and scoot her in once she sits down. My father nods his head at me as a thank you and does the same for his wife. I roll my eyes and sit in my seat, making sure to pat Mom's back to calm her down.
"Appetizers will come soon!" My father almost shouts as everyone gets settled in their seats. "As for now, drinks are water until menus for dinner are served!" He smiles and turns his head to speak to his wife. I scratch the back of my ear and look across from me in interest.
A girl who looks about seventeen sits there, a grin wide on her face and face polka-dotted with freckles. Her soft red hair is straight and flows down her back from her skimpy dress, which I have to say fits her really well. If she looked older I definitely would have considered talking to her, but then I remembered that she was basically my fucking step-sister and -
All of this shit is ruining my mood.
"So, Grisha -" Mom begins to speak. '
Oh god', I think to myself. 'Please shut up.'
"I hear you got a new house in the suburbs. How is that going for you?" Mom and Dad grew up in poverty, so it is no surprise that that would be the first issue. I mean, how could the city boy Mom told me about decide to become rich - especially when he preached about materialized things ruining happiness?
But hell, I have no right to judge, because I did the same thing.
"It's going well, Carla. I would also like to introduce you to Kuchel. I realize you two haven't properly met." He says it hesitantly. He knows that Mom is competitive and that even if they were already divorced, Mom would make sure Kuchel was worthy. I place my chin on my palm in interest to see the conversation take place.
"Hello," Kuchel begins. She smiles brightly and holds out her manicured hand with a glimmering wedding ring. My mom shakes it, challenging her with her inch longer deep navy nails. I smirk a bit and take a sip of the water near me. "It's nice to meet you."
"Truly," Mom says passionately, but also sarcastically. "I've heard so many good things about you."
Silence.
'Fucking kill me now.' I think. "So, Kuchel -" I interrupt the tension with a solid turn of my lips. " - could you introduce me to your family members?"' I'd like to leave as soon as possible, please.'
"Ah, yes!" Kuchel flutters out. She looks over to the beautiful woman with red hair and grabs her hand. "This is Isabel - my adopted daughter from my previous marriage." She grins and rubs her daughter's knuckles in comfort. Isabel nods at us with positive vibes.
"Hi, it's nice to meet you all finally!" She giggles and pushes a lock of her hair behind her ear. I feel Mom's elbow dig into my side, making me look over at her in annoyance. Mom wiggles her eyebrows and winks. My jaw almost drops.'Oh hell no.'
"So, Isabel. Are you single? Ready to mingle?" Mom says flirtatiously. Isabel's eyes widen a bit and blushes slightly. I try not to gag at how young she looked, and opted to gaze in the far distance to avoid the embarrassing conversation occurring. "Because I happen to know a guy -"
"Um, I actually have a fiance."
"A fiance?" Me and Mom say shockingly at the same moment. Isabel looks confused for a second before showing the engagement ring in her hand. I recoil in bewilderment and open my mouth a few times before asking, "How old are you?"
"Twenty?" Isabel nervously says. She fiddles with her hands and laughs at our expressions. Mom takes a sip of her water and looks away, not bothering to respond to Isabel's announcement. I scratch my temple and lift my head up to stare at the chandelier awkwardly. Luckily, Dad breaks the tension by congratulating his stepdaughter with a fatherly smile. As they become deep in conversation, Mom looks at me with the rise of her eyebrow.
"I wish you would get married at twenty. I would beat your ass."
"Ma'," Menus are placed in front of us finally, and as I open it, I open my mother's and urge her by placing her hand on the menu. "Let's not get into a discussion about how young marriage ruins lives. I've had to hear it since I was nine, so I think I'm fine." I whisper to her. I fake a smile when Isabel sets her eyes on me and she grins back happily.
Fifteen minutes later, we are being delivered appetizers which consist of mozzarella sticks, fried shrimp, garlic mushrooms, breadsticks, and quesadillas. I rub my hands together for the meal and almost drool when it is set in the middle of the table. I reach over, thanking God for my long arms, and place whatever I can onto the small metal plate I had. Mom hardly grabs any, which concerns me as I pull back from grabbing my feast to stare at her.
"You okay?" I ask her with concern.
She doesn't answer, but she isn't looking at me. She has a sultry look in her eyes and she leans on her palm while puffing her lips out. My face scrunches up at the look and I follow her gaze. It ends up looking at an older man at the farther end of the table, who wears an ivory suit and blonde hair slicked back delicately. He smiles at my mother, winking indiscreetly as he eats subtle bits of the garlic mushrooms.
"He's eating mushrooms," Mom says desperately. "You know how much I love mushrooms."
"I'm grossed out now." I immediately voice. I curl my lip and lean in my chair with an almost loss of appetite. "If you're gonna eyeball sixty-year-old Hugh Hefners, do not do it in front of me." Mom rolls her eyes and grabs her purse. She doesn't hesitate to push up her boobs, making me look away in annoyance, and pucker her lips.
"Fine." She pushes her chair in as she heads out and ruffles my hair. "Wish me luck." She struts over to the man with her hips moving dramatically. I shake my head and ponder down at the food in front of me. I pick up a mozzarella stick, crunch it between my teeth, and try to savor the flavor. My eyes wander over to my father, who is engaged in conversation with his new 'family.' My eyes hover, and I feel secluded in a bubble of solitude. I sign softly and itch the back of my head.
Toward the middle of the night, orders were taken and I decided I would be better off eating fast food than waiting thirty minutes for dinner to come out.
So, I said my goodbyes to my father, and partially Kutchel, and headed over to my mother to tell her if she would be fine getting a ride from her new knight. She nods and wishes me goodnight, not forgetting to place a kiss on my cheek like I was a little boy again. I tell her to be safe and if anything happens to call me.
I leave the restaurant around eleven-fifty. I feel like a weight is lifted off my shoulders as I walk into the parking lot. The cool breeze showers my face, and I finally feel as if I can breathe. The walk toward my car feels like the most relaxing moment of my life since I was eighteen, surprisingly.
Once I reach my car, which is a box mini-cooper that my Mom thought I would like, I open the door and slide into the driver's seat. I immediately turn on the car and start flickering through the radio.
It seemed like all I could find were rap songs, that I didn't mind if I were in the mood and annoying pop songs that played weekly. I sigh softly and flip down my mirror to grab a CD disk hidden inside.
Looking inside the plastic holder for the disk, I finally pull out a specific disk with my horrible handwriting on it and push it into the radio.
Adjusting the volume and changing it to the second song, I wait until I hear the relaxing words that somewhat help me stay with hope, along with several other songs I adore.
"Loving you is easy because you're beautiful,"
I fix the seating of the car to lean back more and lean my head back on the headrest. Closing my eyes, I decided spending a few moments relaxing would help make sure I don't drive home frustrated.
"Making love with you is all I want to do. Loving you is more than just a dream come true."
I was so fixated on the woman's voice that I hardly noticed the persistent tapping on my window. I let out deep breaths and mumbles the next words to myself.
"And everything that I do is out of loving you."
"Hey, Minnie fucking Riperton, can you stop singing solos and look at me?"
I jump in my seat at the deep baritone voice. Lifting myself up from my seat, I gaze around in my car, especially the back, and wonder where the fuck that voice was coming from.
"I'm over here, dumb-ass!" Finally, I look out the window at the passenger seat and see a pale face staring back at me. His voice was muffled by the closed surroundings, but I could hear the complete anger in his voice. I scowl and roll down my window hesitantly. Before the stranger could speak, I put him in his place - or at least try to.
"Why the fuck are you near my car like a psycho? If you're trying to hijack you're not doing a good job because I'm pretty sure that black suit -" - that I just noticed he was wearing,"- doesn't hide any muscles I couldn't handle." The man outside my car chuckles slightly before shaking his head in irritation. "Excuse me? Back the fuck away from my car."
"Listen," The man starts.
I don't listen at all because I burst out of my car. The man then straightens back up and we are soon staring at each other from across the car. I notice he is shorter than normal considering the car hides his chin and bottom lip, and the car is pretty short. I slam the door to my vehicle and walk over to the front. I stare at the man who decided he wanted to be my poor long-lost brother and try to run up on my car.
"And they say I have anger issues." The stranger mumbles while looking me up and down.
I could hardly hear it over the music still playing inside my car. I place my hands behind my back and scrutinize the man. His black suit matches the night along with his hair, only leaving his face to be barely recognizable. His eyes are small and his nose is slim. His lips are puckered up slightly, and soon he crosses his arms and glares at me equally.
"I was just going to ask your dramatic ass if you could give me a ride, but seeing as you think I'm trying to steal your poor excuse of a car - I'll be better off." He uncrosses his arms and waits for a response.
"Why the hell do you need a ride? There are about three bus routes that I'm sure as hell you could take." I tell the man stubbornly. He shakes his head and begins to walk away. He brushes past me, giving me the scent of his cologne that smelled indescribable. I turn around as he walks toward the building I just came from, and it clicks.
"Wait! Are you going to the wedding dinner?" The stranger halts in walking and looks around at me.
"What do you fucking think?" He cockily voices. I try not to reply as brassily as he does and only wander over to my car once again.
"Why did you want to leave if you were going to a dinner?" I know for sure I didn't see him in there. I pretty much memorized everyone's faces in that damn place considering how bored I was.
The stranger cocks his hip and places his hand on it. I stand there somewhat confused at his dramatic movement. The stranger sighs and rolls his eyes so harshly that I could see it from here.
"Why would I want to go to a boring ass wedding then go to an even more stupid ass boring ass dinner? I didn't even go to the wedding, so I don't even know why I'm here. So to put it simply, I wanted to be nice - but I really don't have the fucking patience."
He stole the words right out of my mouth, except I had to go to the wedding and dinner.
I squint my eyes at the man for any threatening qualities, but the only one I saw was his sharp ass nails. I sigh softly and look around the parking lot for a minute before asking, "Where do you live?"
"Just drop me off on Trost. I'll find my way."
Simple. Easy. It wouldn't be that bad to drive him home, would it? Besides, maybe we could rant together about this wack-ass wedding that ended up feeling like a fucking funeral. I tap my finger on the hood of my car and nod my head progressively.
"I'm stopping off at Wendy's first. Do you mind?" I open the door to my car and watch as the stranger struts over to the passenger side with cockiness glowing on his face. I settle myself in the driver's seat and place on my seat belt. When the man enters the car, I notice he doesn't buckle up, so I look up and stare at his face which is illuminated by the car lighting. My eyes widen bit by bit at his features.
His eyes are a deep, stormy grey, mixed with honey-blue. His eyelashes hover heavily on his eyes, almost looking like a forest to his enhancing irises. The pucker of his lips is gone, and instead, his lips are perfectly sized and plumped. His cheeks are highly defined and his skin looks smooth and unblemished.
His eyebrows are perfectly arched and it somehow added even more perfection to his facial features. When his face turned toward mine, he raises an eyebrow and all I could see on his face was beauty and, most certainly, attitude.
"Are you gonna drive or what?" He says in a sassy tone. I snap out of my trance and nod quickly. I place a scowl on my face and turn down the song that was playing too loudly. I cough and rub my throat.
"Can you put your seat belt on too?" After a few seconds, I hear the zipping of the belt and click. I smile a bit.
"Thanks." He doesn't respond. He does, however, boldly start fiddling with the radio and changes it back to the second song. He sits back in his seat and breathes in. He soon begins to dig the dirt out of his nails and speaks confidently.
"Oh, and I don't mind Wendy's. I prefer Jack In A Box, but whatever floats your boat." As I shift the gear into drive, I take his statement with a grain of salt because Wendy's is much better than stupid Jack In A Box.
But I digress because he is good-looking - and there aren't many of us left anymore.