“So, this is the plus one? Eddie Enchanted, was it? It is nice to meet you, young man,” my father says, standing from the table to shake Eddie’s hand. “Dinner is at 5:30, so we started eating, but you can still make yourself a plate.”
Dinner is at 5:30 p.m. every day on the dot, and as I check the time on my phone, it is 5:45. We are late. Traffic was terrible on our way here, hence our lateness, though my family wouldn’t care. All that mattered was that we were late.
As we walk into the room, grimaces are worn on everyone’s faces.Way to go, Willow. Of course, this visit is going to start off on a bad note.
“I apologize for my lateness,” I mutter. The family here includes my parents, my sister, and her soon-to-be mate. Eddie and I load up our plates and sit at the table covered with a white tablecloth, surrounded by plastic-wrapped chairs.
Eddie is taking my advice and remaining quiet, and while I gave him the advice, it brings a whole new wash of discomfort. The stiffness in his posture tells me he is uncomfortable, and I bet it’s because I told him to be quiet. Oh, why did I say that? I hate I did that. I should’ve kept my mouth closed.
I went and made the one person I care the most about at this table uncomfortable, and for what? So I could please people who would never be pleased with me? Gosh, this dinner is going terribly in the three minutes I’ve been here. I want to drag Eddie away and apologize, but I think he’d be more upset if I did. I don’t know. Maybe he wouldn’t? I don’t know how much more tension I can take.
This dinner is the opposite of what it would be like if we had dinner in my own home. My velvet chairs are soft and cushy, and my table is a gorgeous wood, and most of all, it’s comfortable. I’ve always had the desire to be loud when it comes to home decor. I once thought it was my version of a rebellious streak or a phase I was going through with all my newfound freedom. Except I never grew out of the phase, and now it is identified as a part of my personality.
“What a beautiful home you have, Mr. and Mrs. Buttercup,” Eddie comments, gesturing his hands at my parent’s home. It’s beautiful in a way I could now identify as different and not bland or bad. It’s an accurate representation of my parents who live their lives to be prim, proper, and orderly.
“Why, thank you, young man,” my mother says. My mother wears pearls that would adjust to her bear shifter size. She is the type of woman who wears a tweed suit every day, not only for church on Sundays. A prim and proper woman, and I loved that about her as a kid, and maybe I still do love that about her. The more I think about it, it’s not the persona she puts on that irks me anymore. It’s the constant disappointment that I can’t bear.
“See, happiness is out there for you. What a nice man you’ve brought home,” my father quips with an easygoing smile on his face.
“Thank you, Dad. Eddie is quite wonderful,” I say, offering Eddie a small smile hoping he will relax again.
“But is it appropriate for you to be dating again? Your mate died, and now you’re, what? Whoring yourself out?” My mother’s words flare into a flame of rage in my stomach, and I can’t help the tightness appearing in my smile. Eddie raises his brows as he drops his fork from his fingers and onto his plate with a crash. The crash that gets this party started. He turns his head to my mom, maybe to say something, maybe to stare in shock, but I quickly shake my head no. There’s no reason to put him in the hot seat.
“I think the kids call it ‘casual’ nowadays, Mom,” Harper says, raising her fork to her lips.
“Causal? This man probably has a mate out there that wouldn’t appreciate him here with another woman.”
“Eddie,” I correct, my voice low, staring at Eddie’s hand resting on my lap under the table. I know what she is doing and won’t let it continue. Eddie has a name. He is more than a fling or an undeserving boyfriend who won’t last.
“Excuse me?” my mother scoffs, openly glaring at me. My mother’s eyes narrow and slice into my soul. As a kid, that would follow me into the pits of self-loathing and despair, but now, the cuts don’t slice as deep. I straighten my posture and move mygaze towards the quiet crowd as if I am unbothered. If they want a show, I guess I will give it to them.
“His name is Eddie Enchanted.”
“I know.”Then act like it.
“Harper, congratulations on the engagement and the upcoming mating ceremony.” Eddie slides into the conversation, giving my thigh a squeeze. I appreciate what he is doing, but my bear is riled up at the disrespect from our mother. One thing I can’t quite get a handle on is my bear. Even as a cub, disrespect bothered her to the core so much, everyone was surprised I didn’t present as an Alpha.
“Thank you, Eddie. This is Jason. He’s a shy one, but he’s my one and only.” Harper laughs as Jason gives her a quick kiss on her cheek. I see the shows of affection in slow motion as if it was a movie, the kind of love she’s found. I am thrilled for my sister. The love glistens off her skin, and her face, gosh, her face glows with joy. Love looks happy on Harper, but it makes me wonder if love ever looked that good on me? My eyes are stuck on Eddie, who sits directly under one light from the chandelier. His brown skin is smooth and moisturized. It appears darn near edible. Being in his presence and having his touch isn’t enough. I want to be fully consumed by him. I want every look and every emotion to be mine. His smile goes from cheek to cheek, and he appears happy now while engaged in conversation with my sister.
With my focus almost completely on him, the dinner flies by. We eat, and Eddie holds a polite conversation with everyone and keeps his left hand on my thigh the entire time. I wonder if he sees why I left. It feels dramatic to have left town and dropped contact, but I couldn’t do this anymore. The constant insults, reprimands, and nasty comments—I couldn’t do it.
It all is so normal when I’m in this house, surrounded by the wallpaper of my childhood. For a while I didn’t know familiesdidn’t speak to each other in this way. It’s only my mother and her circle here in Kaler City. It’s generational too. Her mother spoke like this to her, and my mother repeated the cycle with me. My mother knows nothing different, or maybe she chooses not to know anything different.
I don’t know why she chose to hate me. I don’t know why she chose to repeat this cycle of hate. We are supposed to be a family, not whatever this is.
Even with her harsh words today, it doesn’t feel that bad right now. It’s not that bad when he’s here. When I have him, nobody else matters.
The smiles disappear as my mom and I enter the kitchen with dirty dishes. My mom sets the pile of dishes in her hands into the sink and backs away to lean against the island.
“Willow,” my mother’s voice hisses out in a whisper. I stare as she crosses her arms over her chest. I wash the dishes from dinner as my mother begins her rant of the hour.
She’s standing behind me, breathing down my neck. It’s a tactic she’s used my whole life, and yet it still makes me feel inferior. Heat radiates off her and comes to suffocate me as she takes a deep breath before opening her argument. “Don’t you ever disrespect me ever?—”
“Or you’ll do what, Mother? Why is it okay to be rude to my guest, but, goddess forbid, I forget one of your guests’ names at any of the events you dragged me to? Please.”
“Milo’s death isn’t an excuse?—”
“No, Mother. It’s not about Milo or his death. It’s about me growing up. I’m well past the age of taking disrespect,” I say, keeping my back turned. I hate not facing her, but it’s the only way I can talk back to her.
