The Truth About Us

With a sigh, she glanced with longing in the rearview mirror as she parked the Beetle in her driveaway. Though she had dropped Kaden off only minutes ago, she found herself wishing he were still with her.

Pushing the thought aside, she got out of her car and made her way up the cobbled drive. When she entered her house, the sound of arguing immediately assaulted her ears.

She took a tentative step down the hallway, toward the kitchen, where the scent of tomato sauce and garlic beckoned her rumbling stomach. But as she drew closer to the mouthwatering scent of her dinner, the sound of the quarrel increased.

Creeping into the kitchen, she took in the sight of her mother and grandfather sitting at the small eat-in table, leaning forward in their chairs, snapping at each other like two angry wolves. For a moment, Abby debated turning around and heading up to her room, not in the mood for whatever conflict the kitchen held but her empty belly won out. She cleared her throat and waited.

The moment they noticed her presence, they turned their attention to her, and the arguing ceased.

“Hi, sweetheart. Have a seat,” her mother said. She smiled as she stood and headed to the stove where she started to make Abby a plate, but the gesture didn’t reach her eyes.

Her grandfather stared down at his food, his shoulders hunched. Not until Abby took a seat in front of him did he glance up at her, and even then, his expression remained sober. When her mother returned with her plate, Abby took a bite of pasta, trying to

distract herself from the tension hovering in the air around them like a hot air balloon.

She shifted in her seat, uncomfortable in the heavy silence. Sitting with them was like trying to walk on a bed of broken glass—say the wrong thing and a shard wound up in your heel. Nevertheless, she sat straighter in her seat and opened her mouth in an effort to diffuse the discomfort at the table.

“So, what did you do today, Grandpa?”

Her mother grunted beside her while her grandfather glanced up at her. “The same thing normal people do every day. But I guess that’s not okay.”

“Normal people don’t need glasses the size of coke bottles and refuse to wear them. Even then, you probably still wouldn’t see well enough to drive,” her mother snipped over her glass of ice water.

Her grandfather’s jaw worked as he chewed, eyeing her mother.

Sensing a brewing storm, Abby focused on her plate. She crammed a shovel full of spaghetti in her mouth. While she ate, she fought the urge to leap up from her seat and go to her room.

She hated conflict, avoided it at all costs. In the past, she would’ve left, no questions asked. But today, her thoughts drifted to Kaden. The way he faced Cammie’s question about liking her head-on. The way he just laid it all out there for her. The way he faced his dad, knowing how he felt about his spending time with her. Abby saw the strength in that, the courage. She wanted to be strong, too.

Bracing herself for the argument in front of her, she straightened in her seat, glancing between them. “So, what’s the deal? What are you guys fighting about?”

Her mother turned to her with lightning in her eyes. “Your grandfather—”

“She treats me like a child!” her grandfather interrupted.

“I do not treat you like a child.” Her mother turned on him, her mouth a flat line.

“I have to ask you for permission to go anywhere, don’t I? You’re-you’re-you’re cooking my meals, washing my clothes. She even made my bed this morning!” Her grandfather waved a wrinkled hand as he spoke.

“I’m already cooking for everyone else. It’s not like I’m singling you out, and it’s just easier to throw your clothes in with the rest. What’s wrong with that? It’s being helpful! And I already said I was sorry about the bed.”

Her grandfather leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, refusing to look at her mother.

“See,” her mother waved in his direction. “Silence. That’s what I get when I try to talk to him. Dad, if you don’t want to be treated like a child, then don’t act like one.” Her mother pushed her chair out from the table, clearly having enough of the lovely dinner conversation.

“I do not—”

“And you don’t need permission to go anywhere. You got your license revoked a few months ago, so it’s the law. Do you not remember that?”

Abby frowned. Despite her churning stomach, she asked, “Are you guys really fighting right now about laundry and food?”

Her mother turned to her, her hands balled into fists, spine rigid. “What started the fight was my coming home from work on a break to check on him and discovering his car was gone.”

“See!” Her grandfather stabbed a fork in the air. “Who checks on a grown man?”

“I wouldn’t need to if you’d stop doing things you weren’t supposed to,” she snapped at him, her eyes blazing. “Apparently, he’s off taking road trips during the day.”

“Road trips?” Abby asked.