Ink & Interruptions

            Lunch ticked by like the minutes spent in a dentist’s chair—smiles and warm welcomes followed by the pressure of a needle pushing its way through your gums as you wait, praying that it doesn’t burst through the other side of your face. Then somewhere in the middle, you grow numb—mouth hanging open as the dentist asks you questions with no intention of hearing an answer.

            Mom was the dentist—firing question after question at Kyle, but I was fairly sure she never heard any of the answers. How could she? By the time he’d uttered the last word, she’d had another question locked and loaded—her mouth, the barrel from which each bullet exploded. Kyle withered under the weight of each shot, and while I should have felt bad for him, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of satisfaction—petty, yes, but satisfied that someone else was the center of her attention. This is what he gets. The thought circled around my head as mom picked apart every second of his life from the moment he stood up and walked away from her until now.

            Uncle George and Dad tried to distract her—to move the conversation to the weather and sports, but Mom was relentless, a starving animal let loose for the first time in months, and so we all watched—Dad, Uncle George, and I—we watched as she devoured Kyle.

            “So, George says you’ve been upstate.”

            “Uh, yeah.” His eyes shot across the table to his dad. Oh, don’t like the taste of betrayal, do you? I thought as I watched Kyle work to recompose himself. “I found a position in a law firm. I’m in the process of—”  

            “Well, isn’t that nice.” The sentiment dripped with venom from her mouth—the sting of it cutting through Kyle’s words. “I’m sure working at a large firm is an adventure all of its own.”

            “Oh,” Kyle coughed—the noise abrupt as his fingers roamed down the length of his spoon, each touch moving the base back and forth. “The firm is actually small.”

            “Small?” Her eyebrows furrowed together as she cocked her head slightly to the left. “Oh, I guess I just assumed it was a large firm considering how quickly you left town.” The joy I’d felt earlier ebbed away as I watched Kyle flinch, clearly affected by the force of her words.

            “No, it’s small, but I get a lot of the cases and—”

            “Good thing the pay is better.” My mom was nodding, as though this was a balanced exchange and not an interrogation, one in which there was no good cop waiting in the wings to offer a reprieve. “That’s something.”

            I cut my gaze back to Kyle as he dropped his eyes to his plate and worked to disappear, ritualistically moving his fork from one side of his plate to the other—over and over again as though he was trying to find an exit somewhere between the steamed vegetables and the mound of mashed potatoes he still hadn’t touched.

            “How much better is it?” She asked before plopping a chunk of meat onto her tongue, chewing slowly as her eyes bore into the side of Kyle’s face. “The pay that is.”

            “Sally.” My dad’s voice cut through the air.

            “What?” My mom shrugged. “It has to be better, James.” She popped another bite into her mouth, the movement deliberate as she squared back up with Kyle. “I mean why else would he break his promise to Evie, and without so much as a goodbye text?” Another shrug, “I guess I’m just confused.”

            “Mom.” My own voice surprised me. Why are you drawing attention to yourself? My mind practically screamed as my mom’s eyes shifted to meet mine.

            “Hun, you deserve an answer.”

            “And what if I don’t want one?” Oh, goody. This is definitely the place I wanted to have this conversation. My eyes cut to Uncle George, and that bastard was smiling, like this drama was somehow the highlight of his day. He caught me staring and shot me a quick wink before dropping his gaze to his plate again. What’s he up to?

            “If you don’t want one, that’s fine, but I do.” She waved her hand at me before returning her attention back to Kyle. “So? If it wasn’t the size of the firm or the money, what was it? Another girl?”

            “Mom!” I shot up from the table, horror written across my face.

            “No.” My eyes, the traitors that they were, flew to Kyle—his answer stirring something inside of me.

            “No?” There was a challenge in my mom’s voice—some note that felt like a whistle being blown, signaling the start of a race. A race to where, though?

            “No.” Kyle said again, his hands were perfectly still as the finality of that word stirred up memories of the past. “I have not been with nor spoken to anyone.” There was a pause, and I realized I was still standing—still staring at Kyle. I felt heat rush to my cheeks as I sank back into my seat and forced my eyes to return to my mom.

            A smile began to tug at the corners of her mouth. “Hmmm, well at least there’s that.”

            “Sally, please.”

            “James.” She met his gaze, and any hope I had in my dad’s ability to sway her vanished. She was here for blood, and I think Dad saw it too, because all he did was nod, and shift his attention back to his own food. Cowards, I’m surrounded by cowards. I inhaled deeply, building my next sentence in my head. You can do this. You can stop her, Evie. You can stop her before this goes too far.

            “So, what brings you home then?” Mom’s voice sliced through my thoughts—the skeleton of my response falling away like strips of paper.

            Kyle stared at her like she had sprouted another head—his eyes cutting to his dad briefly before he forced himself to look back towards my mom. “I just realized I needed to be home is all.”

            I am not sure if mom realized she’d gone too far—pushed a little too hard—but silence enveloped the table. The only noise coming from dad and Uncle George as they scraped their forks across their plates, working to clear away the last of their food.

            “Well, this has been just lovely.” Uncle George’s words caused my head to shoot up, and I found his eyes twinkling. What’s his deal today? This was anything but lovely. “Just like old times, huh?” As the words landed around us, his eyes darkened and moved slowly away from the table, landing on the empty seat beside him. “Well, almost.”

            Silence settled around us again, but this time the pressure of it on my skin felt different. This wasn’t the silence that swept through the battlefield as troops replenished their supplies and took stock of their injuries. This was a bone-deep hollowness that threatened to consume any soul left standing—the battle over, but those left too broken to be considered survivors. At the end of the day, that’s what we all were, soldiers in a war, our commander dead, and each one of us unsure of how to function without her.

            “George, didn’t you say something about dessert?” My dad spoke, his voice low.

            “Oh, yes.” He moved to stand; his hands shaking slightly as he pressed into the table, lifting himself halfway out of his chair.

            “Dad, please.” Kyle was already standing, moving around the table.

            “George, let me.” Mom said at the same time—both of them set on a collision course.

            “Oh, for the love of,” but Uncle George’s words fell short as he collapsed back into his chair. The suddenness of it bringing my dad and I out of our chairs; my breath stuck in my throat as I watched his chest fall in quick, short pulses.

            “Dad?” Kyle’s voice was soft; his hand hovering, as though something was keeping him from making contact. The pain lodged between his eyebrows caused an ache in me to swell. I looked between my parents and found the same pain etched in their faces, the sight causing tears to begin to pool in the bottom of my eyes. We all stood frozen, the seconds passing as Uncle George worked to even out his breathing. Finally, he waved his hand—the motion moving my mom and Kyle back a step.

            “I’m okay, but probably best y’all handle dessert.” He took a deep breath as he shifted in his seat, moving to sit back up. “It’s in the kitchen.”

            “I’ll get it, Dad.”

            “No, no, let me and Evie get it.” She shot me a look that caused my heart to quit beating, and in that moment, I hated Kyle all over again.

            I slid away from my seat and began to work my way around the table, following my mom who was already headed toward the kitchen. As I passed by Kyle, he reached out and snagged my hand, the contact causing me to stop. My eyes moved from our hands to his face—the space between us seeming to shrink as I found his eyes boring into mine, flames lit behind them. What do you want? You did this. You put us here. I forced my thoughts behind my eyes, praying my frustration was visible. After a moment, I pulled my hand from his and moved away from him—the distance sending a chill down my spine.

            I entered the kitchen, and the space seemed to collapse in on me—the memories of Aunt Julia were stuck to every surface, her presence permeating even the air. I inhaled deeply, every baking lesson spiraling through my mind.

            “Honey, you’re sixteen now. You need to learn your way around the kitchen.” Her voice was soft—this space somehow transforming her, dragging up some other woman from deep within her soul

            “Aunt Julia,” I giggled, “I already know how to cook.” I rolled my eyes. “Mom’s taught me like three recipes already.”

            “Cooking?” She gasped—the noise loud as she feigned horror at the mention of it. “My dear sweet Evelyn,” she said, hitching her voice so that the southern lilt that she kept hidden most days, sprung to life. “I am talking about baking which is the finest skill a woman can have.”

            My giggles turned into full, rolling laughter as her accent brought tears to my eyes. “Does baking make you sound like that?”

            “Heavens, no.” The accent seemed to grow thicker, morphing her entire body along with it. Her shoulders pulled back, chin rising. “This graceful gift of gab has to be earned through the toiled years of life spent south.”

            “Didn’t you live in Missouri?” I asked still giggling.

            “Yes.” The accent fell away. “But I grew up in Kennett, and that’s practically Arkansas and that’s the south, so really I am southern.” She pushed her hands along her apron. “And honestly it’s all in your attitude.”

            “Whatever you say, Aunt Jules.” She shot me a look, and I burst into giggles all over again.

            “Okay, well enough of that. Put that on.” She gestured at another apron that hung on the wall. “And come over here, so I can show you how to make my award-winning blueberry muffins.”

            As the memory swirled around me, floating up from the floor like flour stirred by the wind, I swore I could smell it—the muffins as they shifted into a deep, golden color—the smell sweet as Aunt Julia set them on the counter to cool. I closed my eyes, trying to push back against the sudden swell of emotions. In the pain of the last few months, I’d forgotten this version of her. This space held some mystical power; it was like it freed her—gave her back some missing part of who she was, and here she would share it with me. In the kitchen, with the sugar and baking sheets, the chocolate chips and butter—here it was just Aunt Julia and me—no one else.

            “Evie don’t just stand there. Help me find Jules’ cake knife.” Mom’s voice and the sound of drawers opening and shutting finally reached my ears. “I know she had one.” Another drawer slid open, only to be closed the next moment. “She was always chattering about how there was a right way and a wrong way to cut cake.” A short laugh burst from my mom. “I never did it right.”

            I moved across the room and opened the drawer to the left of the sink, reaching in to pull out the knife. “Here.” I moved towards her.

            “Thank you.” She dragged her hands across her eyes, wiping away the tears that had spilled over. “I guess you would know where she kept things. You were always here. Baking and what not.”

            “Mom, I was always here because you brought me here.” I tried to keep my voice light, forcing humor underneath the words.

            “My fault again, I see.” Her words were muffled, said in a rush as she turned away from me and began to cut the cake that rested on the counter.

            I bit my tongue. Ignore it. Not worth it. Not here. I sighed, fighting back the tension that was moving away from my jaw and towards my shoulders, before moving to her side. “Can I help?”

            “I think I have everything under control in here.” The way she said ‘here,’ made my skin prickle. Leave. Now. Hurry.

            “Cool.” I stepped away from her—my step taking me as far away as I could manage without falling. “I’ll just go back then and start clearing the table.” Another step.

            “But.” She turned around to face me—the knife coated in a layer of icing. “I could use you’re help in there.” She nodded towards the dining room. Play dumb. Don’t ask.

            “Yeah, that’s what I was going to do.” I took another step away from her. “I’m going to make sure everyone has a plate for the cake. You know Aunt Julia never let us eat dessert from the same plate dinner was served on.” I shrugged. “The sanctity of baking and all that.”

            She waved the knife back in forth in quick motions. “No, not that. I need you to be a little more encouraging.”

            “What?” I couldn’t help myself. As much as I wanted to walk away, to let this conversation drop to the floor where it would sit for the rest of my life, I couldn’t.

            “Yes, I’m in there trying my best to fix this, and I swear you’re fighting me.”

            “Fix what?”

            “Kyle’s back, Evie.” She dropped her voice, hissing at me like I was the problem.

            “So?” I whispered back—my voice just as harsh.

            “So, you said he wouldn’t come back, and he did.” She placed the knife on the counter and crossed her arms over her chest.

            “Oh yeah, almost a year later. Clearly, he’s still pining after me.” I rolled my eyes and began to move toward the door again.

            “Evelyn, I’m not done speaking.” Her words were clipped.

            “Yeah, Mom? Well, I am.”

            “Why do I always have to do all the work for you.”

            “For me?” I whipped back around, my voice dropping as I spat the words at her.

            “Yes.” Her eyebrows scrunched together, confused by my outburst. “Why else would I be doing it?”

            “I don’t know.” I threw my hands up. “For you.”

            “Me? What could I possibly gain from this?”

            “You’ve got to be kidding me,” I muttered, more to myself than her.

            “Evelyn, I am trying not to lose my temper, but you’re making that difficult.”

            “I’m making it difficult.” I blew out a breath. “You know what, Mom, just forget it. Okay? Today is about Uncle George, not Kyle, not me, and not you.” I spun around and hurried the rest of the way to the door, placing my hand on the wood. “Oh,” I glanced back over my shoulder. “Thanks for telling me he was sick by the way.” I felt my face drop, allowing every ounce of pain to blur my vision as I stared at her. “Oh, wait, you didn’t.”

            I stepped out of the kitchen before she could respond and practically ran back to the table, using every step to work the frustration out of my body and forcing my eyes to clear. Kyle had already replaced everyone’s plates, and I found the guys in a deep conversation regarding some sport or team or play that hadn’t gone quite right. The words drifted around me, but I couldn’t bring myself to focus on any of them, barely able to keep my feet moving towards my chair and Kyle.

            As I drew closer, Kyle’s eyes lifted to mine. He looked between me and the kitchen door—his eyebrows lifting in a silent question. Oh, now he cares about my comfort. I shot a glare back at him before moving around the table and sitting down, being sure to use the movement to scoot my chair further away from him.

            Once I was situated, I looked up and found Uncle George watching, his left eyebrow slightly raised. He’d seen me move away from Kyle, and as I stared back, his eyebrows dropped, pulling together in confusion. That makes two of us. I furrowed my brows, mirroring his face. My movement caused him to break into a smile as though my actions confirmed something instead of conveying the burning question in my mind.

            My mom emerged from the kitchen, cutting our unspoken conversation short as everyone looked towards her. She had a huge smile painted across her face, revealing none of the tension from earlier as she moved around the table distributing pieces of cake before setting the rest of it next to dad and returning to her seat. I tracked every step she made, but she never met my eyes. Good. She should feel bad.

            I looked down and immediately fell still—it was a hummingbird cake. My eyes roamed over my slice as I made out the chunks of banana and pineapple that had been worked into the batter—the cream cheese icing a thin layer framing in and running between the three layers. I looked up to find Uncle George watching me. Why was he doing this?

            “You remembered,” I whispered as I glanced back at the cake.

            “Always,” he said with a smile.

            “Remembered what?” Kyle asked around a mouth full of food. Way to kill the moment.

            “Aunt Julia and I made this…” My voice caught, and my eyes fell back down—the cake somehow transforming into something more.

            “Now, don’t go around changing history.” Uncle George tutted. “Jules told me you made it.”

            “I mean, yeah, but she—”

            “She nothing. This was your first cake you made by yourself, and she damn near busted open with pride when you served it at my birthday that year.”

            I could feel everyone’s eyes on me as I picked up my fork. “I haven’t…” My voice trailed off. “I, um, I haven’t baked since…”

            “I figured.” He nodded like he’d known all along. “Hence the inspiration.” He shoved a bite into his mouth. “Hmmm.” He swallowed the lump before reaching out to take a drink of water, clearing his throat. “Not as good as yours.” I felt my cheeks heat again, and the world faded away as Uncle George lowered his voice like we were the only two in the room. “She would be devastated to learn you’d stopped.”

            I sat still, trapped in the past that his eyes offered, and it wasn’t until I felt Kyle’s hand on my thigh that I found myself. The heat from his hand rocketed through my body, pulling my attention away from Uncle George and causing my thoughts to unravel. I will NEVER wear a skirt again. I shifted under his touch, pulling slightly until he removed his hand. Uncle George smiled and went back to talking to my dad about sports as though he didn’t just rip my heart open with four sentences and a slice of cake.

            I ate in silence, each bite pulling up memories with Aunt Julia. I was wholly lost to them—consumed by who she and I had been, and who I was now—when my mom’s voice broke through.

            “Henry?” No, no, no. What had I missed?

            “What?” I looked around the table, trying to use everyone’s expressions to piece together the missing conversation.

            “Kyle was just telling me about running into you while you were out with friends.” Her voice was thick with accusation, and the sound trickled down my spine, dragging guilt and discomfort along with it.

            “Oh, was he?” I shot him a look. “Well, if Kyle is in such a sharing mood, maybe you’d like to circle back to your earlier questions, Mom?” Kyle stiffened beside me, and I felt giddy at my ability to bite back until I turned and saw my mom. Her face looked like a Christmas Tree—every corner lit with joy and promises of a new year. Crap. Way to send mixed signals, Evie.

            “That’s an excellent idea!”

            “I mean, well, maybe…” I tried to reign it back, to correct the mistake, but my voice was lost to my mom’s as she prattled off question after question.

            “So, are you staying in town?”

            “For now.”

            “What are you doing for work?”
            “I’ve reached out to some of the local firms here, asking about temporary openings.”

            “What about your upstate job?”

            “They understand the situation.”

            It was like a fast-paced tennis match—every volley returned with only moments to spare before my mom served another one. My head was on a constant swivel as I tried to keep pace with the match before me.

            “Kyle, I just don’t believe there wasn’t another girl.” The question felt like a curve ball—like my mom had changed the game, leaving Kyle standing on a court of her own making.

            “There wasn’t.” His voice was tight—the syllables short, cut down to fit into the small space my mother had left for him.

            “I mean, how?” My mother gestured at him. “Look at you.”

            “Mom.” My voice came out broken, strained from the pressure building.

            “Evie, please. Kyle wanted to share, remember?” I turned away from my mom and found his eyes, my mouth forming around the word ‘sorry’ as he stared back at me. “Why?” My mom said, pushing her plate forward and leaning onto the table.

            “Why what?” Kyle pulled his gaze from mine and looked back toward my mom.

            “Why no other girls? I mean there had to be options.”

            “I guess, somewhere along the way,” he dropped his eyes back to mine, the contact sending butterflies racing around my stomach, “I figured out that it’s always been Evie.”

            I forgot how to breathe—the ability instilled in me from birth, suddenly gone, and as I fought for oxygen, begging my lungs to expand, I could feel my mother’s hope explode—the force of it slamming into me.