Starting Position

Chapter 24

Week eight began with my father, Sarah, and I sharing another meal. Just like last time, the three of us sat around the dining table, and I was already hoping for it to be over with.

Sarah, completely enraptured by the colorful salad on display, was complimenting my father on his hard work, while my father gobbled up the recognition wearing a sheepish grin. 

Okay, maybe it was just me that was preparing.

"It's so beautiful, Phil. And you used pumpkin seeds as a topper. I love pumpkin seeds."

"You helped, Sar."

"Oh, I guess. But you did all the heavy lifting."

Once again, my appetite vanished into thin air.

The evening wore on. I was compelled to answer questions about myself. I felt threatened. To me, it seemed like Sarah was trying to dig into my character and figure me out. But I answered her questions, and just as easily threw some back at her. Her million-dollar smile and syrupy voice, while giving my father a figurative sugar high, gave me a literal headache.

Dessert was finally on the table, and I couldn't wait to scarf it down, claim my stomach was uncomfortably full, and put the cork in this night.

"So, Elliot, where are you transferring to university again?" Sarah asked.

"Western. In the fall."

"That's great. Really good university. What are you studying?"

"Communications."

The dessert and conversation were weighing heavily in my stomach.

"Ell's mother studied Communications at school," my father casually said, as though speaking of the weather.

"Oh," Sarah said, somewhat surprised at the comment. "That's great. She must have passed down some good genes."

Instead of responding to her comment, a roaring in my belly - one that had nothing to do with the pie - caused me to round on my father. This was the second time he had brought up my mother over dinner with Sarah, which was noteworthy, considering he never mentioned her when it was just me. My skin was flushed, the anger having arrived at lightning speed, and it made me wonder just how far away it was to begin with.

"And she got a minor in English Lit. Why don't you tell Sarah that too?" The sound of my voice was startling; a combination of spite and fury geared for attack.

Flabbergasted, my father paused his fork midair as food toppled off. It was as though he had forgotten I was sitting around the table.

"W-What. Oh – yes – she did get a minor in English Lit. as well."

I didn't dare look at Sarah, certain I could paint her expression with precision. Determined to keep my eyes glued upon my father, I said, "What else do you have to say about Mom? Since you seem more than happy to talk to a practical stranger about her, but not your own daughter! Come on, Dad, I'm dying to know."

"Ell..."

"Should we tell Sarah how she read through a book a week? Or how she would garden until her hands were nearly black from dirt? Or that even when she was mad, you could still get her to smile by singing "Somewhere Over the Rainbow?"

I had gone from zero to sixty in a matter of seconds. I was a rollercoaster and everyone on the ride had been thrown back in their seats, horrorstruck. My father, obviously, was still recovering from the shock. My voice was piercing and my words were sharp. I knew I had wounded him before he was any the wiser.