Campus King | 18+

Chapter Twelve

Wednesday Family Dinner nights always came with a headache. They were a great reminder of why I opted not to live at home for free while I pursued my studies. Sometimes I could give an excuse not to come, like studying for a test or feeling a little sick, but that didn't always work. Like right now.

"I worry so much about you living in that awful house, it's practically falling apart," My mom said, doling out a modest scoop of mashed potatoes onto my plate. "But at least you don't have any male roommates. That's the only thought that lets me sleep at night."

I looked at my plate and then at the mound of mashed potatoes on my brother's plate. "Could I please have a bit more mash, Mom?"

"Absolutely not, Hannah. You should watch your figure while you're young," she chided, giving me a disapproving glance.

Rather than get into an argument with her, I offered a tight-lipped nod and shoved a spoonful into my mouth, hoping that would stop me from saying anything more. The unseasoned starchiness nearly made me choke but I somehow managed to swallow it down. On second thought, I was glad she hadn't given me more. I glanced at my brother, wondering if he was having the same struggle, but he seemed unperturbed, having grown accustomed to our mother's terrible cooking.

"Good?" My mother inquired, raising one eyebrow inquisitively.

I forced a strained smile on my lips and nodded. She beamed with satisfaction and pride before taking a bite of her own meal. Her happy expression showed me that she didn't have any tastebuds left.

Tonight, my mother was dressed in a pale pink cardigan, paired with khaki pants and sensible white flats. Her mostly grey hair was pulled back in its usual neat bun and she wasn't wearing any makeup except for a transparent lip balm, which was probably some natural lip balm her church friends had gifted or sold to her. That was the only reason she'd wear anything like that.

The only reason I knew how to do my own makeup was because of Bailey. She'd had to teach me in secret or my mother would have killed us.

We ate in silence for a few minutes, the only discernible sounds being the scrape of our forks against the ceramic plates. A small hiccup disrupted the silence when a dry piece of roast lodged itself in my throat, quickly transforming into a full-blown coughing fit. My mom's brow furrowed with concern, but I waved her off with a dismissive hand as my face flushed with the heat from my coughing.

An abrupt "oof" escaped me as Jason reached over to pat the shit out of my back. My immediate impulse was to retaliate and smack the shit out of him, but his heavy pats eventually achieved their purpose, and the stubborn piece of meat found its way down. I shot him a venomous glare and he withdrew his hand quickly. Me thinks he might have enjoyed that too much. I made a mental note to pay him back at the first opportunity.

"Just went down the wrong pipe," I assured my mom once I'd regained my composure, thumping my chest with my fist.

"That's what she said," Jason's whispered remark reached my ears, catching me off guard and inciting another round of coughing. He'd just risked both of our lives by saying that.