Banish Me

To Blame or Not To Blame

He nodded. “He’s just never talked to me that way before.”

“Yeah, well, that makes two of us.”

He cupped my face, his thumb brushing back and forth across my cheek. He kissed me on the forehead and was about to say something when Gwen came in.

“What’d I miss?”

The kitchen table scene was beginning to get old. We all sat in the same seats as the phone conversation, forks clinking against the porcelain plates.

I wasn’t really hungry so I was pushing the food around on my plate to pass the time.

“How was practice dear?” Mrs. Marks asked.

“It was fine,” he said, eyeing me with a half smile.

“How’s the season going?”

“Hasn’t started yet. Our first game is tomorrow.”

“Which I will be attending.” Yeah like I didn’t pick up the meaning from that. “Gwen, are you going?”

“I already told Bren that I would.”

“Oh good.” She turned to me and my father. “How about you, Fritz? Are you and Cass going to go?”

I tried not to roll my eyes but they did it anyways.

“I don’t know,” my father said. “Cass, what do you think?”

“I don’t know,” I said putting my fork down. “I think I might have Gardening Club that night.”

Peter choked on his food and put a fist to his mouth to try and cover his smile. Gwen just smiled at me. My father and Mrs. Marks looked appalled.  

“Cassandra,” my father started but I shot him one of my mother’s famous looks.

There was no way I was going to let them gang up on me. I’d had enough between my father accusing Peter and his mother being a…pain.

“I don’t know what I did for you to hate me,” I said looking at his mother, “but I wouldn’t miss his game unless something serious came up or if he asked me to. Is that good enough of an answer?”

She sat at the head of the table fuming. I looked away from her and down at my plate. I hated having to be mean to her, I hated being mean altogether. My mother taught me better manners than that.

Then I remembered something.

“Young lady,” Mrs. Marks started. “I don’t know who you think you are…”

“Excuse me. I forgot that I needed to make a call.”

I put my napkin down on my plate and scampered out of the room.

“She is out of control!” Mrs. Marks shrilled behind me.

“She’s just like her mother,” my father commented.

I didn’t know if he meant that as a complement or as something else. I didn’t really care. I had to make that phone call. It was late enough as it was.

“She’s beautiful,” Peter said. I heard something hit a plate and the scrap of a chair across the floor. “Excuse me.”

“Peter!” Mrs. Marks yelled. “Peter Wrightington Marks, get back here!”

I heard my father chuckle as I pulled out my phone from my pocket. I stopped halfway up the stairs and sat down, the phone dialing through.

It was ten something there. He should still be up.