Broke-Ish [Completed]

Chapter 7

Some people, that aren't me, get up early on a Sunday to start dinner. Not exactly sure what it is about Sunday that makes people want to spend hours peeling, slicing, dicing, and seasoning different foods rather than sticking a frozen pizza in the oven but who am I to turn down a dinner. Saves me having to tackle the three day old plates stewing in my sink.

I have been waiting at the door for longer than a person that has been invited, and therefore is expected, should have to wait. My dad finally swings the door open with the remains of a burnt but still functional tea towel in his hand. There are droplets of sweat stagnant on the side of his head afraid to roll down the sides of his face and they jiggle as he looks me up and down then rushes back towards the kitchen without saying hello. I step into the potato scented house and drag my coat off before I melt. Funny how Gee and I were barely allowed the heating on when we lived here and now it appears , it never gets turned off. Must be the Sharon effect.

"Dad its boiling in here!"

"Take ya coat off then," his voice sounds whiny and distant like the kitchen is a million miles away. I don't bother to explain to him that I already have.

Gee looks up at me then back down as I walk into the living room. The patio table from outside has been brought in, wiped down (hopefully) and covered with what looks like a bedsheet. She is sitting on a cushion placed on one of the plastic patio chairs, it's leg a little bent struggling to take the weight of anything heavier than a newspaper.

I say hello, get ignored then pull out the chair next to her, its heavier than I expected. Gee's thumbs are furiously tapping away on her phone and her eyeballs look like they are about to fall out of their sockets and onto the table. Her eyebrows are so raised they're almost in her hair and her breath has surpassed the frantic stage that happens when you're level 5 pissed off. I'm not sure she's even breathing at all. Without warning she slams the phone down on the unstable table, creasing the lovingly ironed bedsheet and folds her arms in a huff. I don't ask.

Sharon has cooked boiled potatoes, mashed potatoes, roast potatoes, Yorkshire puddings , cauliflower cheese and chicken seasoned with salt and hope. She didn't get the memo about Gee being a vegan, somehow, so Gee is left with a plate of carbs and no gravy as Sharon thinks it probably is suitable for vegans but doesn't actually know. We sit and eat our beige dinner and discuss the weather, Dads car problems, Dads love of meat, Sharon's granddaughter and whose idea it was to use the outside patio table as a dinner table. Gee phases in and out of the conversation with the majority of her attention being held by whoever she is clearly arguing with on the other side and Sharon smiles a lot. A bit too much. She has a kind, unassuming, bad diet face which I am certain is masking an array of ill intentions.

"Will you put that phone down Gee!" dad finally snaps. "We're tryna have a family meal here so you can get to know Sharon and I can catch up with my girls,"

"Oh really," she replies her voice laced in sarcasm

"Yes really! And what or who should I say, is so important that you're practically ignoring your family?"

"Owen,"

"Who?" my dad asks and I am also intrigued. Who is Owen? It's a name I haven't heard her mention before. He sounds old.

"My boyfriend!" she says before filling her mouth with a spoonful of butter less mashed potato. An act I can only assume was to prevent her from having to say anything else and not because they were so delicious.

"Oh," Dad replies, putting his fork down, placated. His eyebrows are raised and he's looking at Gee who broke eye contact with him the minute she said Owens name. "Well," dad continues after taking a deep breath. The kind of breath you take to prepare yourself for something you shouldn't say but have committed yourself to saying anyway. He's like that my dad, committed.