FAMILY DINNER OR FAMILY DISASTER?

There was something Bethany has actively avoided all her life. Asking for help. But as she typed, Bethany knew that she could no longer do this alone. She needed help.

“Selina, I messed up.”

Bethany pressed send on the message before letting herself collapse against the wall. Whether her friend responded or not was another story. She felt dizzy and didn’t know what to do, but there was a stain in front of her that Bethany had long forgotten to clean. Next to the stain was the clock she bought at a garage sale. It was an ugly beige color that Bethany wanted to repaint. That was five months ago.

The clock ticked on as loud as if the sound was reverberating inside Bethany’s head. She had a little over an hour until her parents were meant to come over, and Bethany didn’t have a single thing ready.

She had been scrubbing the fridge earlier, or trying to when she realized that nothing in her kitchen could be turned into a meal worthy of her parents. They’d turn up their noses if Bethany served them plates of frozen pasta, even if Bethany plated it pretty.

Was it too late to go grocery shopping? Bethany looked at the messy space around her, the clothes still piled on the couch, the sticky floors, and mysterious stains ranging from the wall to the ceiling. Yeah, it’s too late.

Her phone rang, the familiar contact picture blinking up at her.

She answered the phone. Not a second later did the voice of her best friend, Selina say, “Bethany, I need you to listen to me very carefully, can you do that?” Bethany didn’t respond. Could she listen carefully? Looking at the state of her own home, Bethany questioned how capable of basic tasks she really was. Her hands felt numb, and her chest hurt. How useless was she?

“You are going to be just fine, I’ll be with you every step of the way, that’s why you texted me, cause I can and will help. You are not alone.”

Bethany didn’t deserve her, and one day Selina would learn that just like her parents.

“Can you tell me how you're feeling Beth?”

“I feel like I'm about to throw up, which will just make an even bigger mess for me to clean up.” Bethany cried, crouched down with her phone on the floor between her legs, “Oh god, Selina I’m screwed.” She felt like a child trying to hide from her parents after breaking a vase. Which she did once. It was her fault, of course, they always told her not to run in the house.

“No, you aren’t screwed and I promise everything will be okay, take another deep breath and tell me what’s wrong,” Selina said, firm where Bethany crumbled.

So she told Selina about the stained walls, the dirty clothes and sticky floors, anything Bethany could think of, and everything she saw. Everything that Bethany had carefully spent months hiding from her best friend. She had never wanted someone to worry, and Bethany had it handled, she was fine, everything was fine until her parents called two days ago.

Oh god. Her parents were going to be so disappointed. She could see it now, the way her mother would click her tongue, staring at Bethany as she asked how difficult it was to prepare one simple meal. Really, Bethany, I cooked you a meal every single day, and the one time I asked for the return you can’t even give me that. How her father would look around at the small apartment, foot tapping impatiently, and ask Bethany what they did wrong raising her to get such a slob of a daughter. We gave you everything and this is how you thank us?

But the clock ticked along, a heavy reminder of time passing. Selina listened as Bethany spoke, a solid presence through the phone, and as Bethany spoke, cataloging each mess aloud a list formed in her mind. “Pick up your clothes and hide them in your room” Selina said “That should be first, then—”

“Dump out the trash, but what about the food? I can’t cook and clean at once”

Selina laughed, “Don’t worry, I’ll handle the food, I was already cooking anyway. Get the place clean, and I'll be there in ten minutes, less than actually!”

The call ended after that, the silence ringing for a moment before Bethany shook her head, getting to work. Bethany moved from task to task with a clearer head.

She had a small apartment, made smaller by the closed-plan space, and Bethany was taking full advantage of all the walls and closed doors in her apartment, prioritizing what her parents will see. She’ll pray they just don’t enter the bathroom and see the mess of product Bethany left on the sink, or the stain on the counter from when Bethany dropped her hair oil.

She was sweeping the floor when the sound of heavy knocks on the door froze Bethany in her spot.

Her feet felt heavy, and Bethany swore vines sprouted from the floorboards to grab hold of her as Bethany stared at the front door.

The knocking continued, loud and unstopping. Her parents were here, and they didn’t appreciate being left outside for so long. It felt like vines climbed inside her throat, refusing to let words escape its clutch. She looked at the clock, trembling as the clock hand ticked closer to the hour. They were early.

She raised one leg, then the other, reaching the door handle. Her body felt heavy, pulled down by vines she knew didn’t exist. Bethany twisted the knob and opened the door, facing the wrinkled face of her Father, his arm raised to continue his banging.

“Bethany! How are you, dear? It’s been too long.” Her Mothers voice called next to her father, dripping in false cheer, gliding past Father and into Bethany’s living room. It had been too long, but somehow not long enough. Bethany swallowed, stiffening when she felt her father’s hand on her shoulder, squeezing it before letting go. He never was the type to waste time on pleasantries, preferring to let his actions speak louder.

Bethany guided the pair to her couch, offering refreshments and a small bowl of her last fruits. “The food isn’t ready yet, but I have—”

“What do you mean not ready yet? You had all day to cook.” Her Mother interrupted.

“Yes, but mom, I was working with a certain time—”

“You should’ve been better prepared Bethany, are you truly blaming us for wanting to see our daughter?” Her Father cut in, scorn coating his tongue like honey. She had no defense to his words, she should’ve been better prepared, should’ve cleaned up two days ago when her parents called, should’ve had the food ready hours ago.

“Yes Father. I’m sorry.” and Bethany was, because there was no food, and Bethany dreaded revealing that to her parents who sat stiffly on her couch like they knew it wasn’t clean. Not clean enough for her parents' standards.

Bethany’s mother took her finger and swiped the surface on the coffee table, looking at the dust coating the pad of her finger before shaking it off, she clicked her tongue. “The food isn’t ready, and you didn’t even bother to clean a little before inviting us over?” Her Mother scoffed, disdain evident in her face, a look as familiar to Bethany as her own hand. “What kind of daughter are you?” Came the even more familiar rebuke.

Bethany stared at them, her heart beating loud in her chest. The words didn’t bother to clean, ringing in her ears. Her Father sighed, but her mother wasn’t done. “Ugh, and that outfit, Bethany, be a dear and change into something more respectable, those clothes look as if you found them in a dumpster.” Waving her hand in Bethany’s general direction. She looked down at the outfit she had on, the jeans were torn, and her shirt was wet from the rag she was using earlier. She’d been wearing them for a few days, not having showered. Bethany wondered when they’d comment on her smell, she bet her mother was dying too.

And then that was it, she looked at them, really looked at her parents. Her mother wasn’t even paying her any attention, scanning the space around her with a sneer on her lips, seated on the very edge on the couch. Her father was much more relaxed, texting someone on his phone, no reaction to her mother’s words, he’d heard them all the time after all, Bethany's Father had never defended her from her mother’s cruelty. Bethany felt like there was fire in veins, it wasn’t possible for them to not notice how tired, and ragged she looked. One glance at a mirror and Bethany knows she’d see puffy eyes and dried tears. She didn’t need to look to confirm that. But they never cared about that, did they?

Bethany’s mind went blank, the raging fire turning into a frigid blizzard as the vines crushing her finally fell to the floor. She walked back over to the front door, opened it wide and said, “Get out.”

“What did you just say?” Her Mother demanded, staring incredulously at Bethany. Her Father was rubbing his ears, almost like he wasn’t sure he heard correctly either.

But they did hear correctly, and through the yelling and demands, Bethany stood firm as the next few minutes rolled by.

“Get out. I won’t say it again”

It all happened in a flash of loud noise and movement. In one moment, Bethany’s parents stood above her couch, in the next her mother stood in front of her, hand in the air and flying before Bethany could escape. The next moment the door was slammed shut, her father’s footsteps echoing from down the hall.

Bethany blinked and then she was alone again, back against the wall, she slid down to the floor, hands clutching at the carpet beneath her feet, tears rolling down her cheeks. What has she done?

She didn’t know how long she sat there, breath heaving as the carpet broke further beneath her. At some point the tears stopped falling, and her sobs transformed into quiet sniffling, surrounded in her own ruin. She was alone, and then she wasn’t.

She smelled her first, the faint aroma of a home cooked meal reaching Bethany long before she heard footsteps walking towards her apartment. The door opened and a second later, her Selina came into view, in her hands were three stacked containers of warm food and a soft smile.

Alayssa Clivilles has been writing stories since she was a little girl. Passionate about putting pen to paper, Alayssa spends most of her day reading, writing and drawing the worlds painted in her mind.