Page 7 of Hearts Etched in Glass
I wasn’t allowed to play with my brothers because they were boys, and I was the only girl. I was permitted to do common things only girls would do.
It was so lonely.
I was to be the perfect doll for my mother.
The perfect doll she could paint in the image she wanted, and if her doll didn’t comply, she would break it and put the pieces back to where she wanted them to be.
The child with no voice.
A smack reverberates across the table as my father’s palm slams the top it, causing the tea to rattle within the cup. I jump in response, clutching my skirt.
“Are you even listening to us? Do you even care about what we have been through? You were shot and declared dead; do you have any idea what torment that put us through?” he says through gritted teeth, his irritation palpable.
In the corner of my eye, I see others sitting at their table giving judgmental glances as they whisper among themselves.
My mother’s voice is as cold as an icepick: “Of course she doesn’t care. Just look at how she presents herself to us. Wearing this horrible, pale pink, drag of a dress. I always tell you bright colors. Did I not raise you right? Bright pink, bright red, bright or crisp white. Goodness’ sake.” She sits back in her chair, staring down at me over her nose. “You’re such a disgrace. You need to come home. You should patch things up with Ronald. He would have given you a great life, but you had to go throw it away for this stupid dream of being a nurse. Couldn’t even challenge yourself to become a physician.”Quicker than a spunk bubble, my mother has gone from a sobbing sap to a fierce troll.
I notice the tremble that begins to develop in my hands, as I grasp my palms tighter. I can feel the pressure of my nails digging into my skin through the skirt fabric.
A bead of sweat drips down the back of my neck, as my breathing picks up.
My body begins to recoil in the chair.
Their words constrict my airway, forcing me to comply, the nature of their actions forming me into the clay mold they demand me to be.
Tears well in my eyes.
“Are you seriously going to…” But my father’s words are cut off as someone steps behind my chair, and a calm palm lands on my shoulder.
“Hello darling.” Bobby’s smooth voice dances across my body, warming my soul like a blanket. “I brought Baba here to get some lunch. As you know she gets angrily peckish around noon. I didn’t know you’d be here as well.”
He leans forward, delivering a sweet kiss to my cheek.
Then he outstretches his arm towards my father and introduces himself.
“Hello, my name is Bobby Afton. I’m engaged to your dear daughter.” He flashes that adorable boyish grin, though I expect my father to reciprocate the gesture, instead he slaps Bobby’s hand away and sneers through clenched teeth, “Youare no fiancé to my daughter. You have not asked me for her hand. In addition to placing her in harm’s way, I will never approve of a thug like you.”
I gasp at my father’s words as a pang echoes in my chest at his dismissive behavior. Then a blur of motion occurs, and a carved image of Loki is staring back at me. Baba’s staff is slammed a top my father’s hand, pinning it to the table. My mother jumps, her hands gesturing in surprise towards her gaping mouth.
“Good afternoon. I’m the one and only Baba.” She stares at my father’s face with a sinister glint in her two-toned eyes.
Father audibly swallows as I watch his gaze travel up the wooden staff to face Baba, his skin beginning to redden. “That. Hurts,” he says sternly, trying to maintain his composure.
“Oh?Really? Well, I figured you didn’t care about hurtingmyTilly ormyBobby with your words, so why not suffer the consequences of your verbiage. Dumb ass.” She gives him a smile as Bobby pulls up a chair next to the table.
“Oh, you don’t need to sit with us. This is a private matter,” my mother retorts in a sickly, fake tone.
Bobby waits for Baba to sit and then stands beside me, his movement brisk as he hoists me up and exchanges places with me, holding me close to his body, as I sit atop his lap. My face blushes with embarrassment and the fact I swear, I can hear my parents screaming from the inside of their minds at his bold gesture. Bobby settles into the chair and remarks, “Well, you’re in a public place. So, your conversation isn’t really private now, is it sweetheart?”
Kill me, again.
Bloody, kill me again!
The brush of Bobby’s thumb on my thigh pulls me back from my internal panic. “You look really beautiful today, darling,” he whispers into my ear, the faint touch of his breath caressing the nape of my neck.
I hear Baba call over the wait staff, as they approach with a friendly grin. “May I have my usual, please?” Then she hands the young lady a crisp hundred-pound bank note and I purse my lips together. Baba turns dramatically back towards my parents, resting her head on her cane. Loki’s carved judgmental glare, and gem eyes influence the scene to look more intimidating. “You know. Being thugs isn’t always a terrible thing. For as long as you have class and you protect others, then as I see it, thugs are much better than any run of the mill businessmen. For all businessmen I’ve met are crooks.”
Silence stands between us, the tension thickening in the café, until I look down at my watch and struggle out of Bobby’s hold. “I need to get to work love, I’m so sorry.” I briskly kiss his tender lips, and time stops for a moment, as we feel one another’s embrace. Almost photographing each second, as if it was our last.
