Page 4 of Eden's Deliverance

“Okay, Dad. Keep your blindfold on if you must.” I rise from my stool at the island, squeezing his shoulders before swinging around him to head for the dining room.

I can’t help but check my phone one last time to see if my acceptance came through. All I find is a text from Penelope, raving about her own confirmation email.

I know she had to do this once—wait for her application to be approved—but once you’re in, you’re in. She doesn’t have to deal with the heart-pounding suspense anymore. I could use a little sympathy here.

In the dining room, Dad and Gretchen are already taking their seats at opposite ends of the table, leaving me to take post in the chair across from Skylar.

I manage to avoid meeting his full-on stare, but from my periphery, I swear I catch the hint of a smirk on his stupid face. The fucker’s always got something to snark at, so I wouldn’t be surprised. He lives solely to piss me off. But like I said, my social battery is too dead to handle another charged interaction right now.

The bread and vegetables are passed around while Dad circles the table and scoops everyone a helping of the roast and potatoes. He makes it over to Gretchen just as Skylar passes the bread, shooting me a dirty look when he hands it to me. Except…he won’t actually hand it to me.

He’s holding the damned thing with a vise-like grip, refusing to let go.

“What’s the magic word?” he asks snidely. This time, there’s no mistaking the nasty grin spreading across his face.

“I believe it’s ‘fuck you, very much,’” I retort, keeping my voice low. Dad and Gretchen seem to be in a world of their own, totally removed from our conversation.

“Be careful what you wish for, Red.”

Ew.

Skylar finally relents, and I proceed to grab two rolls for my plate when a familiardingchimes from my pocket.

I squeak aloud, causing everyone to turn and look at me. “Sorry. Just gotta check this quickly,” I say, ripping the phone from my pocket to tap away at the screen.

I’m solost in the news, I don’t realize I’m wearing my excitement like a mask until my dad coaxes, “What is it, sweetheart? I haven’t seen you this excited since…who knows when.”

I instantly regret opening my stupid mouth. Heat pricks at the surface of my skin like a hundred tiny needles, and it’s like I’m on fire—caught under the magnifying glass of interrogation by the rest of the table. Everyone is looking at me, and I get the sense my cheeks probably look like two fat tomatoes on my face.

“Oh, it’s nothing. Just some community project Pen and I are working on. I just got confirmation that we’re allowed to go ahead with the…” I hesitate, trying to think of the best way to start and finish this conversation so it can never be brought up again, “food orders for the local church. We’re going to be donating to the food drive, and they gave us a list of items that would be most helpful. You know, non-perishables and such.”

Well, that’s not convincing at all.

I’ve never stepped foot inside a church, and I never would—if I could help it. I’m pretty sure my hair would burst into flames the minute I crossed the threshold.

Satan, who I’m sure would also combust ifheever entered a church, raises a condescending eyebrow at me. “Is it often that you donate to the church? You don’t seem like the charitabletype,” he scoffs.

“You should really get to know your sister better, Sky,” Gretchen encourages, and I refrain from cringing at the implication Skylar and I could ever be considered siblings. “She’s donated dozens of her paintings to the art gallery and thrift shop in town. She’s absolutely a giver.” A prideful smile flashes across her face, but it’s undeserved.

Truthfully, those ‘donations’ were pleas for money—I was just too embarrassed by the rejection and settled for donating instead.

The life of a starving artist, you know?

“Oh, I bet she is,” he says, narrowing his eyes. The slimy fucker rests his elbow on the table and curls his fingers around his chin, suggestively swiping his thumb over his bottom lip.

Again, ew.

Dinner drags on painfully after that. Gretchen spends half of it babbling about her spawn’s accomplishments while I sit back and pretend like I give a shit.

“Did you hear that Skylar made the Dean’s List last semester?”

Boring.

“Oh! Did you hear about the award Sky received for his immaculate tutoring lessons?”

Yawn.

Also, it’s a bunch of bullshit lies. Skylar, a tutor? My ass.

---