Page 6 of Lust
Her husband kept her at arm’s length during the entirety of their marriage, only for her son to do the same. It bothered her that I was inexpressive of my thoughts and barely laughed or conversed. Even with my closest friends and family, my interactions were aloof at best.
My closed-off nature worsened with Dad’s death. Meanwhile, Sara and Raguel were regular chatterboxes and accepted Mary with open arms. I stared at the perfect family with their natural chemistry, and it dawned on me that the dynamic was here to stay.
And just like that, I had become a guest in my own home.
Despite my best efforts to stop that from happening, a name change meant nothing in the grand scheme of things. The theory was proven throughout the awkward dinner. Unable to connect with anyone, I inadvertently shut down. In the interim, Sara spoke nonstop about her damn doll. Mary acted so animated around Sara that I stared at my mother like she was a perfect stranger, and an irritation like I had never known gnawed at me.
“Can I call you mom now that you’re marrying my dad?”
My fork halted midair. Sara asked the question so innocently that no one would have assumed it was premeditated.
I didn’t turn my head. My ears perked, waiting to hear Mary’s response.
“Oh my God.” Mary put her hands to her chest. “Of course, sweetheart. I would love that. Ragu, did you hear that?”
“That is so sweet.”
“You little angel. What do you say we have dessert now? Ice cream?”
“Yes! Yes!”
I ground my teeth. That little shit knew exactly what she was doing. Mary couldn’t see it, but she was being manipulated.
While Ragu and Mary adjourned to the kitchen to fetch bowls, Sara ran her fingers through her doll’s hair. “I’m going to name you… Tris.” She glanced at me. “After Tristan.”
I had no idea what propelled me. Snatching the damn doll out of her hands, I dunked it inside the bowl and into her half-eaten stew.
Big crystal eyes gaped at the brutality suffered by her precious doll. With a smug smile, I waited for the little shit to cry. Or at least scream.
Not a single tearful peep.
“Sara, what did you do?” Raguel yelled as soon as he returned to the table.
“Oh my God.”Mymother gaped at the doll dunked into Sara’s bowl. The crime scene appeared intentional rather than an accident, and destroying the expensive toy was an insult to Mary. “Why?” she implored.
I braced myself, expecting Sara to rat me out. But the little shit said nothing, staring back blankly at Ragu and Mary.
“Apologize to Mary. Now!” her father thundered.
“I’m sorry,” Sara spoke in a small voice, devoid of earlier enthusiasm.
“Put your bowl away and then march yourself straight to bed,” Raguel ordered. “No dessert for you.”
Ragu and Mary fussed over the doll, ultimately taking it to the laundry room to salvage it.
Sara’s questions had stopped, and I wondered if I had extinguished the light burning inside her. Guilt should have coursed through me, yet I felt nothing. I sat with my elbows on the table, index finger to the forehead. Why didn’t she didn’t rat me out? Why take the heat on my behalf?
Sara pushed her chair back and picked up her bowl as instructed by her father. Very carefully, she carried it to the sink. En route, she grabbed my jacket draped over the back of a bar stool.
I was too mesmerized—and frankly curious—to question her motives.
Without a second thought, Sara threw my jacket inside the sink and dumped her remaining stew over it.
THAT. LITTLE. SHIT.
She confidently strode out of the kitchen with her head held high.
It was minutes before I realized that the roaring and hackling were coming from me. For the first time in years, I laughed without holding back.
