Page 21 of Playing With My Fire

When I first began, I thought getting off work at seven in the morning meant I could avoid my parents, but no, they both changed their schedules to coincide. So, every morning when I get home they’re waiting to have breakfast with me.

It’s insane right?!

But that’s my controlling parents for you. I hate it under the best of times, but now, when I want nothing more than to be alone, I’m screaming inside.

Considering the last time I avoided breakfast I was reamed incessantly for the entirety of my days off, I know that it's not worth it. I force one foot in front of the other until I’m sitting across from them at the dining room table.

I glance down at the take-out boxes and smirk to myself. My mother may own high-quality restaurants, but she never managed to learn to cook herself. As a child, I was in her restaurants more than not, and her cooks tended to be friendlier than my cold parents. So, who can blame me for wanting to spend more time with them? And in the process, I did learn a thing or two. My co-workers at the firehouse have thoroughly enjoyed the fruits of that knowledge.

I don’t think my mother even knows that I can boil water, let alone roll the perfect sushi roll, or make the perfect batter consistency for tempura. Let alone that I cook at my job. I’m sure she would think it beneath me. There’s a reason they wanted me to earn my degrees. I was meant to be behind a desk, not sweating under a menial labor job such as cooking or fighting fires.

But what they don’t know can’t hurt them.

Even though I loathed joining them, my mouth waters when I open my takeout box to find my favorite pork katsu with tamagoyaki. I start to inhale it when my mother reminds me of my manners.

I bow. “Sorry, mommy.”

While I’m antsy to get to my room, I force my hand to slow as I chew at a glacial pace.

“How was work, daughter?”

I glance at my father who asked the question, though you wouldn’t know it. He’s staring at his phone as he eats. Only he’s allowed to do such a thing. If it were me, my hand would be bruised from my mother’s favorite metal chopsticks.

“Work was good, dad. How have you been?”

He doesn’t answer for a long while, but I know he heard me. No doubt he’ll finish reading before he graces me with an answer.

Minutes later, he does. “I’m the same as I’ve always been.”

I nod, even though he won’t see it. I catch my mother’s gaze and try my damndest to make myself as small as possible, to no avail.

“How long must we carry on this farce before you quit that ridiculous job and we plan your wedding?”

My entire body chills as a clammy sweat covers every inch of skin. Before, the thought of my upcoming nuptials brought nothing but annoyance. Now, dread ensues. It was easy not to care too much when I thought of myself as asexual, but now… well, I wasn’t particularly sure what I was. Based on all the orgasms I’ve given myself thinking about my new boss, that doesn’t seem to be true anymore.

Considering a wedding to a man I’ve never met oddly makes me feel like I’m betraying her. Which is absurd. Not only does she not want me, but even if she did, it’s not like I could consider a relationship with her, let alone follow through with one. Yet, it doesn’t change how I feel.

While my mind and body want me to fold under my mother’s intense gaze, I force myself to sit tall and stand up for myself. “Mommy, we discussed this. You both promised me a year, and I still have five months left.”

She waves her chopsticks in the air imperiously. “And quite frankly, I didn’t understand it then, and I don’t understand it doubly now.”

Under the table, I poke the somewhat sharp end of my chopstick into my thigh hard enough to pinch. I swallow my gasp, but allow the pain to release some of my pent-up frustration.

“It’s not for you to understand because we agreed.”

Her dark eyes narrow, and I swallow thickly, wanting desperately to look away, but I force myself to hold her glare.

“Don’t disrespect your mother,” she seethes so quietly I can barely hear.

“I would never do that, mommy. I’m only stating facts.”

Her glare holds me in a place of stasis for what feels like an eternity before she turns away, and I’m free to breathe again. I barely contain my gasps for much needed oxygen.

“Are you done?” she grits.

Oh, thank God. “Yes, mommy.”

“Then go to your room.”

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