The tension at the dinner table was so thick you could have cut it with a knife. Three weeks ago, Mom found out that Dad cheated on her. There had been a terrible fight, and Mom kicked him out of the house. He had come crawling, begging for her to take him back. Mom gave in, eventually, but she hadn't forgiven him yet. The atmosphere during our first dinner together as a family again was icy at best.
They had met--and fallen in love--in high school. Mom got pregnant with me right after graduation, and they married right away, pressured by Christian parents on both sides. Now, twenty years later, Mom was the CFO of an international business, and Dad was, well, basically the stay at home dad. Since I've been spending most of my days at college, there wasn't much for him to do, of course. That's what got him in trouble in the first place.
"Jake, I'm really sorry for what I did, if there's any--" Dad started.
"Oh shut it, Desmond," snapped Mom. "You already know what you're going to do to make it up to him."
"Isa, please, there has to be something else I--"
"No," interrupted Mom again, irritated. "My mind is set. You agreed to it. In writing." Dad looked absolutely dejected.
I cleared my throat, and asked, "Uh, what are you guys talking about? What's Dad gonna do?"
"Oh, he's not gonna do anything. Isn't that right, my dear?" She sounded as if she were talking to a child.
Dad glowered, and replied tersely, "Yes." He hated it when Mom used that voice, especially on him.
"So what's going on?" I asked, feeling left out.
Mom stood up, and stretched. She hadn't changed since coming home from the office, and still wore her power suit, consisting of a light gray knee length skirt, and white button up blouse with ruffles.
"Mmm, I needed that," she sighed. "Another long day at the office." She walked over, and stood next to me. "Listen, Baby, I have to ask you something."
Without giving me a chance to speak, she swept my plate off the table. It shattered on the floor, cutlery clinking loudly.
"Mom, what are you doing?"
She hoisted herself up on the table, sitting down right in front of me, legs hanging down to one side. I was thoroughly confused. "What I want to ask you, my dear, sweet Jake, is if you want to help me."
I studied her face--framed by shoulder length, smooth brown hair--while she looked down at me from her perch. I noticed her coquettish smile. "Help with what?" I inquired, hesitantly.