Well, it happened. Sunday.
It was a normal day about the Den, loud and full of screaming siblings. I had spent the day grocery shopping to escape, racking up a grand total, and new record, $140.40 -- not including the four or five things on the list I had forgotten (keep in mind I budget shop--store brands that are WAY less than half the price of name-brands...so you KNOW I had a lot to get). I was getting set to walk out for a movie with C, still had about fourty minutes or so before we absolutely
had to leave, when my dad walked into the office to ask me to hop off the computer and run and grab him some honey-barbeque tenders from the Neighborhood Market Deli behind the house. I weigh my chances of surviving another hour of family bickering and jetted out to my car.
Roughly fifteen minutes later, after buying the remaining HBBQ tenders, I pulled into the driveway. It's cool out, maybe 45*F
or so, and I take my time getting out of the car. Through the back gate, past the bobbing duck in the pool, and into the pool of light from the back sliding door.
Fuck. She's there, on the couch, in tears. My sister had obviously dropped the bomb.
And the guy...do I call him a war-hero or a dumbass for coming NEAR my dad with this?
I'll go with dumbass because he's 17/18 and he knocked up a girl not yet legal.
I hesitated on going inside; with a dad like mine, wouldn't YOU? I got up the nerve, stepped in, and froze. All eyes were glued to me. I lifted my hand holding the chicken, said "food", and made WIDE STEPS to the kitchen.
After depositing the bag on the counter, I went into the office. My house has no doors ('cepting to the bathrooms and bedrooms) and has quite an open structure, so leaving my music on low, I honed in on the conversation. It wasn't like the parentals were yelling and screaming; no, it was much worse--it was the low calm voice that sends chills down your spine. Hearing that from my dad is bad enough, but TAME compared to my mom--and she's usually the one you would normally prefer to piss off! I grabbed my phone and immediately texted C--"pick me up NOW!"
However, things have turned out quite differently than expected. She's on permanent house arrest--until she graduates and is then homebound to care for the baby. HE is dutifully bound to stick by her side (*my* father's orders)--and has even proclaimed that things will work out.
Too much of an optimist.
And I'm shocked dad let him live--let alone allow him near the house again. Yes, he has been over to the house more times in two weeks than C has in three years--legit visits, people, legit visits. Something ain't right.
Yet no matter how much they joke and carry on now, there's an undertone that I pick up on. It causes more fighting than ever. My current jobless state does not make it easy at all for me to escape.