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Dinner was Meatloaf. Fuck.
I sat down at the table second to last. Nadine, of course, was last. She sluggishly waltzed down the stairs glaring at my father with her bright red lipstick smeared and her bra strap hanging down over her shoulder.
Pastor Randy just starred expressionless as usual. His guest, Fay, look like she had just witnessed Jesus being stabbed by Nadine, herself.
“Let us pray,” my father stated with hands held out.
My father always initiated the prayer before dinner, a custom we never failed to do, unless we were at our mother’s house. Of course.
“Pastor Randy?” A small weasel-looking boy asked. I assumed he was Fay’s son. He looked about 7.
“Yes, Thomas,” my father responded.
Well, I guess his name is Thomas. How common.
“May I say grace tonight, in place of you?”
My father smiled vaguely, “I’m sure that would suffice.”
Who uses suffice? What the Hell is suffice?
Thomas cleared his throat, “Dear Father, Almighty Father in Heaven most high. May you bless this delicious food and these sinful people, except for Pastor Randy, with your heavenly powers. You are glorious and merciful, may you show Nadine, especially, your ways and show her that you will punish her for her sins of lust. Amen.”
Thomas smiled and dug into his meatloaf with an iron fist. He didn’t notice Nadine breathing hard and starring him down. My father nervously looked at her, then at Thomas, and then at Fay.
“This is bull, pure bull,” Nadine stated loudly.
“Nadine, watch your mouth,” My Father said calmly
“Go to Hell all of you!” Nadine yelled as she got up and stormed towards the stairs and up to her bedroom.
I held back a giggle.
“AND ESPECIALLY YOU TINY TIM!!!” Nadine screamed from her bedroom.
I pinched myself in the leg for the fear that I might burst out into hysterics. God, I loved my sister's lack of a filter.
“Hmm, I wonder what her problem was?” Thomas stated confused.
“Um lets see, you pretty much just said my sister was a slut,” Francis answered.
“Francis!” My father spat out, “I’m sorry Fay, I don’t know what has come over them. They never act this way.”
“HA!” Bobbi laughed.
“That’s quite alright, Randy.” Fay faked a smile.
“Mommy?” Fay’s other child asked. He looked about Betsy’s age.
WHAT KIND OF NAME IS JOJO?
“What’s a slut?”
“Um,” Fay struggled, “it’s a bad word and is never to be said.”
“But he said it.” Jojo pointed to Francis.
“Well, honey, um—” Fay looked at my father.
“Jojo, Francis didn’t mean it and will never say it again, am I correct Francis?” My father spoke to Francis.
“Yeah.” Francis rolled his eyes.
The next 10 minutes were filled with my father talking to Fay about the church chorus and how hard they work and how beautiful they sound. I zoned out and watched Betsy stab at her meat like it was still alive. She was mumbling to herself, probably saying something about the devil or dissing Fay and her children.
“So, Lillian,” Fay spoke in a high pitched tone “How is school going for you?”
“Its fine.” I didn’t look up at her just yet.
“Did your father mention I went to St. Jude’s?”
As she spoke, I watched her lips move, they were covered in this pinkish lip balm and some has smeared onto her front teeth. She looked young, too young to have two children.
“No,” I said dryly.
“Oh well, anyways I’m thinking of sending Thomas there when he gets older.”
Fay quickly saw I was uninterested in her conversation and turned to my father.
“So Randy, Why doesn’t Francis go to St. Jude’s, he’s in 8th grade right?”
“He chose to go to an all boy’s catholic school, St. Michael’s.” My dad smiled.
“Now why is that, Francis?” Fay directed the question to Francis.
“I like boys better,” Francis stated coldly.
Boy did he.
“Girls are better,” Curtis almost yelled.
“Shh, lets use our indoor voices Curtis,” My dad scolded.
“Sorry,” Curtis mumbled, as his tan skin reveled a small black mustache growing on his upper lip.
Puberty. Mexican puberty.
I finished my meat crap and pushed my plate up. Everyone was done, except for Jojo who had picked apart his meatloaf and pushed it off of his plate. Yuck. I already hated this kid.
Fay helped my father clean the table as everyone got up. My dad smiled a little too much at her and that’s when I realized that Fay wasn’t just a “friend from church” my dad wanted to date her. Oh God. Was that even allowed? Whatever. As if my life wasn’t screwed enough I had a new mom in progress, a mom who most likely wasn’t much older than 25 and had a child named fucking Jojo.
I followed Bobbi into the garage. She looked satisfied.
“Bobbi?” I asked softly.
“Yes?” She answered smugly.
“Do you like Fay?”
“No,” She said sitting down on the couch.
“She’s a whore, you know that?”
“No, and how do you?” I sat down next to her.
“She wears lip-gloss, only whores wear lip-gloss.”
“Dad said he met her at church,” I rebutted.
“Yeah, well that doesn’t mean anything.”
“How old is she?”
“Psh, 26?” My grandmother laughed.
“Are they dating?” I frowned. The thought of my father dating made me form a bad taste in my mouth.
“I don’t know, Lil, maybe.”
“Whatever, I don’t care,” I lied.
“What? I don’t.”
“I didn’t say anything, Lily.” Bobbi didn’t buy it.
I got up and walked out of Bobbi’s room and into the kitchen where Jojo was talking to Betsy, who was holding a Barbie with all of her hair cut off.
“You’re pretty.” He smiled.
“I know,” She snickered.
“Do you have a boyfriend?”
“Do you like church?”
“I do, can I play with your doll?”
“Why?” Jojo frowned.
“She’s not mine.”
“Then whose is she?”
“Whose that?” Jojo inquired.
“Satan.” Betsy walked away with the Barbie in hand.
Oh wow, that girl needs help, I thought to myself, but she sure does know how to make Jojo go away. A quality I will need to obtain if Fay is going to be here a lot. I hope she isn’t a whore, even though Gram’s always right.
Thank God for Betsy’s welcoming personality.