“Haley, ma’am.”
A spark fires in Mercy’s eyes at Haley’s manners—she approves. “Welcome. Have a seat.”
Haley nervously glances around the table, taking in my siblings staring back at her in wonder. I lead her to the seat next to mine and practically push her into it. She’s so stiff; I can feel the worry coming off her waves.
“Haley,” I say, “this is Gunner and Gillian, the twins.”
“Hi,” they say in unison.
Haley smiles and repeats the greeting back to them. I move on.
“This is Gia, as you already know. The little guy on the end is Graham.”
He lifts his head at my words and delivers a small smile in Haley’s direction. Before he drops his head again to continue staring at his lap, I catch a glimmer of interest in his eyes. I have hope he’ll like her.
“And this,” I tell her, gesturing toward the woman seated at the head of the table, “is Mercy. She’s the kids’ guardian and aunt.”
Mercy raises a brow at how I phrase my introduction. I raise one back, daring her to argue it, because it’s true. She isn’t my aunt, not really, not after everything we’ve been through.
“Thank you for having me over, Mercy. This meal looks wonderful.”
“I can take no credit. Gia made it.”
“I didn’t know you were cooking today,” I say, looking over at my sister, who’s poised perfectly in her chair, elbows off the table and all.
She lifts a shoulder gracefully. “I wanted to.”
“Thanks.”
“No problem.”
“Shall we?” Mercy says, interrupting us.
“Sure.”
We begin eating our meal, a finely made mix of Mexican dishes, and everyone stays quiet. I’m not certain if it’s out of fear or nerves, but either way, it sucks.
“How’s school, Gunn? Baseball good?” I ask, trying to break the awkward tension that’s sticking to the air.
He nods vigorously. “I love it! You should come to my game Friday. You too, Haley.”
“I’d love that, man. We’re in.”
“And you’ll come to my math-a-thon too?” Gillian throws in.
“I’ll be there.”
Haley’s hand lands on my leg. I drop mine under to the table to squeeze it.
The only person not wholly absorbed in their meal in Graham. As usual, his head is hanging low and he’s finding too much interest in his own lap.
“Not hungry, Graham?” He shakes his head. “You sure, man? It’s damn good.”
“Language,” Mercy chastises.
I ignore her and continue staring holes into my little brother until he finally lifts his head. Once he does, I can see the anxiety mixed into his gaze. Instead of trying to pry anything from him in a room full of people, I press on with my meal and let Graham relax into the situation. I suppose us having a big fancy sit-down dinner with a new person is sending him into a mini panic. It’s understandable, too, especially since I can’t remember the last time anyone visited this home.
From what I’ve gathered from the kids, Mercy isn’t big on normal kid things. They don’t get to do sleepovers with friends, they have to come straight home from school, and they must finish their homework, do their chores, and set the dinner table before they’re allowed a break for the day. In other words, it sucks living with her. She’s strict on their dress, their behavior, and…well, their fucking lives. Basically, she controls them, and it’s not in the good, structured way children need. It’s in an aggressive manner. I hate that they have to suffer through this and don’t get to have fun while they’re so young. I was robbed of a childhood, and I’ll be damned if they are too.
