Part II

After inspecting the teens in stubborn silence, Mother invited them in. But underlying her welcoming words lay the disposition of a surprised snake, ready to strike.

The teens walked through the house to the kitchen. The smell of warm baking met their noses as they sat at the table. Would you care for some hot cocoa, asked Mother. Yes please, if it's not an inconvenience, they replied. Oh, no inconvenience at all, was her response, although her voice was high-pitched from strain.

The kitchen was quiet except for the clattering of mugs and spoons being brought out of their dark homes. Father looked at daughter, daughter looked at brother, brother watched all with patient indifference. No one looked at the Other. Mortified at the silence his presence seemed to have brough on the family, he watched the daughter's hands as she tugged at her hair.

Suddenly, her Father broke the silence.

"So...how were your exams?"

His daughter's face smiled with relief at this normal question, and her mouth unleashed a chipper soliloquy worthy of a great actress. And indeed she did act, for her words seemed hollow and senseless to her. As her lips moved, her thoughts were elsewhere, until she suddenly fell silent mid-sentence.

Her Father looked at her expectantly and asked another question. She saw his lips move but didn't hear his words, for the words in her head were far louder and insisted on being heard. He repeated the question, triggering the offensive snake in his wife to strike.

"Can't you see that she's thinking? For God's sake Father, leave her alone for once. Why do you have to shove your expectations on all of us?"

Her husband's face tensed and his eyes narrowed. His voice had heavy overtones of sarcasm, as if he knew exactly where to push his wife.

"MY expectations Mother? I'd say that's the pot calling the kettle black, dear."

"Why can't you just keep your loud mouth shut darling, and let us live in peace for once!" She let out a short scream of intense frustration and rushed upstairs, leaving the water kettle whistling its high, mono-pitched tune.

Those left in the kitchen stared at the spot where Mother had been standing. He daughter got up to pour the hot water. Her son lifted his right shoulder in a shrug, as if the other shoulder couldn't even bother anymore. It had shrugged off too many harsh words, and had now learned that it was best to stay in place to protect the heart. His shield of indifference was impenetrable, or so it seemed to his sister. She had been away too long, forgetting what home was like. She sat back down at the quiet table and joined the men in suddenly caring deeply which way the grain of the wood went.

"Your cocoa is getting cold." The young man stared unblinkingly at her cup as he broke the silence. She gave him a smile, but one that was as similar to her regular joyful visage as the dark side of the moon is to the brightest summer afternoon. He mentally whipped himself for having suggested they come here.

Her Father watched his face. Obviously this kid didn't realize that the cold war was not yet over in this household. he prayed that this might be the Christmas that hope arrived. It would take the Mighty hand of an outsider, but mabye this year it would happen and they would have some lasting peace. Peace. What he wouldn't give for just a moment of true peace. True, he hadn't exactly been the model of a patient and loving husband, but who could be? Not after marrying a witch.

Mother lay facedown amongst the pillows on the bed she had shared for 22 years. Why did he have to be so insufferably perfect to everyone except her? She knew she often nagged like a leaky faucet, and sometimes she turned the full blast of her scorching anger straight onto her husband. But he should expect that with his attitude. He even seemed to not care that their precious baby gift had brough home a boy. And what kind of accent was it that he had? Not that she was a racist, but her little girl deserved the best.

Realizing that her re-entrance into their lives was causing an extra onslaught of anger between her parents, their daughter felt intense pain, burning deep into her belly. They were crushing each other, and she had made the situation worse. Without thinking, she allowed an abbreviated gasp of pain to leave her lungs. But this was no ordinary empathy pain. It felt like red hot knives were piercing her abdomen.

All male eyes at the table looked ather in concern, eyes that narrowed in tandem as the pink in her cheeks made a hasty exit. She shook her head slowly, blinking quickly, gripping her mug of cocoa.