+  N I N E  +

"How about a mother-daughter-daughter day?"

My mother's words surprise me, as she's pulling out of her spot in the schools parking lot. Her minivan receives a few judging eyes—I know my mother sees them; but she chooses to ignore it. I, on the other hand, look down at my lap, avoiding all of Asheville's eyes until we're out of the parking lot.

     "Jules, Mel," she calls out, again, "how about it?"

     Melanie shakes her head, sending my mother an apologetic smile through the rear view mirror. "Can't. Football season's starting; the first pep rally's tomorrow. We've even got some college players coming down from a local college—"

"What college?" The words slip through my lips before I can try and stop them, and I'm left with a pink face and fidgety fingers. "I-I'm just curious."

Melanie gives me a look, and I send one right back. "I am. I swear it."

"Fine, they're coming down from Tennessee University." I give her a questioning look, silently asking if that was the college he went to. She sighed, "Yeah, yeah, he goes there."

     My mother sends me a curious curl of her lip through the rear view mirror, winking. "Who's this—he?"

     I can feel my cheeks tinge pink, while I fidget with my fingertips. "Just a boy I know."

My mother seemed disappointed when I'd told her that I couldn't commit to the idea of a mother-daughter day—especially when I'd found out that college football players would be coming down from Tennessee University. I'm absolutely certain that Melanie knows why I've got a sudden interest to denying a day away from school; it's him.

     I wasn't sure about whether or not I felt the need to apologize, or even make sure he even remembered me. Maybe he was hammered at the party; and that was why he seemed so angry when he caught me staring at him in the hallway. Although—I'm sure that if he were hammered, he would have given himself away two seconds into our first conversation.

     My father seems more than irritated while my family and I sit quietly, each of us picking at our dinner in a different way. But when my mother looks up at my father, who's taking sultry sips from his bottle of alcohol—I know she's ready to break the silence. "So, Hal—how was work? We haven't spoken since the girls and I came home."

     My father grunts, shaking his head in denial, while I know; he isn't going to answer, and if he does, my sister and I can kiss our family-friendly dinner goodbye. "Hal? I'm speaking to you."

     He abruptly slams the bottle of alcohol onto the dining room table, making sprits of liquid skid out at Melanie, who gasps sharply at the coldness. I rush to help her dab the alcohol off of her plain white t-shirt.

     "I heard you; I just don't feel like talking."

     My mother doesn't bother answering, rounding the table over to Melanie who is covered in the brown, drowsy liquid. While the two of aid to her side, my father rushes upstairs, slamming his bedroom door afterward.

     Was this how our dinners would always be from now on?