a short story by Sarah Pascucci
*Loud honking* “STAY IN YOUR FUCKING LANE, DUMB BITCH!” I yelled at the top of my lungs through the closed window, hoping she would get the message. She didn’t. I opened my car window and stuck out my middle finger with my other hand against the wheel, still sounding off the horn. Veronica, my mother, had now called me four times to remind me that I’m late for Thanksgiving dinner as if three missed calls wasn’t enough. She has no other hobbies besides annoying me and my fifteen-year-old brother Aaron, the favorite child.
Aaron had been counting down the days leading up to Thanksgiving break since our parents dropped him off at boarding school back in September. I don’t know why they sent him to boarding school anyway. Homesickness has always gotten the best of him, which I couldn’t relate to. I couldn’t wait to leave the Massachusetts suburbs and go to college in New York City, where I could be whoever I wanted to be and do whatever I wanted whenever I wanted to do it. I was liberated.
I didn’t want to come home, but I missed my dad. He understands me better than anyone else in this house. What I don’t miss is overhearing my parents screaming at each other every night when I’m trying to go to sleep.
I pulled into our driveway, and my dad’s X5 wasn’t in his spot but was instead replaced with an old pickup truck that I hadn’t seen before. I wouldn’t have been surprised if he were also late. We were similar in that way. I went inside and was immediately greeted by my dog, Cooper, barking. It’s like nothing has changed around here. Then I walked into the kitchen, and this man who looked absolutely nothing like my father was sitting in my dad’s place at the dinner table. I make eye contact with him and ask, “Who are you?”
He smiled. “Nice to meet you too. I’m Troy. And you must be Olivia.”
I didn’t respond to that. I already didn’t like him, and I didn’t know why. The silence became too loud, and I asked him, “Do you know where my dad went? His car isn’t here, and you’re in his spot.” Suddenly, the oven starts beeping.
“VERONICA, THE CAKE IS READY!” Troy shouted. My mother came sprinting down the stairs.
“Olivia! What happened to you?” Veronica exclaims. I rolled my eyes at her.
“What do you mean what happened to me?”
“What happened to my daughter? Your hair is PURPLE?! And when did you get that nose piercing without my permission?!”
I laughed. “What happened to dad?” I respond. “And who the fuck is Troy?”
She ignores me and takes the cake out of the oven. “AARON!” she shouts. “Come downstairs now!”
Before I could blink, he was there. He’s at least two inches taller now than before he left, but other than that, he still looks like the same perfect child he has always been. Veronica takes the candles from the cabinet and puts them on the cake. I pull Aaron aside and ask him if he knows anything about Troy. He told me he didn’t know who he was either.
“Everyone sit down at the table, please,” Veronica said. Veronica takes out the knife and asks me to cut the cake. As I began cutting the cake, I found a hidden message written in red food coloring.
“Happy Divorce.”
What a happy Thanksgiving it was.
