As much as I wanted to leave Church, I'm not sure this was any better. There was a tension in the car as we drove away from the town centre.
I wasn't sure what the problem was, the most logical guess was that I'd done something wrong, but I could think of anything noteworthy. Maybe I was imagining it? Creating demons in my mind that weren't actually there. Maybe I was the only one who felt it; the only one who was aware of the shift in our relationship and the strain it caused. I believe my parents loved me in there own way - or maybe I still held onto that small fragment of hope that was in my grasp, the singular shard of glass that remained from my cracked glasses, cutting into my skin as I clung to it.
Maybe to them the silence was welcome, to me it was uncomfortable, and when it became too much I spoke.
"How was date night?"
"It was nice. We went to Gino's; you know, the Italian in the city? I got pasta, your father got lasagne."
"Yeah, it was a little small, but nice."
"He always complains that pasta dishes are small, but gets them every time."
"I get it because I like pasta, I just don't understand why they give you so little."
"It was a fancy restaurant. Higher quality food means high prices and small portions. Was it worth it? Would you go back?"
My mother pondered that for a moment before nodding her head, "yes, I think I would. The food was good and the atmosphere was nice. Well worth the money."
"I agree. Next time though remind me not to get pasta."
My mother smiled at him, a soft chuckled escaping her lips. "I will, but you'll still get it. Like every time." My father only rolled his eyes in response, a small smile gracing his lips.
After a moment I spoke again. It was nice speaking to them like this, as if nothing was wrong with our dynamic, as if they were the parents I wished them to be. They spoke as if I was one of my bothers and for a moment there was nothing wrong with me. I wasn't sinning, I wasn't disgusting, unnatural, unlovable. I wasn't the person my parents despised and were intent on saving - changing and shaping into what they deemed normal, right, perfect.
For a small period of time I was just Caleb, and they weer just my parents. Nothing else existed to come between us. I knew it wouldn't last. At some point reality would come crashing down and the happy family dynamic would exist no more. But for now I would cherish what I had, what I had lost.
"Did you do anything after?"
"We just came home and watched a film."
"You watched a film? Let me guess, mum fell asleep halfway through?"
"She didn't even make it that long." Dad said with a laugh that received him a playful glare.
"I was tired and the film was boring."
"How would you know," Dad joked, "You watched about twenty minutes in total, the beginning and the end."
"See, I watched the key moments and they did nothing to convince me to watch more. What about you? How was your night?"
"Yeah, it was good." When I got home this morning my parents were still asleep, thankfully, and I was able to get changed before they woke up. By the time I made my way downstairs I was being ushered to the car, and not much conversing happened on our journey to Church.
"Was it just you and Marcus?" Dad asked, his dislike for Marcus obvious in his tone. My parents were never too fond of my best friend, for several reasons they bring up far too often. His family wasn't religious, one. He was 'rude and improper', two. He didn't excel academically, three. The list continued. Generally, they believed he was dragging me down and that our friendship was harmful.
I defend my friend the best I can, but it's an argument that always lead nowhere. They don't like him, or his family and they never will. Nothing I say could change that.
"Shane was there as well." I brought up. Shane, they didn't mind. Like would be a stretch, but he didn't receive death glares when I brought him to the house so that was definitely something. His family lived locally and attend Church from time-to-time. They were devout Christians and mainly attended during holiday seasons - Christmas mass and Easter service - but my parents appreciated that, to some extent, nonetheless. "We just played a few games and watched TV. The usual."
My dad assessed me through the rear-view mirror, his eyes trying to discern the extent of my truth. They lacked trust in my, but without any proof that I had done something untoward, they couldn't dispute my claim.
"So, Faith is a lovely girl, isn't she?" My mum's chirpy voice cut through the silence.
This was something I knew was coming, though sooner than I hoped. I missed my parents and those moments of mundane and normal conversations was reminiscent of a time that I would no longer get back.
When my brothers were around things were better. My parents never said anything hurtful, degrading or upsetting around them, but even them, when we were alone out relationship was strained.
Now that both of my brothers were gone things had been going downhill faster than I expected. The metaphorical car we were in that was heading towards a cliff had suddenly sped up, the edge coming into sight and my parents door open as they readied themselves to jump to safety before I plummeted to my demise.
"Yeah." I replied lacklustre. Faith was nice, the model child of a devout Christian household. Both her personality and looks screamed innocence and divinity. We got alone okay, but we weren't all that compatible. For one I was... I had no interest in pursuing a women romantically, though my parents actively ignore that and I was starting to accept that maybe I should ignore that too. Fake it till you make it, right?
"Why don't you ask her out? You'd make such a cute couple?" A lump formed in my throat, any potential words getting trapped on their way up.
We'd had this conversation before. Many conversations of this type and no matter what I responded, no matter how well I skirted around the answer, nothing worked.
I couldn't utter those words again, those words of sin, even though I knew the truth. We all knew the truth. I also couldn't lie. That was a sin itself.
Asking Faith out would be a horrible mixture of the two. Not only damming myself but ruining her along the way. Taking that innocents, her sweet nature, and twisting it into something impure. Corrupting her like the devil had corrupted me.
"We've talked about this. I told you she's not really my type."
"What do you mean not your type?" My dad's harsh voice barked. "She a nice Christian girl. She's everything you need."
"But I don't like her that way. She's a friend," â barely - "and I don't want to wreck that by trying for something more."
"I'm sure she likes you too honey. It would do you some good."
"We'll have to have dinner with them soon. I'm sure the pastor would like to check up on you."
"I'm fine. I don't need a check-up."
"Caleb we're just looking out for you, the pastor as well. We care about you; you know that don't you? Your soul was corrupt, we saw the evil inside of you. But you're okay now, you've been saved."
"We just need to make sure the devil stays away."
No more words were spoken after that. The low humming of the engine the only sound filling the car. I was thankful when we pulled into the drive, my car door opening as soon as the car was in park.
We lived in a cul-de-sac and the neighbouring houses looked almost identical. Our front garden, kept simple with limited flora growing in the small space, and our red door acted as our main differentiators.
My favourite thing about our suburban neighbourhood was the family element. Children's laughter filled the streets on sunny days. A game of soccer was being played by kids down the street, their happiness palpable. I wished time wasn't a thing and that one days they would lose that carefree childhood innocent.
It was jarring steeping into such a silent house, a stark contrast from the street. The jingling of keys being placed into a dish echoed in the open space. I removed my shoes at the door, placing them beside the others, a pile significantly smaller than it used to be. My parents followed after me, completing the same ritualistic steps.
Apart from the scuffing of clothes as we moved through the hall and the soft padding of our footsteps on the wooden floor, the house was quiet. I had never been a fan of silence. Growing up with two older brothers I had become accustomed to noise. Wherever we went, people knew. You could hear us kicking up a storm a mile away, boisterous children full of energy and laughter. While my parents still remained firm, as children they offered us more freedom, they allowed us to be kids. At some point things changed.
When my brothers both left for college in August the silence was deafening. After seventeen years it was just me. No longer were we the Wilkins boys, I was - for the time being - an only child.
Obviously, I knew that wasn't the truth, a hyperbole of sorts. Though that doesn't detract from the fact that, for the first time in years, I walked into a silent house with no hope that one of my brothers, my friends, were hidden away in their room or would be returning soon. It was just me and my parents, a home dynamic that felt the opposite of what it was meant to be: awkward, strained, uncomfortable.
"Have you finished all your schoolwork?" My father asked as I followed them both into the kitchen.
"Yes." I replied. I was always good at completing homework, there was also my parent's persistence and overbearing nature that didn't allow for me to slip. Thankfully my intellect made things easier, but there were still times I wouldn't hang out with my friends because I had schoolwork to do instead. I had to get perfect grades; anything less was unacceptable.
"Let me see."
Holding myself back from saying something that would get me into trouble, I retrieved my homework and planner. My parents liked to cross-reference, another way to ensure I wasn't being deceitful. They would argue they were just doing what's best for me, but they were never this intense with my siblings.
I was top of my class in everything, but my father liked to remind me that I shouldn't get complacent. He wanted me to be valedictorian. To get perfect grades and study pre-med.
Adam went to college on a sports scholarship. His plan was to try and get drafted, and we all knew he had the potential. My parents were proud of him, of course, but when they spoke about it you could see the hesitancy in their eyes. They didn't see 'sports' as a real job. Still, they never said it out loud.
Bailey chose to major in English. Again, the disappointment was there, though I never used to understand the reasoning for that. Mum was a teacher, why couldn't Bailey go into the same profession? After a while I came to the conclusion that it was because he was a man. I'm not sure where the logic for that came from, and again they would never admit to it, but they wished he had going into something more 'mainly'. Finance, medicine, engineering.
And yet me wanting to study Physics was also unacceptable. This time they did openly disprove. Even if I would be studying in MIT, one of the best schools in the country, theoretical physics wasn't a real field. There were no job prospects for me, so instead I should study medicine and become a doctor like dad. Then I could join the local practice and work alongside him.
That was one of the worst futures I could think of.
Still, I applied to the colleges they suggested. With my mother sat next to me, breathing down my neck as I completed my application what more could I do?
It was Marcus who convinced me to apply to MIT as well. I told him about my parents' wishes and my plans after graduation and he was disappointed in me. I didn't understand his feelings at first, but after half an hour when he pulled out his computer and shoved the MIT application, already partially filled out, in my face I was thankful. Thankful that my best friend was in my life, that he knew me so well and that he supported me unconditionally. So, with his help and reassurance, I submitted the application.
I still dread the mail arriving. The thought of my parents finding a letter from MIT, regardless of the content, would never go down well.
After my parents were satisfied that I had indeed completed my homework, I made my way back upstairs. I longed to sleep though I knew it would evade me, as it frequently did. If I forced myself through my drowsiness, then maybe I would sleep tonight. One could hope.
The ringing of my phone caught my attention, and the caller ID caught me by surprise.
"Hey," a soft voice spoke, "I just wanted to check in. I would've rung earlier, but I assumed you'd've gone to Church. Was I right or am I an idiot?"
Lucas had text me a similar thing at around ten this morning, when, I presume, he woke up, asking if I was home safe. His concern was endearing.
"You were right, I was at Church, so don't worry about it." Lucas hummed in response and the silence we settled into filled me with anxiety, so I continued, "Did you sleep well?"
"Oh yeah, the alcohol knocked me out completely, did you sleep well? I was worried when I woke up and you'd gone."
I tried to ignore the heat rising on my cheeks at his words.
"I always wake up early after I drink." I suffer with insomnia ,so any sleep is better than none, though I didn't point that out. "I didn't want to wake you up, but I hung around for a bit just in case you did. After a while though I couldn't wait anymore, I knew my parents wanted me to go to Church with them, so I had to leave. Erik made me toast though, which was nice... well, Erik burnt some toast, but I appreciated the gesture."
Lucas laughed at that, "Please tell me you didn't eat it to be polite."
"Well," I drew out with a pause when his laughter sounded again, "it felt rude not too! He went out of his way to offer me breakfast, I just smiled and pretended it was fine."
"I'm gonna tell him."
"No don't. What if he feels bad? Or, what if it was intentional, like an initiation test? Safe to say i'd've passed."
We continued to speak for a while after that, time evading me as I became absorbed in Lucas, his words melodic, almost like a lullaby relaxing my body and mind. I found myself feeling a sense of peace for the first time in a while.
---
A/N:
How much do you sleep at night? I'm a 8/9 hour person otherwise I don't function.
I would also like to say I went to a Catholic school and attended Church pretty frequently, but i'm not really a follower. If I write something that anyone thinks is incorrect/offensive/ignorant let me know. I hope I have enough knowledge that everything's right enough. (Obviously, it's fiction so I am taking some creative liberties.)
Also, i'm British so if I type 'mum' just accept it.