Chapter 2 - THE CURRENCY OF PEAS
The woman standing over the table wore a beige silk blouse.
The fabric draped flawlessly, entirely unwrinkled by the violence of her swing.
Her brown hair was parted perfectly down the middle, the ends resting heavily on her collarbones.
She did not look at the bread on the floor.
She stared entirely at the trembling pastel fabric of Lily’s dress.
"I told you that food is Mason's."
Her words were clipped, metallic, cutting through the warm air of the room like a surgical blade.
Across the wide expanse of the dining table sat a boy.
Mason’s blue polo shirt was buttoned to the very top, pressing tightly against his throat.
His legs dangled above the floor, the tips of his sneakers scuffing against the wooden chair legs.
He stared down at the porcelain plate in front of him.
A small pile of green peas sat untouched next to a slice of roast meat.
He watched the gravy slowly congeal into a thick, brown skin.
He looked up.
His eyes darted from the red mark blossoming on the back of his stepsister’s hand to his mother’s maroon fingernails.
He pushed his porcelain plate two inches across the mahogany wood.
The ceramic scraped against the finish, making a high, grating sound.
"Mom, she can have mine."
Mason’s voice cracked on the final syllable.
In his mind, the math was simple.
If hunger was a debt, he could pay it for her.
If he gave up the peas, the maroon nails wouldn't strike again.
The woman slowly turned her head toward her son.
Her eyelids lowered by a fraction.
She reached out and pinched the stem of her wine glass, her knuckles whitening.
She did not lift the glass.
She merely turned the crystal stem between her thumb and forefinger.
May you like
The red liquid inside swayed dangerously close to the rim.
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