Page 1 of Forgive Me Father

Chapter 1

Eden

Sunday.

The Lord’s Day.

“It’s the day we have gratitude for family and faith,” My Mother’s reverent voice echoes down the hall, “let's be thankful that we can gather together as a family and go to church. Not everyone has that blessing.” It’s hard to tell whether she’s trying to convince us or herself more that we’re anything but dysfunctional.

One day a week, this family acts as if Dad isn't cheating on Mom, I am not a screw-up, and Aiden isn’t a massive pothead.

What a shame my pitiful ass had to come home indefinitely from college and ruin it for all of them.

On paper, we look like a picture-perfect family. A son, set to get a full-ride scholarship for his accomplishments on the high school football team, a husband running one of the most successful law firms in this small, good-for-nothing town, anda wife always the first to participate in all of the neighborhood socials.

To anyone not looking too closely, our lives reflect the epitome of a loving and stable nuclear family. Even down to the goddamn white picket fence home in the middle of who fucking cares, suburbia.

But there are cracks in the veneer. I see them when I look at my mother. I'm not sure how burying her sorrows in a bottle of wine every Saturday night and watching reruns of The Office fixes a life devoid of love from the man who stole away her twenties. I suppose I too might be able to drown out my pain over Friday martinis with the girls in the backyard, pretending as if all husbands don't get a rise out of seeing who can pin down the girl still young enough to get mistaken for a teenager in the bar.

They were perfectly happy living in denial, laying their sins to rest before breakfast each day under a framed picture of the Ten Commandments.

Honour thy father and thy mother.

Thou shalt not commit acts of adultery.

Thou shalt not bear false witness against thy neighbor.

What fucking hypocrites.

But, for one day a week, we can act like everything is fine. We can pretend like we show face in the cathedral as role models in faith instead of the vain need to present to everyone else that we are perfectly normal.

"Mom says you have five minutes," Aiden sighs, looking over at the boxes stacked haphazardly in the corner of my room. Istill hadn’t gotten around to unpacking them since throwing everything in my car and fleeing from my dorm to come home.

"I can drive myself," I mutter, messing with the settings on my camera, feeling unsettled the longer Aiden watches me from the doorway.

Aiden’s brown hair is tousled effortlessly. His freshly ironed dress shirt and slacks have a slightly disheveled look — his tie loosened, shirt untucked, and his blazer is nonchalantly draped over his shoulders. The stereotypical catholic schoolboy attitude is a threat to any girl’s chastity, which I'm sure he takes advantage of.

"Good for you. Mom wants to make sure you actually show," He yawns, nudging one of the lighter boxes down from the stack next to him.

Toiletries and other non-essentials spill out of the box and roll under my barely made bed. I look up to see a shit-eating grin plastered across his face.

"Oops."

Slamming my camera down on my desk, I snag my car keys from my bed, ready to kick my brother so hard in the ass that he walks funny during Communion.

"Get the fuck out, so help me God-" I start, ready to slam his smug face right into the door.

"Language, Eden!" Mom yells, scolding me as if I haven't heard considerably worse coming from her each time she dresses up for my father, doing whatever she can to get an ounce of his affection. "We are leaving now!" She continues, slamming the door with a great deal of anger.

"You're not seriously wearing that?" He questions, my eyes following his down to my oversized dark blue sweater and worn black sweats.

"I’m going to be sitting, kneeling, and holding hands with a fuck ton of strangers for an hour and a half, and you want me to dress like it's my goddamn wedding?" I question, nudging Aiden out of the way. "Piss off."

"Wedding?" He laughs. "I forgot you believe in unrealistic things. Weddings, becoming a photographer, making it through a year of college-"

Drowning out my brother's incessant need to bring me down in any way he can, I cover my ears, letting the jangle of my keys clacking together become my primary focus. A deep-rooted craving to dull the tidal wave of emotions rolling through me threatens to consume me as I walk out of the room. I bite back the urge to grab the cloth-wrapped blade I keep hidden in my room, my mind already conjuring images of me dragging the fine metal edge across my skin until the red drowns out the pain. Double-checking to ensure all parts of my body are concealed in the mirror closest to the front door, I hold up my middle finger to my brother, praying that for once God hears my message and flips my car before I can make it to the church parking lot.

As much as I dread being surrounded by unfamiliar faces demanding to know why I’ve come home, the cathedral has never ceased to amaze me.