A Perfect Family

“Are you there God? It’s me again. Mary-Katherine Montgomery Hoff-”

A snort of laughter and a groan follow. I fight the urge to open my eyes, a smile pulling at the edges of my lips. The image of Harrison Davis at my locker leaning over me vanishes from my mind. God was far from it.

“I’m supposed to be saying grace so we can eat, but Grandma says I can talk to you like I talk to a friend, so I come to you tonight humbly asking-”

“Here we go-”

“Colton.”

“If you could open mom and dad’s hearts to reconsider getting a Jack Russell Terrier puppy, specifically from the litter over at the Taylor’s-”

Giggles and moans sound around the table. I can’t help myself and I crack an eyelid to survey the scene. Dad sits at the head of the table, hands folded across his chest, looking down at my littlest sister with amusement. Mom beside him still has her hands cupped in prayer, but is glaring over at my twelve-year-old brother Kit who is now pretending to snore. On the opposite end of the table, Grandma’s eyes are tightly closed and she’s shaking with laughter. Cecelia, directly across from me, catches my eye and rolls her own, and Colton to my left is already jabbing a fork into his potatoes.

M.K. diligently continues with her prayer, hands clasped tightly for the Lord, head bowed, her little pink glasses slipping down her nose.

“-I would be most thankful. I’ve always wanted a puppy and dad keeps saying he’s allergic, but there’s no real proof of that, you know?”

I bite back a laugh as Dad sighs. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a swat from grandma’s hand before the loaded fork can make its way to Colton’s mouth.

“Alright M.K.,” our mother says gently, her glare rotating between Kit and Colton. “Wrap it up.”

The despondent nine-year-old lets out an exasperated breath. “Fine. If you could please bless our food, but don’t forget about the puppy. Amen.”

A chorus of “Amens” sounds across the table. Cutlery scrapes across the ceramic plates. Conversation ensues. Cecelia made the varsity soccer team as a freshman and she can’t stop complaining about how the seniors are treating her. Kit has a science project that requires a boat-load of vinegar, and Colton has debate club so no he can’t drive everyone to school in the morning.

I can feel all gazes swivel to me.

“Caroline, do you mind? You can take the Highlander.”

I swallow my bite of lemon garlic chicken. Of course I’ll say yes and they all know it. Colton’s senior year activities and the acquiring my driver’s license over the summer as resulted in me as the primary chauffeur. I manage a tight lipped nod.

“I do work after school though-” The ring of the doorbell cuts me off mid-sentence.

“I’ll get it,” I offer immediately, pushing back from the table before dad can even lower his fork. My heart skips a beat as I start towards the door, anticipation drumming in my fingers. Harrison said he would try to stop by after dinner to study, but I hadn’t checked my phone.

“I wonder why Caroline is so eager,” Colton drawls from behind, a few giggles ensuing at his comment. An oomph and scolding follows. Something soft was thrown. I'd guess by Cecelia.

I bite my lip as I reach for the door with one hand and smooth my wavy red hair with the other. The door swings open, but behind it is the last person I had ever expected to see.

“Hey little sister.”

Her blue-green eyes are bloodshot. It’s the first thing I notice. She grins at me, almost manically. Her auburn hair is mussed and cut too short for her face shape. Too much eyeliner and too much collar bone are in view. She sways on the spot, reeking of a pungent, sour liquor smell.

I think of the last time I saw my older sister, Lizzy. At least 6 months ago, when a slushy late spring snow had still been on the ground. Dad’s shouts and the throwing of her stuff on the front lawn. Her keying his vehicle as she walked past before peeling out of the driveway in a friend’s truck, intentionally leaving muddy tire tracks on the lawn that took nearly all summer for Dad to fix.

No one can see her from the dining room yet. I think I hear someone ask who it is, but I step out onto the patio and close the door behind me sharply, positioning myself in front of the doorbell camera and Lizzy out of view. I bet on the family thinking it’s Harrison and wanting to give me a moment.

“You’re drunk,” I say quietly.

“Jus’ a little,” she slurs.

I look past her, to the beat-up Ford escort parked crooked in the driveway, its bumper jutting out into the road. “And you drove here?”

“I thought you’d be happy to see me Care-Bear?” She pouts, frowning and then pulling me into a hug.

“I am happy to see you,” I say softly, holding my breath as she squeezes. When she lets go, I involuntary shake my head, “but not like this.”

“Is it dinner time?” She asks, ignoring me. She stands on tip-toes, to peer over me through the frosted glass. “I’m staaaaarving. Let’s go inside-”

She reaches for the door and stumbles. I catch her arm before she falls, getting close enough to her face to see the dilation of her pupils.

“Are you high, too?” I whisper.

“Little miss goody-two-shoes worried about me?” Lizzy sing-songs, smacking her lips together. “I’m here to see my perfect family, Care. To have a per-fect dinner with them.”

I understand Lizzy. More than she will ever realize. I feel smothered in all their boisterous, exceptional, showy presences, too. But my way out is a college across the country and the audiobooks I discretely listened to during Sunday service instead of the sermon.

“Let me drive you somewhere,” I offer abruptly, reaching for the keys in her hand. “Where are you staying right now?”

“NO!” she declares indignantly, spinning away from me and driving her hand down on the front doorknob. Casual conversation greets us as it slowly swings open. My stomach is in my throat. They do think I’m chatting with Harrison, and they chose to continue on with dinner.

I grab her hand and lean into her ear, whispering, “We can leave right now, Liz. I can take you somewhere for the night. Sit it out with you. You know they won’t understand.”

“And you do?” she sputters, eyes wide. The words are just loud enough for the murmur of conversation to snuff out. I grimace. I don’t want this for her. I don’t even want this for me.

“Caroline?”

Mom.

I tug on Lizzy’s hand. One last chance. We can make a break for it. I have a credit card. I can get her a hotel room. I can call a sponsor. A hospital. Maybe a rehab.

Lizzy tugs back harder, violently ripping herself out of my grip and tripping over the stoop. She collides with the entry way table, knocking the cobalt blue vase off and landing with a thud on the floor of the foyer. I can feel the lemon garlic chicken clawing its way back up my throat as my parents take a step into the room.

My mother looks pained, but my father looks truly disgusted. I’ll never be able to erase that expression from my memory as long as I live.

“Dad,” I plead, “she needs help.”

“I’m fine!” Lizzy shouts. More bodies are filling the doorway between the dining room and foyer. Colton and Cecelia matching dad’s revulsion. Grandma making the sign of the cross.

From behind my father, a small face with pink translucent glasses stares down at the sister she barely knows.

“Get out of my house.”

It’s mom who whispers it. My heart clenches at the words and I see M.K. pale.

Lizzy shouts a series of profanities as she scrambles to her feet. A yell follows from dad. She goes to lunge at hime and someone screams. My mind buzzes, silencing the noise. Skirting the side of the room I track M.K. who is slowly backing up to the nook under the stairs, her eyes as wide as saucers. Someone is reaching for the phone to call 9-1-1. Colton has stepped into the foyer to help dad get control of her.

Amid the chaos, I hear a little whisper from behind me, “God? It’s me again. Mary-Katherine Montgomery Hoff..."