Family Portrait || Self Para
"In our family portrait, we look pretty happy. Let's play pretend, act like it comes naturally."
These days it seemed as if the Edwards family home only came with two settings. Either the house was filled with shouting and snide remarks or it was so eerily silent that it grated on Clare’s nerves. This evening the latter won out as Randall Edwards was set to arrive home at any minute from work. Truth be told, Clare knew enough to soak up those precious moments. Before long, her parents would find something to argue about, driving the wedge between them even further. Clare liked to call this time now the calm before the storm. She took her time in going downstairs, busying herself with today’s assigned homework. When she couldn’t delay any further, she set her completed work aside and left her room. The top floor was perfectly still, almost eerily so but Clare ignored that as she made her descent down the stairs. Halfway she stopped in place, spotting her mom through the quasi-window that overlooked the living room. Helen sat with a collection of photo albums. Some sat perched on the coffee table and on the couch with her. The one she was currently perusing settled on her lap. Helen seemed so lost in thought that she had not realized her youngest daughter had joined her. The woman’s eyes were trained on the pictures before her, her fingertips pressed lightly against her thin lips. Her stance was troubling to Clare who remained frozen in place for another moment before continuing down to the main floor. “What do you have there?” Clare asked softly enough, though she still managed to startle her mother. “Oh, sweetheart. I didn’t hear you coming,” Helen said, looking up and smiling at her. “I was just tidying up and came across the albums.” Patting the empty seat on the left side of her, Helen signaled for Clare to join her. Sitting as instructed, Clare tucked a loose curl behind her ear and peered over the book. “That one was from the church’s banquet three years ago,” Clare said, pointing to a picture of her with her long hair and glasses standing in the middle of her sister and mother. “You girls looked so beautiful that night,” Helen lamented. Clare bit the inside of her cheek and remained quiet as her mom flipped through the pages.
“Do you need help setting up for dinner?” she asked after a few moments. Helen shook her head. “No, everything is set up. As usual, we’re just waiting on your father.” Clare closed her eyes faintly at this, hating the not so subtle dig at her dad. It wasn’t worth it to call attention to it now. Clare knew when to pick and choose her battles. Disrupting the otherwise peacefulness of the night wouldn’t be such a smart tactic. Instead she simply nodded and glanced over at the clock adjacent from her. It was half past six which meant that her father was in fact thirty minutes late. To Clare, it wasn’t a big deal in the grand scheme of things. But judging by the prominent scowl etched onto her mother’s face, it was plain to see that Helen thought differently. She muttered something to herself but Clare tuned her out and silently prayed that her dad would show up quickly to put an end to her mother’s foul mood. As luck would have it, after a mere five minutes, the sound of a key slipping into the front door pierced the silence of the house. Clare perked up as Randall stepped inside, setting his bag aside and slipping off his jacket. Clare didn’t delay in getting out of her seat to greet her father before he could even announce himself. “Hi, dad,” she beamed, giving him a hug of which he returned. “How are you, Clarebear? Homework all done?” Before Clare could form a word, her mother’s voice sounded behind her. “You would know that if you managed to come home on time. Dinner has been ready and waiting,” Helen said coolly. Randall clenched his jaw, his nostrils flared. It was a look Clare knew all too well, the look of her father steeling himself for an argument. “I’m here now, aren’t I? I’m barely through the door and you’re starting with me already?” he countered. Clare, who was still close to her father’s side, inched away from him and stood between her parents. “Can we please, just please, have one night where you two aren’t at each other’s throats?” she pleaded, hating the tremor in her voice. She wanted to sound firm and commanding but the only vibe she gave off was meek. Nonetheless, it seemed to do the trick as her father sighed and kissed the top of her head. Wordlessly the trio moved from the foyer and into the dining room. While Clare was glad they had put a cease and desist on their bickering, the tension between her parents was practically suffocating. She knew she couldn’t have it all, that to be free of one negative, she’d have to settle for another. This might’ve been the lesser of two evils but that didn’t mean that it was somehow more bearable.
Sitting at their usual seats, the family settled in around the table. Helen eyed the selections, Clare willing to bet anything that she was biting her tongue from making further commentary about the food possibly being cold. She looked over to her dad who seemed aloof. They all felt more like strangers than an actual family. It made her miss Darcy even more. At least then there would be one person in the house that she could feel comfortable around. Clare felt a pang in her chest as she thought about her sister. She was thousands of miles away, completely unaware of just how bad things were getting between their parents. Clare didn’t have the heart to tell her in their last Skype session but made a mental note to clue her sister in. Clare didn’t want to think about the elusive D-word looming overhead. It simply wasn’t something her parents would do given their religious practices. But admittedly, it was a thought that had flickered across her mind a few times. Clare chalked it up to paranoia on her part and nothing more. But it became harder to trust in that theory when her parents were constantly at odds with one another. Her family had always been picture perfect but over the last few years, that image started to crumble. Now the cracks in the foundation were beginning to show themselves. Clare dreaded becoming fodder for the church. The gossip that would circulate about other members was jarring and Clare certainly didn’t want that fate to befall her family. She knew that she was getting ahead of herself but all the same, these were the thoughts that plagued her. Her parents used to be good at keeping up appearances but now it was obvious to anyone that viewed them from the outside looking in, that something was amiss. Whatever string that was holding them together was wearing thin and Clare feared the day it would inevitably snap. Shaking her head lightly to dispel the thoughts, Clare shifted against her seat. “Clare, sweetie, will you please say grace tonight?” Helen requested. “Of course,” Clare replied, closing her eyes and outstretching her hands on either side of her.
Her brows knitted together as she didn’t feel the warmth of her parents’ hands. Lifting her head, she saw that both her parents had resigned to cutting off contact with each other. Randall’s head was bowed, almost solemnly as if this were his last meal. Beside him, Helen’s nose was upturned, her hands clasped before her. Clare wanted to say something, anything, but she was bereft on words. It was a childish display by two adults who should know better but lately, Clare truly felt like the most mature person living inside their house. Licking her lips, Clare closed her eyes again and clasped her hands, preparing a quick prayer. “Lord, we thank you for this meal. Bless the hands that prepared it and allow it to nourish our bodies. We thank you for every small blessing and ask that you continue to protect our family. In your holy name we pray, amen,” she concluded. Helen smiled at her before draping her napkin on her lap and moving to fix her plate. Clare wondered why her family even bothered going through the motions of a happy family when they were the furthest thing from it. But as her dad smiled at her too, Clare realized that all of this was merely for her sake. It wasn’t flattering. If anything, it made her feel guilty for being the reason they were apparently still battling through. Clare ate in silence but with each swallow of food, her stomach only hurt her more as it was already twisting in knots. She only spoke up when forced to, as her dad tried engaging her in small talk about school. Clare wanted to tell them both about how much of a block she was having on her writing, how her creativity felt stifled but refrained. Instead she stuck with the finer points as her mother looked on and didn’t contribute anything to the conversation. It felt as if they were somehow sharing custody of her and it wasn’t a feeling Clare wanted to linger for long. “Helen, can you pass the salt?” Randall asked when his round of questions was over. “You really need to watch your blood pressure,” her mother replied as she still obliged and handed him the shaker. “It’s not going to kill me to add just a bit to my meal.” Helen’s mouth popped open as she set her fork down, her index finger pointing accusatorily at her husband. “May I be excused?” Clare interjected, not even bothering for a reply as she rose from her seat.
“What’s the matter, Clare?” her mother asked. “I’m not feeling well and I’d rather not stay for yet another fight. You know…I’ve been thinking that maybe you two should have a little talk with our pastor? There’s this kid at school,” Clare mumbled, hating to fib but deciding to take the advice Eli had given her a few days ago, “whose parents decided to go to counselling. It seems to be working for them. Maybe it’ll work for you too,” she said, fumbling with the purity ring on her left hand. Both of her parents stared at her as if they had never seen her before, both their mouths slightly agape. Helen was the first to break the silence as she scoffed and shook her head. “Counselling is for people who have problems and have trouble working them out. We’re fine.” Clare’s eyes widened at the sincerity in her mother’s words. The woman was so deep in denial that she believed her own lies. It was infuriating and, just then, far more than Clare could take. Gritting her teeth, Clare stormed out of the dining room and up the stairs, sure to make her footfalls heavy as she mounted each one. The final touch was slamming her bedroom door and locking it behind her. Sometime during the span of her leaving her parents and making it to her room, hot tears had formed in her eyes and were now making their way down her cheeks. Sucking in a breath, Clare wiped at her face stubbornly and grabbed her laptop from off her desk. She opened the door that led out to the balcony, instantly grateful for the fresh air that blew across her face. Taking a seat right on the ground, she turned on her laptop, hearing knocks and her parents’ voice calling for her from inside the house. Clare laughed humorlessly. The only time they banded together was to give her grief but Clare didn’t care. Opening up a fresh Word document, Clare began to type. The words flowed from her, as well as more tears but that hardly mattered. She’d been prompted all week to draw from her personal experience and find her voice again. It had been daunting, the prospect of facing her fears head on. But Clare vowed then and there not to be like her mother and to accept the truth for what it was.