A Bitch Named Karma. Stephanie Haefner

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СКАЧАТЬ “Alexandra, come say hello to your cousin!”

      I forced myself toward the foyer to greet them, almost losing a toe when the oldest boy brat came running at me and stomped on my foot. Holding in what I really wanted to say, I spouted an emotionless, “Hello,” and flashed my fake smile.

      “I’ll leave you girls to catch up! I’m sure there’s so much you need to talk about!” Mom giggled. “You two used to be such great friends as children!”

      Friends? Um, no. I was more like her prisoner, held captive in her bedroom while she bragged about her extensive toy collection, demonstrating each and every one but never allowing me to touch or play with them. Her parents had spoiled her rotten and given her a superiority complex. As we got older, I realized I did not have to sit there and take her bull so I began avoiding her as much as possible.

      After brief small talk, dinner was served. I somehow had the misfortune of being seated next to the youngest brat. I watched him shove peas in his nose, his parents oblivious as they carried on with adult conversation. He sprawled across the table to grab a breaded pork chop off the serving platter, dragging it across Great Grandma Louise’s lace tablecloth to his plate. He speared it with his fork and began biting off of it.

      “Jake, baby, don’t do that!” Wendy called and the mini brat slammed the chop back onto his plate. “Lexi, be a dear, and cut that up for him.”

      I looked down and he glared back, flames filling his pupils. Surely he came from the devil’s loins. If I didn’t cut up his pork chop, would his head spin and sparks come flying out his ears? That might actually bring some life to this dull affair.

      After completing my good deed for the day, I turned my attention back to my plate. I savored the homemade scalloped potatoes and sipped on my wine. As I closed my eyes to wonder how much longer this night would last, I heard a gagging sound coming from the seat next to me.

      “Oh my God!” Wendy screamed and Randy jumped up to smack Jake on the back. He coughed up a hunk of pork chop.

      “Lexi, what is wrong with you?” Wendy scowled at me.

      “What did I do?”

      “He’s a child! He can’t eat pieces of meat that big! Why didn’t you cut them smaller?”

      “How am I supposed to know how big to cut his meat? He’s not my kid!”

      “Yeah, that’s the answer I’d expect from a selfish single woman.”

      The meal continued in silence with the exception of the kids, who decided it necessary to make flatulence sounds at the dinner table. Owen began banging his fork on anything and everything around him, seemingly silent to everyone’s ears except mine. Bang! Bang! Bang! on his glass, and then thud. Bright red juice flowed like a river across the table and into my lap.

      “You idiotic little cretin! Can’t you be more careful?” I scrambled up.

      “Don’t you dare speak to my child like that!”

      I knew what I wanted to say to her, but kept it to myself. It wasn’t appropriate for young ears. Amazed at my self restraint, I tossed her a dirty look and walked away from the table as the kids pointed and laughed at the red splotches that covered me.

      “Alexandra, where are you going?” Mom asked.

      “I’m going to bed.”

      “But we’re playing charades after dinner.”

      Did a twenty-four-hour sterilization clinic exist? If so, I needed to drive there right away. If I ever found myself with child, they’d better lock me in an insane asylum right from the get-go, cause that’s exactly where I’d end up.

      * * * *

      Sunday morning came and Mom practically dragged me to church. And of course this week my parents were in charge of distributing coffee and doughnuts afterward. I tried to get out of it, knowing I’d come face to face with Pastor Nerd-a-lot, but no dice. I hid in a corner and sipped my coffee in peace, but of course that wasn’t good enough for my mother. She nagged until I came into the kitchen, and gave me the job of putting doughnuts on paper plates.

      “Good morning, Alexandra,” I heard from behind, a nasally voice I could recognize anywhere.

      “Hello, Pastor John,” I tried to say in my most angelic way.

      “Did you enjoy the sermon today?”

      I couldn’t remember one word of it. I’d tuned it out and stared at the bulletin the entire time, counting how many A’s there were, then B’s. I only made it to C before boredom consumed me.

      “Oh, it was nice,” I answered. Was it a sin to lie to a pastor? Probably tiny compared to the whoppers on my list for St. Peter when I sit in front of those pearly gates. Pete will surely have a smile on his face as he reads over my transgressions.

      “Forgive me if this is forward,” he began. Oh no, a start like that couldn’t be good. “Would you mind accompanying me to the Pot Luck Dinner next Saturday?”

      What could I say? I almost felt bad for the poor guy. He couldn’t help his dorkiness. I almost thought of accepting the invitation out of pity. He desperately needed a good lay and visions floated through my head of all the wacky positions I could contort our bodies into. He’d never be the same again.

      “I’m sorry, I can’t. I’ll be out of town.” Lie number two.

      “Okay, maybe another time,” he said and walked off to chat with his parishioners.

      On the way home afterward, Mom asked if I’d accepted the pastor’s invitation.

      “No, and how did you know about it anyway?”

      “Pastor John asked your father and me if we minded. Why ever would you turn him down?”

      “He’s not my type.”

      “Alexandra, he is lovely and kind and would make a wonderful husband.”

      “What? Are you husband shopping for me?”

      “Well, if you’re asking me if I think you need a little guidance in the area, then yes!”

      “This is ridiculous. If I even want to get married, and that’s a big if, I can certainly find my own man.”

      “Apparently you haven’t had the best of luck lately.”

      “Unbelievable! When we get back to the house, I’m outta here. I can’t take this anymore.”

      As soon as we pulled into the driveway, I stomped up to my room and packed up my extremely limited wardrobe. I ran to the only person I hoped would be there for me no matter what—Marcus.

      I called him on the cab ride back into the city. He didn’t say much, but agreed to meet me at Java House, a coffee shop around the block from his apartment. When I walked in, he sat on a plush leather couch with two lattes in fancy Styrofoam cups with lids. He apologized for not returning the call I’d made to him days before.

      I brought Marcus up СКАЧАТЬ