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“For the last time, Dad, I’m not going! End of discussion!”
“That is most certainly not the end of this discussion, young lady!”
“Well, it most certainly is for me!”
“Don’t take that tone with me, Sarah Grace!”
The rising volume of my father’s voice makes me flinch on my sister’s behalf. It must be bad if Dad is dropping her full name in an argument.
I hear the unmistakable sound of stomping coming from the living room and try to relax. At least the war is raging in another room, allowing me to continue my quiet breakfast in the kitchen. I scoop up another spoonful of cereal with one hand and scroll mindlessly on my phone with the other—all part of my peaceful Sunday morning routine.
“You know, I honestly don’t even have to come home at all!” Grace shouts, suddenly storming into the kitchen. Strands of her multi-colored curls hang messily in her hazel eyes as she yanks open a cabinet for a coffee mug.
I tense as Dad enters the kitchen soon after, frustration painted across his fairer features. He runs a hand through his short, graying blonde hair and sighs as he watches Grace pour her coffee.
Well, so much for my peaceful Sunday breakfast.
Dad takes a calming breath. “Look, Grace, there’s just no need to–”
“Actually, you know what?” Grace interrupts, spinning around to face him again. “Maybe I should just commute to work from campus on the weekends from now on if this is what I have to look forward to every Sunday!”
“We’re not saying that, Grace,” my mother pleads as she joins us in the kitchen. Her big brown eyes brim with empathy, brows furrowed with worry as she approaches Grace and tentatively reaches for Grace’s hand. “Of course we want you here!”
“Then stop pressuring me to go to church with you!” Grace demands, recoiling away from Mom’s touch. “I told you I hate it there!”
Fortunately, no one seems to notice that I’m even in the room, sitting perfectly still at the table with my half-finished breakfast. As long as I don’t make any noise or sudden movements, I can only pray that this shouting match will blow over soon, or at least maybe migrate into another room so that I can escape back upstairs.
“We’re just worried about you, honey,” Mom begs again. That’s Mom—always trying to be the peacemaker in these situations, desperate to ease the tension and calm everyone back down.
“We want what’s best for you,” Dad adds sternly. He is the far less accommodating parent, unwilling to back down when he believes he’s right.
Grace rolls her eyes. She definitely gets her stubbornness honestly. “I’m an adult, you don’t get to–”
“You may be an adult,” Dad cuts her off, unrelenting. “But when you’re living under our roof, you respect our rules. You know that.”
“So, is that a rule now? That if I’m here, I have to attend church every Sunday?”
Dad hesitates, but only briefly. “Maybe it should be.”
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