#Chapter54
How she had gotten me to agree to this, I'd never know.
It had sounded like a bad idea. Every logical thought I had been able to string together indicated that it was a bad idea, and yet, like the foolish little otter-weasel that I was, I had agreed.
And surprise, surprise, it turned out to be a bad idea.
An avalanche of awkwardness had settled over the kitchen, violating every nook, filling every crevice. The quietness seemed amplified by the sour atmosphere, broken apart only by the sounds of knives and forks scraping against plates.
I loved chicken and pasta bake, especially as mom always made the side of salad look like a smiley face or some kind of cool art. I loved dinner as a family. It was a rarer occurrence than it had used to be. Isaac was either out or mom was at work.
But I didn't love it tonight. I had only taken one mouthful and had retorted to pushing the rest around my plate, stomach cramping.
