Year Seven
"James, stop being disgusting."
James pouted, propping his round cheek up on his fist. With a wrinkle of his nose, he watched as grey goop dripped off his spoon back into the bowl. "But Mom, I don't like this stuff."
"It's healthy." Brooke flipped the glossy magazine page with a snap. She hummed and pursed her lips at the model taking over the page.
"It's gross." He scoped up another spoonful and slowly stuck out his tongue. The tip touched the lump pile and he gagged, throwing it back down. The spoon bounced around the rim of the bowl. "It tastes funny."
"Eat it."
"No."
All the air sucked out the room.
James gulped, leaning back in his chair. His chest tightened and he pressed his lips together. Maybe if he sank in his chair low enough he'd disappear.
"I can't believe you're being so ungrateful." Her words hung in the air, like a hot breath on a frozen January morning.
"I'm not—" James started, but the words died on his tongue at the disapproving look she shot his way. Of course he wouldn't be able to disappear. He'd said the wrong thing. She didn't like that.
"After everything I've done for you." She shook her head and let the pages of the magazine flip closed past her thumb. Once shut, she placed her elbows on the table and laced her fingers together, staring at him through the thick bands around her eyes. "You can't just eat some food that I've worked hard to provide for you. Do you know how early I have to get up to do work to get you that food? Do you know what I do all day? Do you know how hard I work?" She didn't wait for him to answer, instead letting out a mirthless chuckle. "And this is how you treat me."
She didn't even like to cook. Every time she had to, she would stomp around the kitchen, opening and closing cabinets, complaining about how Sterling couldn't at least make enough for them to get a chef and that she had to do everything by herself.
"Can't I just have some chicken nuggets?" That'd make things easier. All his mom would have to do was stick them in the microwave, she wouldn't have to cook, and James would eat it. It'd be better than whatever rice-mush thing this was.
"Those aren't good for you."
How could something that tastes so good be so bad? "But Dad makes them for me all the time and..." The temperature in the kitchen lowered a few degrees. James reached for his spoon. "Nevermind," he muttered.
Brooke pushed the bowl out of his reach. The ceramic bumped and scraped against the shiny hardwood. James winced, throwing his hands down into his lap. "No, you said something. You clearly wanted me to hear it. So what was it you said?"
Sour saliva pooled in James' mouth and he swallowed it down with an audible gulp. "I...I said Dad would—"
"Your father doesn't know what you need! Really? Are you kidding me? Your father's not the one slaving over a hot stove to make sure you're eating right!"
Pinpricks pinched the back of James' eyes. "I'm sorry, Mom. I'll eat it." He thew himself onto the table, grabbed the bowl, pulled it towards himself, and dug his spoon into the bowl. "See?" He opened his mouth wide and shoved it into his mouth. The texture hit his tongue and he slapped his hand over his lips, keeping it inside to keep from spewing it out everywhere. It was dry and wet, sticky and crumbly, tasteless and bitter all at once. But he forced his jaw to move, to chew, to mash the food around with his tongue until he had no choice but to swallow.
His heart pounded. A bead of sweat grew at his hairline. His breath came out in heaving gasps. But a chance look at Brooke out the corner of his eye got him...understanding?
"Why do you always have to do everything the hard way?" She reached out and stroke his hair. Her nails scratched behind his hear, sending a shiver down his spine. "Just be grateful. Is that too much to ask?"
"No, Mom. I'm...I'm sorry."
"You're my baby. I want you to be healthy."
"I know, Mom."
"I mean, you can't run around on stage and be the star if you're huffing and puffing and sweating on everyone."
"I know, Mom."
"In fact..." Her eyes gleamed and James' eyebrows furrowed. She'd never smiled at him like that before. "Finish up and I'll take you to the park."
His eyes widened. "Really?" Sitting up straight, he forced another spoonful of mush into his mouth. The faster he ate the faster they could go.
Maybe Kendall would be there too! And they could play pirates or Power Rangers and they could swing on the swings or play tag. Or maybe he and his mom could take a walk or pick flowers or—
"Yes, you still need to get your cardio in for the day."
