I feel like a phony. A phony because I'm parading around at church with a phony family and being phony about the fact that they are phony. My parents act like the model family on Sunday's, and they expect me to go along with the act. And of course I do because I'll surely pay if I don't.
          The sermon has ended and things are as usual. My dad is in a group with all the other deacons being phony about how proud he is of me and how much he loves his beautiful wife. The other men are congratulating him on his twentieth anniversary. Twenty years of "happy" marriage. My mother is in a group with all the other deacons' wives boasting about her swollen stomach containing my unborn little sister. I feel sorry for the little fetus. Born to be phony.
          "The doctors say little Ria is coming in three weeks. I'm gonna miss having her in there. Apart of me.", my mother says as the other women coo over her like they would a baby.
           Would they find her so enjoyable if they knew how phony she is? All mom ever talks about is getting Ria out. She has stated multiple times how she hates being pregnant and wishes that Ria could be born premature. I actually heard her praying for that to happen the other day. Phony bitch.
          I am in a group with the other kids my age that go to the church. They are all talking. I am not. Because if I talk, I'll have to be phony. And then I'd be like my parents. Hell no. So I sit and listen to them talk and think about Savvy. How I wish she was here. Actually I wish I was somewhere else with her. Maybe walking on a moonlit West Coast beach. Or people watching in NYC. Or singing karaoke in Tokyo.
          But I am in none of those places. I am here with my faux family. Sigh.
          Finally, after what felt like hours, my dad tapped me on the shoulder and said,
          "Hey, kiddo, it's time to go. Mom's already in the car. Grab your stuff and let's roll."
         Kiddo? Ha. Phony.
................................................................
          When we got home my dad left almost immediately. Almost because my mom stopped him at the door.
          "Where are you going, honey?", she asked. There was so much love in her voice that it made the air swell.
          "Just to do some stuff for work.", my dad replied. His voice was cold. How can mom not hear it?
          "Jack. Yesterday you said you were doing stuff for work so you could have today off."
           "Something came up, Diane.", he replied, even more icy then before.
          "But it's our anniversary, Jack!", my mom whined as she grabbed his arm. He looked down at her hand on his arm and then back up at her face. She looked damn near tears. He ripped his arm from her grasp.
          "I have to go.", his tone was sharp as the blade I had once took to my arm. He then walked out, slamming the door behind him.
          "Mom?", I said softly as I peeked out from the sunroom where I had been eavesdropping. She turned to look at me. From the look on her face I had startled her.
          "Hey, Serena.", she said. Her voice cracking as she wiped away the tears like I hadn't seen them already. I came out of the sunroom and into the foyer.
          "Are you alright.", I asked her. Dummy, of course she's not alright! She started to say something, but she froze and I could see that her eyes were focused on something behind me. I turned around to look. There was nothing wrong that was apparent to me. Just the same wooden table that had always been in the foyer.
          "He- he left his wedding ring.", she whispered. I looked closer and, yes, there it was. My father's marriage band. Oh God. My mother dropped to her knees. She was sobbing loudly now with her head in her hands. I could hear her saying things between sobs, but the only words I could make out were "fool" and "naive".
I despised my mom for letting my dad abuse me, but it is only now that I realize he was abusing her as well, but in another way. Emotionally. I still hated her for all the times she never saved me from my father's fists, but after all, she is my mother.