One Sunday Morning...

This skirt is just refusing to go past my buttocks! Pulling it up has been a struggle for the past one minute. What changed?

“That thing will rip. Just wear something else.” My sister, Bea, says.

“I have nothing else.”

She gives me a dirty look, “What do you mean? You have a whole ocean of clothes.”

“And there is a sea of laundry sitting somewhere in the house because dad fired the help on a whim.” I groan as my skirt lets out a ripping sound.

“Great! Now what do I do?”

Bea just hands me one of her ankle length skirts that I hate so much, ignoring the glare I give her.

“In all fairness, your hips are wider now and your ass has gotten thicker. Also, I do not think daddy would have smiled kindly on you trying to seduce men of God with your abundant flesh.” We both laugh.

“I wonder what is with his radical energy towards this whole Christian thing. Did you notice the lower cabinet is empty?”

Bea nods her head.

“What do you think he did with them? Gave them away? Poured them out?”

The look I give her is incredulous because, “Dad? Give away his Glenfiddich? You must be joking. He wouldn’t pour it away either. He would have hidden it somewhere pretending that it no longer exists.”

I pull the skirt to my waist and it is a little tight because Bea is slimmer than I am, but it flairs out below giving me freedom.

“I like this one.” I say

“You’re not having it. Joyce, Do you think daddy might be dying? He has been doing a lot of strange things lately. Two months ago, we started going to church. He fired the help and demanded we take charge of house chores. He has been coming home earlier, being loving and attentive to mom, and – I can’t believe this part – he doesn’t drink! Doesn’t this all set alarm bells in your head? I still can’t understand it.”

Her eyes are wild and confused - so Bea like. She gets obsessed with things that puzzle her, goes on the quest to solve them and inevitably gets attached to them. Just like she is doing with dad. She has gotten closer to him in two months, they talk, they chat and they laugh. He comes to kiss us good morning - another odd behaviour - and he would linger longer on her forehead. Their hugs are tighter and longer. I am not jealous or anything, I just hope Bea doesn’t get hurt. She is now used to the treatment even if it's only been two months and dad has been awful for nineteen years - to me at least. Bea is twenty-eight, she has been with him way longer than I have. That is my older sister for you. She is way too trusting and doesn’t understand the word “grudge”.

“Well, I’m sure it will come to light. For now, he isn’t saying anything. Let us move.”

Dad is fussing over mom by the time we get outside. It is still a strange sight to see and I can swear that Bea has tears in her eyes every time. Now, he is straightening her shawl and cooing her praise. I feel weird in my chest seeing it. He lifts his eyes and gives us a dazzling smile. My dad never smiled until two months ago.

“There they are. My treasures.”

He says that all the time now but I still can’t get used to it. I give a small smile but Bea might split her cheeks open if she smiles any wider. He hugs us at the same time, his perfume is mild today.

“Did you change your perfume, daddy?” Bea asks

“Yes I did.”

His arm is still around us as he leads us towards our mother who is also smiling. She looks radiant. She looks happy. The bags are gone from under her eyes and her cheeks appear plumper.

“Why?” I voice out.

“You see…” He leaves our side and goes to hold our mom who has an awestruck look on her face whenever he does that. I guess I’m not the only one who still gets surprised. Will I ever get used to this?

“Your mother, my wife, my precious,” he says all these things while looking at her and I feel a smile tug at my lips but I kill it, “is pregnant.” I think I heard that wrong.

“What?” I ask, it comes out more of a croak. Bea looks…traumatised. The far opposite of what I expected.

“I’m pregnant!” My mom resonates.

I look at Bea. For the first time in two months, she is not smiling. No, she is glaring at our dad.

“How long?” she asks. I feel a chill run up my spine. She sounds different.

“Ten weeks.”

“When did you find out, dad?”

I’m thrown off again. Bea has never used the word ‘dad’. I thought that was a me thing.

“Your mom told me this morning.” His smile is slipping, my mom’s too. Something’s off.

“Liar!” Bea yells. “You liar!” she screams again, pushing our dad. I’m alarmed. I’m stunned and every other word that means perplexed in the dictionary.

“Bea! Stop this at once.” Mom chides, but Bea is deaf. She is full-on sobbing now and a pile of tears on the floor. Her white skirt kissing the dirt.

“Bea…” I try to help her up.

“I can’t believe I thought you’d changed. What now? Will you make her abort it if it’s not a boy? Would you become detached and cruel when it turns out to be a girl? Will you return to your mistress?”

Bea is yelling but all I heard was boy, cruel and mistress. I’m trying to piece together Bea’s words. Bea has never yelled. She is always so soft spoken.

“Bea!” Mom yells now.

“No! We have been through this before. Have you forgotten? He would be sweet and loving and so unreal when you get pregnant. But what happens after the ultrasound? You have to lose it! And then he goes back to being what he is. Who he is! I can’t believe I thought he had changed.”

“What are you talking about Bea?” I’m shocked at all I’m hearing, “When did all this happen?”

“Oh Joyce!” She turns and grips me in a bear hug, “mom had to leave home for a while so she could have you. He wanted you out like the others before you. He has always been obsessed with having a boy like him. I did not want to believe it. I truly wanted to believe he had changed.”

“Bea please…” It's mom. I can’t see her but I know she is crying.

“I hate you both so much! I never want to see you again.” With that Bea snaps to her feet and runs back to the house, slamming the door short, leaving me sitting in the dirt. It’s so quiet. The atmosphere is charged, I can feel a storm.

“Darling…” my mom begins right before she is cut off.

“Get in the car. We’ll be late. Joyce, go stay with your sister.” His voice is cold. As cold as my heart. They drive off, leaving me there.

Two months later, mom and dad make a trip to which mom returns pale and haggard. Bea is unusually quiet and moving to her new apartment. As for dad, he is drinking again. I guess the baby is gone.

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Image edited in canva.
© Deraaa || July 2025

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