The Storm Tossed Family Or: Guess Who’s Coming Out at Dinner

“I’m sure you are both aware that under normal circumstances, I have grounds to expel you.” Principal Brelling stated, staring down at us from behind thickly rimmed spectacles. Grey haired, liver spotted, with leathery, aged skin, the man looked positively patrician.
We nodded in unison. We’ve found that this tends to weird people out to the point where being rid of us is preferable to the alternative.
He took his glasses off, and in the time-honored tradition of the much put upon, began rubbing his temples vigorously. “Luckily, for you these are no ordinary circumstances. Without even having to ask, would it be fair of me to assume that Mr. Thompson and his associates instigated your altercation?”
We nodded in unison.
“Of course, of course,” he continued, still massaging his incipient migraine, and not bothering to look at either of us. “It would also be a fair assumption, were I able to visit Mr. Thompson at the hospital, though I have no doubt his confederates will confirm, it was you two that started things.” Marlin made to object, but the Principal forestalled her with a wave of his hand, “No, no, don’t bother. I already know the answers to all of the questions. This is neither the first time this has happened, nor will it be the last.”
While there had been no worries in my mind about whether we would be facing serious trouble or not, a small amount of relief still wriggled its way into my chest. One look at Marlin assured me she felt it too.
“However, because the only witnesses willing to come forward are the five of you that were involved, conjecture is all we have to go on. Equal punishment is the only recourse, God forbid that idiot’s parents get involved again should I show his victims any leniency.”
“Equal punishment? That isn’t fair!” I shouted at him.
He looked at me, and in his eyes I saw an educator that had been through this too many times, with too many kids. “Whoever started the fight gets expelled, we can’t prove who started it, so all of you get suspension. One week. Your parents have already been contacted,” and then, like a man doing an impression of someone realizing that a problem was no longer his problem, he smiled a wide, friendly smile. “Please try to stay out of trouble from now on, otherwise it’s going to be a long school year.”
Like that, we were dismissed from his office.
Straight into the looming form of our fuming father. “Car,” he pointed through the double doors, towards the waiting SUV, “now.” We shuffled past him as he gave a curt nod towards our principal, then turned to follow us out.
An unexpected surprise came in the form of Soren, buckled in the back seat, without a care in the world. Far from troubled, our brother was wearing a grin that would have been more at home celebrating a successful diamond heist. “Ooooh. You’re in trouble,” he sang.
“Us?” my indignant sister shot back. “You’re truant! Shouldn’t you be at school right now?”
The grin fell from his less-than-innocent cherub face. “I’m in trouble, too,” he admitted, flatly.
It was Marlin’s turn to smile, “You are definitely our brother.”
“What are you in for?” I asked him, genuinely curious. How often do three siblings find themselves kicked out of school on the first day?
Without shame, or volume control, he bleated, “I karate chopped a boy’s head off! Hiya!” Soren emphasized this last bit with his signature chopping of air that could not possibly fight back.
Dad, quiet so far, adjusted the mirror as he drove to get a better look at his quarrelsome offspring, “Soren, buddy, what’d I tell you about lying?”
Deadpan, he answered from rote, “Never lie to impress people and always make it believable.”
Returning his focus to the road, Dad nodded, “That’s right. He was fighting. Seems to be the day for it.”
Before we could wonder about why our father was so calm, quiet, not locking the doors and driving all four of us into a lake, Soren turned bright red with anger and practically shouted in a single breath, “One of the dumb older boys pushed my girlfriend down and tried to kiss her and I called him a buttface and then I kicked him in his buttface.” His tiny cheeks bulged with heavy breathing.
Trying to mask his snicker with an unconvincing cough, Dad managed to say, “You did the right thing, kiddo. That’s why,” he looked at us through the rearview mirror again, “he only got one day of suspension.”
“You don’t have a girlfriend,” I teased.
Still flushed and panting, he stuck his tongue out at me. “Uh huh.”
I raspberried him right back, “Since when?”
Dismissing me, he crossed his arms firmly across his chest and lifted his chin up and away in Marlin’s direction. “Since last year.” Then he whispered, “Buttface.”
Too loud, as Dad heard it. “Hey, I’ll only let you get away with that once. Watch your mouth.”
Ignoring the other two males in the car, Soren directed his attention at a possible sympathetic ally, “Her name is Isabelle but everyone calls her Punk and she’s beautiful.”
Marlin patted him reassuringly on the head, but instead of reassurance, she only had condescension, “I don’t believe you.”
He swatted her hand away, “Well, PUNK says you don’t have to believe in mountains for them to be mountains.”
I could not resist one final quip, “You know what, little brother? Good for you. At least we know she’s way smarter than you.”
“Duh,” he said. The little shit was beyond smug. I gave him a high-five.
To say that the rest of the car ride was uneventful was the very definition of a stretched truth. uneventful in the sense that nothing happened? Pure truth. Mentally, however, we had faced some truly terrifying moments together, but none of it was a match for the building   of tension caused by our father’s relentless calm. Not being able to read him was maddening, and we had no way to be sure if he was doing it on purpose or because he was truly untroubled. His instructions, delivered in a chipper voice, to take care of Soren while he returned to work, only served to feed our gnawing anxiety.
Leaving Soren in our care, he went back to work, with absolutely no clue about either his mood or our future punishment.
We cleaned.
We made dinner.
We waited for the coming storm with a keen sense of deja-vu.
Much like before, we were to wait until evening for the unknown.
Dad sat at the table first, a wry grin giving away nothing. He wouldn’t start eating until mom joined, so neither did we. Soren did, but his appetite was ephemeral at best, so he ate when he ate and no one made any comment.
When she finally did arrive, mom apologized as she maneuvered her way around the table to kiss each of our foreheads in turn, then joined us, “Sorry I’m late, you would not believe the day I had. A boy came in this morning, right when my shift started. It looked like he got his hand stuck in a tractor,” mom told us, as if she was causally mentioning the weather. Oddly cheerful for someone who should, given the situation, be furious, said, “Oh, this smells wonderful.” She bit into the chicken breast on her plate with undisguised hunger. “It even tastes good. Did you make this?”
“Y-yes,” I stammered, totally confused. “I mean, we both did,” I added, not looking up.
Mom surveyed her family for a long moment, taking in the, I am proud to admit, the well-balanced and carefully thought out meal of chicken picata, orzo, brocolli, and two glasses of red wine for our parents. “This is nice.” Mom’s smile hung on her face, then a faint malicious edge tinged her voice,” Your father tells me that all three of my children were suspended today for fighting. Tell me, is it something we did as parents? Do we not love you enough? Do you hate us? Are you being rebellious because you’re entering your teenage years?” Obviously fake tear glittered in the corner of her eyes, amplifying her attempted guilt trip slash outrage.
Unfortunately for her, we were far too inured to her martyrdom. Also, I would have been more inclined to take her seriously if she had not mixed her parental reaction mediums. “Yes. To all of that,” I told her through a mouth full of chicken. “It’ll probably be you that they blame for all the evil we enact on the world. You should really catch up on our new manifesto.”
“Funny” she sneered.
“I thought so.”
Mom set her fork down with a punctuated clink. Steepling her fingers, her glare shifted between Marlin and me. “You went too far today.”
“Even me?” Soren, who had been poking at the remains of his broccoli, asked.
“No, sweetheart. You did the right thing, your father and I are very proud of you.” He beamed. “Your siblings on the other hand.”
“It was self-defense!” Marlin protested.
“I understand that. Your father understands that.” Dad simply nodded affirmation at his plate as he continued to shovel food into his mouth. “That is why we aren’t nearly as mad at you as we should be. But, really,” exasperation lowering her volume to a near whisper, “you got suspended on the first day”
“And sent a kid to the hospital,” I reminded her, immediately aware I had pushed the limit.
Mom slammed her fist on the table, rattling silverware and spilling water from rocked glasses. Her sudden, uncharacteristic, real outburst stunned everyone into embarrassed silence. She was the peacemaker, the problem solver, the pacifier, the paragon of parental patience in face of her perpetually perturbing pubescent progeny.* Seeing our family’s bastion of calm truly angry was truly unsettling. “You need to learn restraint!” She shouted. “There was absolutely no reason to take it to that level!”
Caution not being her strong suite, Marlin muttered under her breath, “Better him than us.”
“Hush,” mom hissed acidly.
Dad, his plate clear, leaned back, and spoke up, “Just because you CAN hospitalize someone, doesn’t mean you SHOULD. You know the saying: With great punching strength…’
Some semblance of shame settled in finally. I finished the quote, “Comes the great obligation to only hit someone as hard as necessary and no harder.”
“We have to pay that kid’s hospital bill, so it might as well have been one of you two trouble makers instead of him. Regardless,” dad interrupted our faux outrage, “of the why. As it stands, this is the second medical related expense caused directly by your shenanigans. Gee, this sure does feel familiar,” he gave us a sideways scowl. “Now, I can only afford to send one of you to college. The other one has to strip. No, don’t you dare look at your sister. No daughter of mine is going to end up on the pole.”
It was hard to tell if he was joking or not.
“In the meantime, you’re both grounded and, and,” he repeated over a chorus of moans, “until you’re allowed back at school, consider yourselves indentured servants. Marcus, you’re working with me at the shop. I’m packing for a convention this weekend, so I need you running the counter.”
“Lin, you’re coming to the hospital with me.”
“That’s not fair!” I said.
“You can’t separate us!” Marlin said.
“You two are terrible influences on each other! It’ll do you some good. Besides, when was the last time you spent more than a few hours apart?”
Marlin thought for a moment. “When Marcus got sick and had diarrhea?”
“Seriously? At the table?”
Marlin looked disgusted, “Ew, no! In the bathroom.” Realization dawned, “Oh. Sorry.”
“Boy, if it makes you feel any better, there’s a new girl who started coming in regularly,” Dad winked at me. “I think she’s your age, maybe you’ll meet her.”
Marlin huffed, “Why can’t I work at the shop? Why don’t you ever find girls for me?”
“Because it’s probably never going to be difficult for you to find them on your own, and we want grand-kids at some point. Your brother is going to need all the help he can get.”
“Hey!” I objected. “Wait, what? Why can’t she have kids? Why can’t you have kids? Why’s it gotta be me?”
Ignoring me, Marlin asked, “You know?”
“Of course we know. We’re old, not dumb.”
“And you’re okay with it?”
“Sweetie, there’s nothing to be okay or not okay with. We love you no matter what.”
“What is everyone talking about?”
“Your sister is gay.”
“You’re gay?”
“You’re surprised? How could you not know? I mean, we’re twins, we do everything the same. You like fighting, I like fighting. You like pizza, I like pizza. You like girls, I like girls.” She spouted off the list nonchalantly, like it was nothing but a mere contrivance, but I could sense the waves of nervous tension hidden beneath the placid surface of her calm.
“Okay, by that logic, I should like guys though.”
“Do you like guys?”
“No.”
“There you go.”
“I,” but I could feel her discomfort radiating from her. My desire to ask any further questions, regardless of my curiosity or the need to tease my sister, eroded in the face of her upwelling panic. I shut up and held out my hand for a diplomatic handshake. Marlin took it with slightly confused hesitation. “I hereby, as your brother, officially love and accept you as you are and without reservation. Furthermore, I support you and your sexuality, while also secretly harbouring token resentment,” she inhaled sharply, expecting me to say something awful, “over the fact that someone as equally attractive as myself will prove a threat for future romantic endeavours.”
She exhaled, it was long, and for her it was not an act. Marlin needed a moment to steady herself, visible relief coloring her from neck to the top of her head. Seeing her shake like that made me feel kind of terrible for dragging it out the way I did.
Returning my handshake, she proclaimed, “And, I, as your sister, officially accept your support and love, while vowing to try my best not to sabotage any of your future relationships on purpose. But, I am secretly not promising anything because we both know we’re each other’s competition.”
“Jesus Christ,” dad broke the abnormal parental silence. “My children as so frigging dramatic.” He began eating again, and asked around a mouthful of broccoli, “If you’re all done coming out and reconciling Lyn’s lifestyle that was never an issue, can someone please pass me a napkin?”
Before either of us could respond to his sarcasm, Soren spoke up, “What’s gay?”
“You are,” I said automatically and regretted it instantly. Knowing that I would see a look of real hurt on Marlin’s face, I kept my focus on Soren. “You may or may not be,” I told him, trying desperately to take my foot out of my mouth, “and it doesn’t matter either way. You know how you like like Isabelle?”
Soren went an interesting shade of red. Very quietly he said, “Yeah.”
“Well, it’s like that, only gay is when a boy like likes another boy, or a girl like likes another girl. There’s nothing wrong with it.” As an afterthought, and because I suddenly felt more responsibility for the person my little brother grew up to be than I ever had, I wrapped my arm around his shoulder and told him, “If anyone around you ever uses it as an insult, or to be hurtful, you have my permission to tell them this: ‘You’re a shitty,”
A wet floret, launched by mom, smacked my cheek by way of interruption, followed by a harsh, “Language!”
Ignoring the scandalized tones, I continued unabashed, “You’re a shitty person, and a bigot, to imply gay is wrong.”
Still too ashamed to make eye contact with Marlin, I stared into Soren’s eyes until he nodded understanding. “Good.”
As we lay together that night, sleep taking a position at our periphery leaving Marlin restless and me overly contemplative. In the darks silence, Marlin asked tentatively, “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Yes,” I answered immediately. “No,” I answered again. “I don’t know,” I answered truthfully. Something about my sister’s confession was bothering me, but I was at a loss as to what. Our parents were not particularly religious, so that was not an aspect of the problem. Maybe I just thought I knew her so well that learning something so important at this point in our lives was shocking to me and cast doubt on what I thought I knew? Then there was the issue of this morning; the way that kid was so hateful, calling me a faggot, and my reaction at being called one. How many times had I called someone gay, or made a joke about it? Of all those times, how many had my sister, my best friend, been there to hear? Was Marlin going to have to deal with that kind of vitriol for the rest of her life?
Unable to vocalize any of that particular minefield, I instead asked, “You’re still the same person, right? Does this change anything?”
I could feel her mull the question over, she countered with, “Is there anything different about me? Would a single day change who I am to you? Have I acted any differently that I do from every other day that we’ve spent together?
“When you put it like that,” I admitted, “I guess not. I’m just worried about you.”
“Why??
“Not about; for. What you’ll have to put up with.” With a degree of difficulty, I told her about the litany of concerns swirling around in my head. She was my sister, and if navigating a minefield was what it took to make her happy, well.
“I won’t lie, it hurt sometimes.” A ice pick of guilt stabbed me in the gut. “But, after what you told Soren, you’re forgiven. In any case, I can take care of myself. On the rare occasion that I can’t, I have you.”
“Yes, yes you do.”
*I was in the full grip of my alliteration phase.**
**You can be insufferable sometimes.***
***You’re both ridiculous.