Read Online Tonight the Streets Are Ours by Leila Sales - Free Book Online
Authors: Leila Sales
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sometime.”
“You liked macaroni last week.”
“Well, I don’t anymore. Can I go watch my movie now?”
“No,” their mother said. “You have to eat dinner before you can watch.”
“Why?”
“Because,” Arden jumped in, cuffing him on the shoulder, “Mom says so.” In the years since Roman’s toddler-aged tantrums, he had stopped crying so often, but he had never gotten less finicky.
“Fine,” he said. “I’ll eat.” He stood up, crossed to the cabinet, and pulled out a bag of Goldfish crackers. He stuck a handful in his mouth. “Okay?” he mumbled, his teeth gummy with orange gobs.
“Not okay,” Arden said. “That’s disgusting.”
“Not okay,” said their mom. “That’s not dinner . Sit down, Roman Huntley, and eat your macaroni and cheese .”
“But I don’t want it!” he cried. “You said I don’t have to eat anything I don’t want to eat! Are you going to force-feed me macaroni? What is this, prison ?”
“I’m not force-feeding you anything!” Their mother threw her hands up. “I worked hard on that macaroni, Roman. I made a special trip to the grocery store just to get the sort of shells you like. I made the bread crumbs from scratch. All of that, just for you, Roman. Arden isn’t even joining us for dinner tonight, and I made poached salmon for us grown-ups. The macaroni exists for you. So please, at least try it.”
Arden stole a bite off his plate. “It’s delicious, Mom. You’ve outdone yourself.”
Roman crossed his arms. “You can’t psychology me into eating it.”
“Dennis!” their mother called.
“One second!” their father shouted back.
“Not ‘one second’— right now .”
Arden was impressed. Her mother sounded firm. Even her father must have heard something unusual in her tone, because he emerged from his study to ask, “What’s going on?”
“Your son won’t eat his dinner,” Arden’s mother explained, pointing to the offending meal.
“Roman, eat your dinner,” their dad said immediately. “It’s dinnertime.”
“ You’re not eating dinner,” Roman retorted.
“I’m finishing up a big project. But once I’m done, I’m going to eat some of this tasty food that your mother cooked for us.”
“No, you’re not,” Roman said. “You’re going to eat poached salmon. I’m the only one who has to eat this macaroni. And I don’t like macaroni.”
“Oh.” Their father scratched his head. “I didn’t know you didn’t like macaroni.”
“None of us did,” contributed Arden.
“Do you want to just eat the salmon, too?” their father offered.
And even though Roman had a strict anti-seafood policy, he said, “Yeah!”
“Well, then.” Their father grinned and tousled his son’s hair. “Problem solved.”
“Problem not solved,” their mother snapped. “Dennis, please. Back me up here.”
“I’m leaving,” Arden tried again.
“If you’re leaving, then where’s your dress?” Roman asked.
All attention in the room shifted to Arden. She felt the blood rush to her cheeks and mentally cursed her little brother. Roman was the only sixth-grade boy she’d ever met who would notice whether his big sister was bringing the correct outfit to a high school dance.
“Where is your dress?” Arden’s mom asked softly.
A moment too late, it occurred to Arden to lie. To say that she’d forgotten it, and hold on a sec, she was just going to run back upstairs and grab it.
“I…” Arden began. But her guilt was written all over her face. She started over. “Kirsten and Naomi wanted us all to wear matching dresses, so…”
“You know what?” her mother said, standing up shakily. “Forget it.”
“Forget what?” asked their father.
“All of it. Everything. I can’t do this anymore. I’ve had it. It’s clear that none of you need me anyway, so I’m sure you’ll be just fine.”
“What?” Arden asked.
Her mother didn’t answer. She just grabbed her purse and walked out the front door.
The
“You liked macaroni last week.”
“Well, I don’t anymore. Can I go watch my movie now?”
“No,” their mother said. “You have to eat dinner before you can watch.”
“Why?”
“Because,” Arden jumped in, cuffing him on the shoulder, “Mom says so.” In the years since Roman’s toddler-aged tantrums, he had stopped crying so often, but he had never gotten less finicky.
“Fine,” he said. “I’ll eat.” He stood up, crossed to the cabinet, and pulled out a bag of Goldfish crackers. He stuck a handful in his mouth. “Okay?” he mumbled, his teeth gummy with orange gobs.
“Not okay,” Arden said. “That’s disgusting.”
“Not okay,” said their mom. “That’s not dinner . Sit down, Roman Huntley, and eat your macaroni and cheese .”
“But I don’t want it!” he cried. “You said I don’t have to eat anything I don’t want to eat! Are you going to force-feed me macaroni? What is this, prison ?”
“I’m not force-feeding you anything!” Their mother threw her hands up. “I worked hard on that macaroni, Roman. I made a special trip to the grocery store just to get the sort of shells you like. I made the bread crumbs from scratch. All of that, just for you, Roman. Arden isn’t even joining us for dinner tonight, and I made poached salmon for us grown-ups. The macaroni exists for you. So please, at least try it.”
Arden stole a bite off his plate. “It’s delicious, Mom. You’ve outdone yourself.”
Roman crossed his arms. “You can’t psychology me into eating it.”
“Dennis!” their mother called.
“One second!” their father shouted back.
“Not ‘one second’— right now .”
Arden was impressed. Her mother sounded firm. Even her father must have heard something unusual in her tone, because he emerged from his study to ask, “What’s going on?”
“Your son won’t eat his dinner,” Arden’s mother explained, pointing to the offending meal.
“Roman, eat your dinner,” their dad said immediately. “It’s dinnertime.”
“ You’re not eating dinner,” Roman retorted.
“I’m finishing up a big project. But once I’m done, I’m going to eat some of this tasty food that your mother cooked for us.”
“No, you’re not,” Roman said. “You’re going to eat poached salmon. I’m the only one who has to eat this macaroni. And I don’t like macaroni.”
“Oh.” Their father scratched his head. “I didn’t know you didn’t like macaroni.”
“None of us did,” contributed Arden.
“Do you want to just eat the salmon, too?” their father offered.
And even though Roman had a strict anti-seafood policy, he said, “Yeah!”
“Well, then.” Their father grinned and tousled his son’s hair. “Problem solved.”
“Problem not solved,” their mother snapped. “Dennis, please. Back me up here.”
“I’m leaving,” Arden tried again.
“If you’re leaving, then where’s your dress?” Roman asked.
All attention in the room shifted to Arden. She felt the blood rush to her cheeks and mentally cursed her little brother. Roman was the only sixth-grade boy she’d ever met who would notice whether his big sister was bringing the correct outfit to a high school dance.
“Where is your dress?” Arden’s mom asked softly.
A moment too late, it occurred to Arden to lie. To say that she’d forgotten it, and hold on a sec, she was just going to run back upstairs and grab it.
“I…” Arden began. But her guilt was written all over her face. She started over. “Kirsten and Naomi wanted us all to wear matching dresses, so…”
“You know what?” her mother said, standing up shakily. “Forget it.”
“Forget what?” asked their father.
“All of it. Everything. I can’t do this anymore. I’ve had it. It’s clear that none of you need me anyway, so I’m sure you’ll be just fine.”
“What?” Arden asked.
Her mother didn’t answer. She just grabbed her purse and walked out the front door.
The
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