Cleo

The autumn sun warmed The City’s eastern suburbs, illuminating the large homes which cast gaping shadows across the perfectly trimmed trees and lush gardens. With October nearing its bitter end, the Citizens pulled their scarves tighter, yanked their hats lower and shivered in the crisp wind. The trees, now painted auburn, were shedding their leaves, which littered the sidewalks, but never seemed to touch the well-manicured lawns. In these suburbs, the housewives would wave patient hellos from their wrap-around porches or as they walked their dogs, but the interactions never went beyond cordial pleasantries. No, the rich liked to keep to themselves. That way, their imperfections, family drama, and secrets remained comfortably behind closed doors.

            Near the cul-de-sac at the end of Peach Street was an enormous gray house, peppered with dying flowers in the front. Whenever the housewives walked their pure-bred dogs past this house, their eyes lingered over the poorly kept garden for a few extra seconds, their lips curling at the sight of the weeds peeping through the overgrown lawn. They all knew the woman living here preferred to tend to the home herself, rather than hire a maid.

            Truth be told, Cleo Adel liked to keep herself busy. She would rather get shit done herself than rely on a maid, cook, gardener, or her husband – even if this meant failure to meet the neighborhood’s standards. Often, parts of her home were neglected, as Cleo attempted to keep all twenty-three rooms of the three-story home tidy, while also cooking the meals, doing the laundry, the shopping, and keeping track of her eleven-year-old daughter. All these chores fell on top of her work as a part-time freelance magazine writer.

            On this particular afternoon, Cleo had her head halfway into the oven. No, it’s not what you think – she was wearing her ‘for manual labor around the house’ overalls, scrubbing at the grime on the inside.

            Just as the phone in her pocket began vibrating madly, Cleo jumped, banging her head on the top of the oven. Swearing loudly, she drew herself out and rubbed the back of her head, completely forgetting that her hands were covered in grime and cleaning grease.

            “Motherfucker,” she snapped, realizing that her hair was now a slimy, dirty mess. She groaned, wiped her hands on the overalls and pulled her vibrating phone from her pocket. She frowned at the number.

            It was Daisy’s school. She cleared her throat and used the same tone as when she made small talk with the neighbors. “Hello?”

            A dull female voice replied. “Hi, is this Ms. Cleopatra Adel?”

            “Yes — uh, just Cleo, please,” she replied half-heartedly, wiping the sweat from her brow, all the while unknowingly smearing more grime and cleaning grease on her face.

            The woman went on, “Ms. Adel, your daughter has been called to the principal’s office. Her homeroom teacher would like to bring you in for a discussion.”

            “A discussion,” Cleo repeated hollowly, as the words started to sink in. “Um … right now?”

            A pause. Cleo could almost feel the woman rolling her eyes through the phone. “Yes, right now.”

            She looked down at herself. Her brown arms were covered in grime, as were her eight-year-old overalls. The chocolate ringlets of hair were held together with a scrunchie and bandana atop her head. “You’ve … kind of caught me at a bad time.”

            “Is there anyone else that can pick up your daughter?” she asked evenly. “Perhaps your husband? Is he involved in raising Daisy?”

            “Yes, she’s our daughter,” Cleo replied haughtily. Sure, her daughter had the features of another man, but Cleo still despised it when people implied that Daisy was only her daughter. “And he’s in The City working.”

            “Well then, Ms. Adel, I ask that you get to the school as quickly as you can. See you soon.” And she hung up.

            Cleo sputtered in shock at the phone. How dare the woman act so rude — as if Cleo’s time wasn’t important. Perhaps this was to be expected for sending Daisy to that stuffy private school.

            Cleo allotted herself thirty seconds to mope and rub her temples (still getting more cleaning grease on her face) before dashing upstairs and into the shower, scrubbing herself so vigorously that when she emerged surrounded by a cloud of steam, her skin shined raw and bright red. Completely naked, Cleo rushed to her bedroom where she extracted her nicest pantsuit and overcoat. She dressed quickly and threw on a pair of diamond earrings for good measure; no problem couldn’t be helped by waving a bit of money in someone’s face. Her eyes darted to the clock as she slipped a large bandage on her foot to prevent blisters from these god-awful heels – she was making good time. After blotting her hair dry and covering it in a wrap, she unsteadily descended the stairs and, snatching her green leather purse, stumbled out the door of her beautiful house, trying all the while not to trip in her shoes.

            Shoving the key into the ignition of her BMW, Cleo backed out of the driveway and skirted down the street. Vast estates swept past the window, some with white picket fences and some with grand gates.

At the first stoplight, she checked her reflection in the rearview mirror. The bars of sunlight streaking through the spotty clouds seemed to shine a spotlight on her blemishes. Aside from the uneven skin, Cleo found herself to be quite pretty — a sentiment that was validated once she had passed the physical appearance part of The Test on her first try. If she were ugly or fat, she wouldn’t have had a slim chance of passing. Her eyes were large as meatballs and strikingly dark. Her hair was voluminous, lush curls that settled just past her shoulders. Her nose was small, thin, pointed. Her lips were full and nearly pink, a beautiful contrast, she always thought, against her copper skin. Her favorite feature, however, were the sprinkle of freckles across her cheeks and nose — uncommon for someone of middle eastern descent.

            The blaring of a car horn erupted from somewhere behind her. Cleo looked up to find that the light had turned green. She readjusted the rearview mirror and pressed on the gas.

            Just as Cleo rounded the corner to Daisy’s school — centuries-old brick buildings that were once the childhood home of a politician in The Whore’s Age — she was met with a group of about forty people holding signs just beyond the campus gates. She had a feeling that they were protesting the sex laws — the protests were always about the sex laws.

            Squinting at the signs, she saw that her suspicions were confirmed. ‘Legalize Sex,’ ‘Let Anyone Have Sex,’ ‘I Want To Bear My Own Child’. The group comprised men and women, mostly in their late-twenties and early thirties, all of whom had undoubtedly failed The Test all four times. They were chanting, marching in circles, yelling at passersby. Their faces twisted with pure anger and passion.

Cleo huffed under her breath, as she always did when faced with The Liberation Movement. Such protests were sure to attract a police presence and probably some scuffles, which was likely why they were picketing in front of a school: maybe the police would go easy on them.

            And as Cleo drove past them, intending to drown out their pointless screams with some of her own, she drew a pause when her eyes fell on one woman in the crowd. She was in her early thirties with a short afro covered with a bright sun hat, wearing jeans and a turtleneck that were clearly stolen from Cleo’s closet…

Cleo’s stomach lurched as she recognized her friend. Yanking the wheel to the side to pull up to the curb, Cleo rolled down the window. “Savannah Martins!” she hollered.

            Savannah caught her eye and smiled sheepishly.

            “Get in the car!” she snapped. “Come on.”

            Savannah hesitated, clearly weighing her options.

            “Savannah, now. Or you can find a new place to stay tonight.”

            At the threat of being kicked out, Savannah relented, stomping over like an angsty child, tossing her sign in the back of the BMW and sitting in the passenger seat, arms crossed.

            Rolling up the window, Cleo glared at her and asked in a threatening voice, “Why the hell are you at this protest?”

            Savannah sniffed, clearly frustrated. “You know my views, Cleo. This system is absolutely absurd.” After all the chanting and shouting, her voice sounded like that of a chain-smoker.

            “It keeps the population in check,” Cleo shot back. “You’re just annoyed because you never passed The Test.”

            “Hey, come on. You know that’s not it,” Savannah grumbled, staring out the window. “I really believe in this, as does everyone in The Liberation Movement.”

            Cleo did her best to keep her voice even. “Why do you think members of The Liberation Movement keep disappearing? It’s because The Government is finding them.” She instinctively glanced around her car, half-expecting a policeman to pop out of the corner.

“And that’s totally unethical. Just shows how fucked up this society is.”

“That’s not the point,” Cleo hissed, now lowering her voice in case her car was bugged. “For you to be openly supporting The Movement, it puts not only yourself in danger, but my whole family.”

Savannah shrunk slightly. “I would never do anything to put you guys in danger—”

“Not true,” Cleo interjected harshly, as she pulled into a parking spot in front of Daisy’s school. “You’re living with us right now. And I am glad to help you during your mid-life crisis or whatever, but if you do anything to put yourself in danger — like supporting The Movement — that automatically puts us in danger too. What if policemen break into our house at night to arrest you? What do I tell Daisy?”

Savannah sighed. “Come on, Cleo. I’ve been your best friend for decades. You should know how important this cause is to me.”

Resting her hand on Savannah’s shoulder, Cleo assured, “And I understand your political and social leanings, but I will protect my family at any cost.” She added without thinking, “Plus, you should know what The Government is capable of, given what happened to your brother.”

Savannah tensed up, head whipping around to stare at Cleo.

Immediately, Cleo shrunk back. “I’m sorry. That was too far.”

“No shit.”

“I shouldn’t have brought that up.”

“Damn right.”

Cleo’s eyes begged for forgiveness. Savannah crossed her arms, and began grinding her teeth, a habit she knew Cleo hated. Finally breaking the silence, her friend asked “What are you doing here anyways? Is Daisy sick?”

Cleo sighed, suddenly reminded of the other problem-child she was dealing with. “She was called to the principal’s office.”

“How come?”

“I have no idea,” Cleo replied, stepping out of the car. “Stay here. Hopefully this won’t take long.”

“Do what you’ve got to do,” Savannah said, putting her bare feet on the dash and cranking up the radio.

Cleo trotted to the front entrance of Daisy’s school. For a middle school, it looked more like a college campus, with the looming buildings separated by lush patches of grass, willow trees, and flowers. Using the campus map, Cleo wove along the sidewalks to the principal’s office, passing groups of children, and the occasional haughty adult.

A woman sat at the reception desk in front of the principal’s office. Cleo took in the dark wood finishings and lacy trimmings on the curtains. She approached the desk, seeing that the woman would not acknowledge her until Cleo said something.

“Hello. I’m Cleo Adel. I was called to talk to Ms. Grover.”

The woman looked up. She had frizzy red hair, a wide, flat nose, and a cluster of pimples above her right eyebrow. Cleo almost grimaced, immediately, thoroughly sure this woman had never passed The Test.

            “Ms. Adel. Thank you for coming. You may go right inside.”

            Cleo walked past the desk and into the office beyond. Principal Grover’s office was beautiful to say the least (was this where the tuition money went?) There were fancy leather chairs and a couch around the perimeter. Everything was a shiny, neat mahogany. Several vases of flowers lined a magnificent bookshelf on the back wall.

            A girl sat on the couch. Her wavy brown hair hung in front of her face like a curtain, as if in a failed attempt to conceal her identity. Her hazel eyes peered up when Cleo entered the room. Like her mother, she had freckles sprinkled across her face.

Daisy quickly crossed her arms and frowned, as if her annoyance weren’t clear enough. Cleo leaned over and kissed her on the head, which Daisy tried to dodge.

            “Hi sweetie.” Cleo forced a tired smile, wrapping her daughter in a big hug.

            “Hi, mom,” Daisy grumbled.

            Looking up, Cleo met eyes with Principal Grover, a lanky, pale woman with a set of horse teeth and straw-like hair to match.

            “Ms. Grover,” she greeted, using her fake-pleasant voice that she had been honing for years.

            “Hello Cleo.” Her tone had a gravelly bite to it. The woman turned to Daisy. “Daisy, can you please go to the waiting room?”

            “Shouldn’t I hear too? This meeting is about me, isn’t it?” Daisy grumbled.

            Grover’s smile was strained and thin. “I’d like to speak to your mother in private.”

            Daisy blinked once but quickly realized that this was a losing battle. She dragged herself up with more drama than necessary and dragged her feet as she walked out of the door.

            As soon as the door clicked to a close, Cleo sat in the chair facing Grover’s desk. “Sorry for the wait,” Cleo apologized emotionlessly. “I was in the middle of something when you called.” She had hoped this remark would gain her just the slightest sympathy or even a hint of guilt from Grover, but no, she was just as stone-cold as ever.

            “No worries. I was just talking with your daughter,” Principal Grover replied.

            After a few moments of silence, Cleo slowly asked, “Alright … So, what happened? Did Daisy do something wrong?”

            “Well, Ms. Adel, Daisy’s class was doing an exercise where the students wrote down why they thought education and learning were important — something like that. And after, the students went around the room and shared their replies. Daisy’s response was … a bit concerning.”

            “Okay,” Cleo replied, waiting for Grover to get to the fucking point.

            Grover gave a twisted smile. “Why don’t I read it to you?” She pushed her glasses up her nose and examined the paper. “‘I, Daisy Adel, think that education is important because people who are educated can have sex. I want to have sex when I’m older, so I want to get good grades and become really smart.’”

            Cleo let out a chuckle, shaking her head.

            Principal Grover glared at her over her glasses. “You think your daughter’s response is funny?”

            Cleo suddenly realized that the excerpt Grover just read was the issue at hand. “Wait a second,” she narrowed her eyes. “You don’t mean to tell me that Daisy is in trouble for writing that?”

            “Actually, yes. She is. It was a completely inappropriate thing to say during class. And I’m also concerned that your daughter views passing The Test as the reward for her educational endeavors.”

            Cleo gaped at Grover. “Well … my daughter is only speaking the truth. I bet you half of the students in The City are only studying so they have a chance at sex when they turn twenty-two.”

            “Regardless of its truth, Daisy should have had the sense not to read out a response like that. It got the class all riled up, and now the kids can’t stop asking about sex.” Grover shook her head in frustration. “And I worry that she is getting these notions from conversations happening at the home.”

            Balling her fists, Cleo retorted, “You want the kids to stop talking about sex? Maybe you should do something about The Liberation Movement at your doorstep. They’re right next to the school’s damn playground.”

            “We are in the middle of dealing with that,” Grover replied calmly, folding her hands together on the desk. “That is beside the point.”

            Cleo snorted and stood up abruptly. “To be honest Principal Grover, I don’t give a flying fuck what you have to say about my daughter. She’s eleven years old. Yeah, maybe it was a bit out of line, but at least she is being honest. These kids are going to figure it out one day, that they need to be smart and gifted for the opportunity to have sex. And once they realize that, it will be the only thing on their minds. My daughter just happens to see the reality before the others. And if you have a problem with it, then fuck right off.”

            Principal Grover just gaped at Cleo, too stunned to figure a response.

            Feeling particularly daring, Cleo sniffed and asked, “Did you ever pass The Test, Ms. Grover?”

            Grover gasped and clutched her chest, appalled with Cleo’s brazen behavior. “That — that is none of your business.”

            “Well, you have glasses, so eyesight isn’t good. That’s definitely not a gene they want to pass on to a child,” Cleo rattled off. “You’re tall, but in a freakish way. You’re skinny, but too much so. Maybe something’s wrong with your metabolism? Another bad gene.” Grover’s scowl became more pronounced the longer Cleo talked. She crossed her arms and gritted her teeth, glaring. “If I had to guess, you took The Test four times and just kept failing.” Glancing around the room, she pointed at a portrait on the wall of a stubby man with an uncanny smile. “Aha, look at that. You’re with another man — I’m assuming your husband. But no kids in the picture. Well, that’s it then. You never passed The Test, huh?”

            Grover stood up, towering over Cleo’s completely average, desirable height. “You,” she hissed, “are no longer welcome at this school. And nor is your daughter. Now, please leave.”

            Cleo gave one more threatening stare then turned swiftly around, slamming the door behind her. Daisy had been sitting cross-legged on the chair in the waiting room, transfixed with picking the skin around her fingernails. She looked up in surprise as her mother came barreling out of the office.

“Daisy, sweetie, let’s go,” Cleo announced, grabbing her daughter by the wrist and practically dragging her out of the school.

            Her daughter’s shock finally waned as they approached the car. “So, am I in trouble?” she finally asked.

            “What did you do, kiddo?” Savannah asked, examining her makeup, completely unconcerned.

            “Oh, hi Savannah,” Daisy’s eyes brightened at her mother’s friend. “I think they were mad about an assignment I did for my writing class.”

            Savannah raised her eyebrows and gave Cleo a passing glance filled with curiosity.

            Cleo leaned in and answered in a low voice. “Her teacher got mad because Daisy said that the only reason she wants to do well in school is so that she can have sex when she is older.”

            No longer interested in overanalyzing her pores, Savannah’s head shot up with a newfound interest in the conversation. After a moment, she sniffed and leaned back in her seat, stretching her legs even farther along the dash. “Another reason why this system is so fucked up.”

            “Please don’t swear around Daisy.”

            “Why not? She’s already talking about sex.” Savannah swiveled around, giving the girl a once over. “Daisy, be straight with me: do you know what sex is?”

            Daisy pursed her lips. “Well, not exactly. All I know is that it’s a good thing and everyone wants it. And you get babies from it. And only the smartest, prettiest people get to have sex.”

            Savannah shrugged. “Good enough definition as any.”

            Cleo rubbed her temples. “Those things are correct, Daisy. However, sex is a grown-up thing. It’s not okay for kids like you to talk about it. If you talk about it, adults will get mad, like your teacher and Principal Grover.”

            Daisy grumbled as she plopped herself in the back seat. “Well, are you mad at me, mom?”

            “No, of course not,” Cleo replied, trying but failing to smile at Daisy. “But you need to promise not to talk about sex — or ask about sex — until you’re older, okay?”

            “How old, exactly?”

            “I’ll let you know when that time comes.”

            She huffed. “Fine.”

            “And seat belt on, please.”

            Click. “Okay.”

            Cleo sighed and melted into her chair. “Great. Why don’t we just go home and eat dinner?”

Starting the car, she backed out of the parking lot and sped down the street. Cleo’s eyes flitted towards the group of protestors, still chanting and screaming, even as the police started to approach. In a burst of frustration, she swerved the car. The BMW jolted to the left and began ramming through the crowd, tearing through the protesters who were thrown beneath the car and toppled over the hood. Screams burst from inside and outside the car, which was soon covered in red, splattering on her windshield, on the—

            “Stop sign, Cleo!” Savannah’s voice burst into her ear.

            The car screeched to a halt.

            Cleo blinked away this fantasy, the chants of the protesters ringing behind her.

Daisy bounced her legs up and down as her body sunk into the plush, gray couch. Her eyes were glued on the TV screen, and her hands mindlessly shoveled spoonfuls of ice cream into her mouth. The blaring of the show was just a touch too loud for Cleo’s liking, but she didn’t have the energy to tell her daughter to turn down the volume. Instead, she and Savannah made themselves comfortable in the kitchen, sipping on piping hot mugs of coffee.

            Savannah stirred her drink quietly. “You really got her expelled? You couldn’t just keep your mouth shut and nod along in compliance?”

            “You’re one to talk,” Cleo grumbled, trying to keep the frustration out of her voice. She gripped her mug a bit too tightly, relishing the burning sensation on her fingers.

            Savannah rolled her eyes. “My political and social beliefs versus you tyrannizing your daughter’s principal. C’mon Cleo, these are completely different scenarios.”

            Cleo gritted her teeth and sighed through her nose. “I know. I’m sorry.”

            Her friend reached over and squeezed Cleo’s shoulder. “What are you going to do?”

            She gave a shrug. “Well, I suppose we will try to get her enrolled in another private school in the area. If not … public school it is.”

            “Hey, public schools aren’t so bad,” Savannah insisted. “Builds character. We both went, and we’re doing okay.”

“Savannah, you’re unemployed and living with me, your friend, at the age of thirty-four.”

“That’s beside the point. It’s a rough patch”

            “Sure, sure, whatever,” Cleo said, taking out her diamond earrings and setting them on the table. “But with Greyson’s promotion, we have the money to send her to private school.”

            Savannah chuckled and gestured to Cleo’s grand marble kitchen. “I think money is the least of your problems, Cleo.”

            Cleo downed the rest of her drink, scalding her throat in the process. She coughed once but almost relished in the burning sensation.

Stumbling to her feet, she murmured, “I’m going to check on Daisy,” and placed her mug in the sink before approaching her daughter in the living room. Daisy’s eyes were still on the television, the spoon suspended in her mouth. Most of the ice cream was now a slushy, sticky pool at the bottom of the ceramic bowl.

            The couch sagged as Cleo sat down. She muted the television and said, “Daisy, do you want to talk about what happened today?”

            Daisy blinked, coming out of her trance. She then shrugged. “I don’t know.”

            Cleo reached over and rubbed her daughter’s back. “Just so you know, Daisy, you won’t be able to go back to that school.”

            She nearly shattered the bowl of melted ice cream (Cleo quickly took it from her hands and set it on the floor.) “What? Why not? I like that school. All my friends are there.”

            Cleo hesitated. “Well, I’m not happy with the way your school handled the situation. I want to send you to a school with more, ah, diplomatic teachers.”

            Daisy’s lip curled. “Huh?”

            “The point is—”

            “But the teachers are nice,” protested Daisy. “My homeroom teacher is usually nice – it was just today where she had a problem with me.”

            “I know that this might not seem fair, Daisy,” Cleo interrupted loudly, “but we will be sending you to a different school.”

            Crossing her arms and huffing loudly, Daisy slumped into the couch. “What about all my friends? They won’t talk to me anymore!”

            “You can make new friends. And you can keep in contact with your old ones too,” Cleo said, trying to force herself to believe it. “I can drive you to their houses whenever you want, and we can invite them over—”

            Daisy kicked her legs and let out an angry wail.

Watching her daughter’s reaction, Cleo asked, “Is there anything else on your mind? Something you want to talk about?”

            She assumed that Daisy would just pout, refusing her the courtesy of a reply. To her surprise, Daisy lifted herself back up and said, “You know that girl in my class, Ev?”

            “Yes …”

            Daisy’s voice was quiet and whiny now. “Right after I read my writing piece aloud, she called you a name.”

            Cleo pressed her lips together tightly. “What exactly did she say?”

            Daisy looked at her nails, peeling the chipping purple nail polish. “She said you’re a whore.”

            Cleo blinked, suddenly unable to speak. Her throat seemed to swell, choking her as her daughter continued to talk about what a whore she was.

            “And I thought that was just the time period, so I was confused, but then Tommy told me it’s because dad’s not my real dad,” she went on. “And that it’s gross that you had sex with someone who’s not dad, and then when the teacher said it was a bad word, Ev started calling you a ‘slut’. She said her mommy started calling you that word at home. Then, Ev went to the principal’s office. Then I went after.”

            In the other room, Savannah, who was eavesdropping without any attempts at subtlety, dropped her spoon. It clattered loudly on the hardwood floor, followed by the distinct muttering of “Jesus, fuck.”

            Cleo cleared her throat. “Well, honey, I happen to know Ev’s parents.” The mom is a cunt, and the father is a pretentious ass. “Ev’s parents are a lucky couple. They both managed to pass The Test. And, when they requested to be paired together, against all odds, they were. But that is rare. Most of the time, there are moms like me. As you know, dad did not pass The Test, but I did. So, I was paired with another man who passed, and we had you, and I couldn’t be happier.”

            “Yeah, I know all that,” Daisy mumbled, continuing to pick her nail polish.

            Cleo sighed. “I know this world is kind of confusing, especially when it comes to things like who is allowed to make babies. You’re a little too young now for the talk, but if you have any lingering questions, you’re allowed to ask.”

            Daisy gazed up at her mother, taking in. “Why didn’t daddy pass The Test?”

            Cleo hesitated. “Well, there are lots of parts to The Test. They look at your brain to see how smart you are. They look at your beauty. They look at your medical records to see if you are healthy. And you even need a cover letter, application, and reference letters from friends and colleagues.”

            “What are reference let—?”

            “Don’t worry about it, sweetie. The point is … it’s very hard to pass. Not a lot of people pass. You have to be nearly perfect.”

            Daisy’s face was twisted with concentration. “So, mommy, why didn’t you marry someone who did pass?”

            It was then quiet enough to hear Savannah slurping her drink from the kitchen.

            “Well…” Several seconds passed. Daisy looked up at her mother expectantly. “Because I loved your dad.”

            Daisy nodded slowly, considering this.

Feeling suffocated suddenly, Cleo shot up and made for the kitchen. She called behind her, “Go wash up for dinner. Dad will be home soon.”

            Daisy reluctantly acquiesced, slumping off the couch and trudging up the grand stairs to the bathroom. Cleo breezed back to Savannah, who waited patiently in the kitchen.

            “That was a fun conversation,” Savannah commented lightly. “I can’t believe that bitch called you a slut.”

            Cleo narrowed her eyes. “Did you just call Daisy’s classmate a bitch?”

            “No, I was calling her mom a bitch,” Savannah mused, inspecting her mug. “But now that you mention it, the bitch’s daughter sounds like a bitch too.”

            Cleo chuckled and stood to make another pot of coffee.

Each day, the rumble of the garage doors indicated Greyson Winters’ return home. For Cleo, that sound had come to trigger flashes of anxiety, which she was slowly learning to quell.

            But today, when the tell-tale groan of the garage whirred to life, Cleo found herself suddenly nauseous and short of breath. She quickly set down the steaming plate of vegetables next to the salmon then gripped the edges of the table, shaking from nerves.

Greyson Winters opened the door to his home and strode through the foyer.

“Smells good,” he deadpanned, which he always automatically said upon stepping through the doorway, regardless of whether or not Cleo had started cooking dinner.

Cleo watched as Greyson tossed his briefcase on whatever piece of furniture was nearest, a habit that made her inwardly scream. But instead, she just pressed her lips together.

Greyson’s eyes scanned the food on the table. “Didn’t we eat this same meal last week?”

Savannah cleared her throat.

“Yes, honey, I made this last week too. Remember, you liked it?”

Greyson sniffed. “Alright then.”

            Cleo leaned over and gave her husband the briefest peck on the cheek, her lips only barely touching his blond beard. “How was work?”

            “Pretty exhausting,” Greyson replied, turning around and heading towards the staircase. “Get Daisy down here, so we can eat right after I wash up.”

            “Sure thing, honey,” Cleo replied in a whisper.

            Savannah gave her a humorless smile. “Best time of the day: when Greyson comes home.”

            “He’s under a lot of pressure at work these days,” Cleo replied, which was the same excuse she had been telling herself for more than ten years. “Can you just get Daisy, please?”

Minutes later, the group of four was eating silently. Most days, Savannah and Daisy did the talking at the dinner table. But, after Daisy’s stressful day at school, only Savannah’s voice filled the dining room. As usual, she rambled about her political leanings and whatever new breakthrough The Liberation Movement made.

            “Don’t you realize how messed up the beauty standards are? You know, for the physical features part of The Test?” Savannah prompted, barely touching her food. “It’s all focused on Western beauty standards! Blond hair, blue eyes, pale skin.”

            “I don’t fit that mold, and I still passed,” Cleo commented, stirring the food on her place half-heartedly.

            Savannah shrugged. “Yeah, but you’re still beautiful. I guess they just needed to fill that ‘diversity’ quota for future children.”

            Cleo stopped eating, her fork not yet at her mouth. “What did you just say?”

            “Cleo don’t make this an issue,” Greyson muttered. His head was in his hand, elbow on the table.

            “Savannah, did you imply that the only reason that I passed the physical features portion of The Test was for diversity purposes?”

            Savannah backtracked. “No, no. Not at all. You’re drop dead gorgeous. No one can deny it. I’m just saying … I read an article that said that white people are more likely to pass the physical features part of the test.”

            Cleo shook her head, scowling.

            Greyson’s fork clattered against the plate. He wiped his mouth with a napkin, despite having barely eaten. “Savannah, it’s been two months. Do you have any leads on finding a new job? Or perhaps an apartment? Maybe a new boyfriend?”

            Both Savannah and Cleo stared at Greyson. Daisy quietly went, “Ooooh, dad.”

            Savannah cleared her throat and calmly replied, “I have three interviews next week. I don’t plan on looking for an apartment until I get a steady job. And as for a boyfriend … that is none of your goddamn business.”

            Greyson grinded his teeth back and forth, staring with distaste at Savannah. Finally, he stood up and grabbed both his and Daisy’s plates. “Dinner’s over.”

            “Hey! I’m not done eating!” Daisy objected, reaching for her plate.

            “Greyson,” Cleo snapped, “let your daughter eat.”

            Greyson narrowed his eyes and mouthed My daughter? He scoffed and threw the plates in the sink.

            Savannah stood and walked out of the kitchen to the guest room. Daisy, while annoyed, took the chaotic turn of events as an invitation for more dessert. She ran to the cupboard in search of sweets. Cleo remained seated, dumbfounded.

            But when Daisy strolled back to the table, a pack of cookies in her hands, Greyson snatched it from her grip, yelling, “NO DESSERTS!” He dragged her by the neck of her shirt and led her towards the stairs. “Just go to bed!”

            Cleo’s feet moved even before her mind had enough time to process what she had seen. She shoved her husband, who let go of Daisy.

            “Don’t touch Daisy like that,” she yelled. “How dare you come home and act like such a tyrant.”

            Three seconds of silence passed. Daisy then ran upstairs in tears. Greyson took a wobbly step back from his wife, stunned at her outburst. Any other day, Cleo would keep her mouth shut, but after such a taxing day, she was unable to hold her tongue.

            Greyson took a deep breath and held his hands up innocently. “Things have just been hard lately, Cleo,” he replied.

            “Well, we had a bad day too! But you don’t see me bitching at you,” Cleo snarled in reply. “You don’t even bother to ask us what happened today.”

            Greyson closed his eyes and sighed. “Alright. What happened today?” he asked in a way that made it seem the question drained him of all of his energy.

            “I got Daisy expelled,” Cleo hissed, her hands balled at her sides.

            Greyson’s head whipped up, his eyes bulging. He took a minute to pace the living room, grabbing clumps of his hair. Once the shock wore off, he rounded on Cleo, annunciating each word slowly, “How did you. Get Daisy. Expelled?”

            He loomed over her. Cleo was tall, but Greyson was taller. She wanted to shrink back, turn invisible, transport herself anywhere else. With Daisy now upstairs, the maternal protection had worn off. Cleo had reverted back to her natural state: feeble, submissive housewife.

Her voice cracked as she replied. “She said that the only reason she wanted to do well in school was to have sex later in life.”

            Greyson rolled his eyes. “Well, that was a stupid thing for her to say.”

            “Yes, well, I defended her,” Cleo finished.

            Greyson shook his head. Somehow, his silence was scarier than screaming.

            Finally, he said. “Then you find her a new school.”

            Cleo lowered her eyes. “Right.”

            Greyson turned to walk upstairs but then rounded back. “And can you please do something about Savannah? It’s pathetic having your friend mooching off of us.”

            “It’s not that much of an inconvenience, right?” Cleo replied quietly. “Just think about it from her perspective: she lost her job and moved out of her boyfriend’s place all in the same week.”

“She was fired because her company found out that she’s part of The Liberation Movement, and that’s her own fault,” he said, lowering his voice to a whisper at the mention of The Movement. “And she left her boyfriend because he passed The Test and she didn’t. She just couldn’t deal with the fact that he would be having sex with someone else.” He locked eyes with Cleo. “I had to make peace with that, didn’t I? I never moved out. I took on another man’s child.”

            And you’re bitter. You’re angry. You treat Daisy like a mistake. But Cleo just whispered, “She’s your child.”

            Greyson’s lip twitched.

            He just walked away.