14. A weekend with Nana Jones (III)

Listen to Outlaws by Alessia Cara.

Do yourself good to keep distance from the midst of people you're supposed to hate. Or, you sure would forget about your hatred for them and start getting used to their company.

P.S: That's if you want to carry on with the hating.

-

-

THE NEXT DAY, I start feeling like one recovering from inner several bruises, plus I sustained hypothermia and a running nose even, my throat feels sore too.

The local doctor was summoned yesterday and I tended to, but today I feel worse. I almost fainted when I woke up earlier this morning, if it wasn't for Evans who let me take a sit on our bed and fan me with his hand.

Yesterday, we were forced to eat cold can soup and outdated popcorns, since Miranda offered to fry eggs for Nana Jones and practically burnt down the whole kitchen.

Her siblings made mockery of her frying charcoal instead of eggs. And I was quiet the whole evening and night as I studied them cautiously, making jest of themselves and bantering with my cardigan and a heavy duvet wrapped around my whole except my head which I popped out, blowing my nose into the tissue occasionally and sneezing my guts out.

There was a blackout in just Nana Jones's house because of the burnt kitchen that we had to lit candles last night.

Several of the house electrical connections were linked to the kitchen and Nana Jones had promised to call the electrician to come fix it when we returned from church.

Church.

We the girls were all getting ready for church this morning, attempting to put on our clothes when Nana Jones barged in and threw several outdated clothes at us, instructing us to put them on.

That there was such thing as slut shaming in the house of God, because no female wore gowns or skirts above their knees. Even tight fitted clothes weren't allowed especially when there were critics and elderly women like herself with thirst for gossip.

"I'm not putting that on." I manage to scream through my croaked voice which will sound like an abomination to a frog, as I throw the loose fitting pink gown which badly needs to be tailored on the floor and step hard on it. On hearing my voice, Hank makes a low sound, bows his head and flattens his ears. To tell you how ugly the sound of my voice is.

"You're in my house and you'll do as I say."

Nana Jones tisks, warning me from the couch where she is sitted.

Yeah, on Friday evening was the first time in seven years I step foot in Nana Jones's house. Back in Buffalo, she always came visiting.

We the girls are in her room while the boys are dressing up in our temporary room.

"Ah, one moment, Nana Jones." Sarah calls and when I shift my gaze to her, I fake my laughter through a cough, but I still can't help the laughter bubbling up in my chest. I guffaw in laughter, paying less attention to the harsh pain in my throat.

I laugh so hard till tears drips down my cheeks.

Why?

Because Sarah is putting on an oversize hat, a shapless skyblue blazer, red camisole and a carton brown skirt that is tight from her waist to knees, and loose from her knees to the floor, that it rolls and carries the dirt on the floor as she takes awkward steps towards Nana Jones.

Even Miranda is snickering.

"Can I possibly put on my own clothes?

You see, I have this tendency of wearing my clothes all the time, that is why I have them and they are my clothes. It's best that way." Sarah slaps her hands together with fake glee. "These are nice clothes, really. But wasn't it what our great grand mothers wore in the 60s?" She tucks her chin thoughfuly into the air. "I greatly suspect that even a modern day beggar by the roadside would runaway if he by accident sees a person dress the way I'm dressed."

"Ah, kids of nowadays." Nana Jones slaps her palm over her forehead. "You can't outsmart me, Sarah. That's what you're wearing to church wether you like it or not."

She turns to I and Miranda. "Now hurry up you two, we're running late."

Sarah just face palms and sits her butt on Nana Jones's Bed.

"Can I put on my own blazer on top of this?" Miranda requires from Nana Jones, gesturing at the shapeless red and white striped color gown.

"Why?"

"Because it's awful."

"Ah! That's what my late husband bought for me on our first X-mas together. It was the most beautiful gown and girls envied me when I wore it to the grocery store."

Sarah is the one laughing this time, while Miranda just shakes her head and rolls her eyes in frustration.

Nana Jones fastens her eyes to me, and before she can make any more comment, I pick the gown up in distaste. The gown even has my foot prints on it.

"That's what you get for being a disrespectful child. Now hurry up young lass and put the gown on, we have church to attend."

* * *

Max bursts out of the room after some laughter, shuffling and having debate with his brothers on whose clothings was more ugly looking, clad in a white shirt tucked in logo embroided loose trousers and squared toe shoes with a sickly sweet smirk on his face.

Again, I fake the laughter bubbling up in my chest through a cough. We are sitted on the dinning table awaiting the boys.

I stop faking a cough when it hit me hard that I'm not acting myself lately. I ponder deeply if it's just me or I and the Mckenzie siblings seem and act different from the way we did back home.

Things just aren't the same anymore.

Breakfast is Bread, Jam and milk in front of us, and I had taken off just two bites of my bread, craving for some bacon, toast and milk pudding.

"At your service, Ma'am Meredith Jones." He bows.

Sarah is already on the floor, laughing like a donkey. While Miranda just rolls her eye balls in their sockets.

Nana Jones let Max kisses her on her cheek and smiles. "Such a fine young man." She praises him, then adds. "With the devil's own temper and possibly the biggest pervert of a young soul I've ever met."

Max's smile drops off his face, and he lets Nana Jones hand down gently before scratching the back of his head in embarrassment.

Crumbs of bread flows out of Sarah's mouth as she giggle, while I only smirk.

Evans comes out dressed like Max, other than he has stripe trousers on, looking like he wants to shit on himself.

Sam close the door of the room, looking unusually pale and nervous in his forest green button down shirt, blue and black stripe cargo shorts, and sandals with white stockings that started from above his knees.

For a spilt second, I feel bad for them, because they were forced to put on late Tuck Jones's very old looking clothes.

"You look like a wretched butler, there are even tiny closely packed holes at the back of your shorts like you got repeatedly stung by a bee." Sarah points out the obvious.

Sam makes a face and jerks his thumb towards his sister.

"Hah! Look who's talking, you Sarah Gwyneth Mackenzie is the most pathetic excuse of a girl I've even seen. On none school days, you only wake up when you don't like the smell of your morning breath against your pillow. And right now, even a troll looks more attractive than you are." He deadpans.

There are several Ew, and gross from the siblings, and Sarah picks up one leg of her flats and throws it at Sam's head the moment he sits down to join us for breakfast.

"A foolish person is always strong headed and never accept corrections." Sam says, gently massaging his forehead that has sustained a small bump from the impact of being hitted with a flat, and at the same time, glaring at his sister.

Nana Jones chuckles and pushes the Jam jar towards Evans who catches hold of it, flicks the lid open, scoop some and start spreading it on the bread. Everyone stays silent and watch him do this. And when he finishes, he holds out the bread to Sam.

"Eat?" He offers.

Sam frowns at the bread, before taking it and return to the glaring contest with Sarah.

"I reserve my comments." Max snorts, cocking an eyebrow at Miranda who's sitted by his side, shoving bread into her mouth.

"That's better, so I wouldn't have to spit into your mouth when you're asleep." Her voice sounds muffled with bread when she says this.

As usual, there are Ews and Gross while Nana Jones lets out a laugh.

The Mckenzie siblings are all shades of weird, and I'm quite jealous I can't do say something or do much of the talking.

"Okay?" I finally speak up. My throat feels. sore and I'm pinching my the bridge of my running nose which has a tissue stuck to it, because I'm feeling the sneeze traveling it's way up. "I think we all should focus on how much of a laughing stocks we'd be when we leave this house because we look worst than buffoons and clowns."

No statement is made after that, but I can see Nana Jones glaring at me from my side eye.

And I release a brain storming sneeze.

* * *

There is a sudden awkwardness as I step foot into church. Not that I hate churches or os against Jesus, I just don't like going to churches in the past.

The hair on my arms stands up when heads from the entourage starts turning to stare at us. I don't look at the Mckenzie siblings at my side or my back. But I know they're feeling the way I'm feeling. Ashamed, embarrassed and all shades of disgrace.

We receive weird and disgusting looks, few snickers from kids our age and shocked expression from the adults.

Nana Jones completely succeeded in making us laughing stock. Because people are dressed casually. No one dressed like they are in the 60s except us.

We sit two seats away from the front on the third row. Ignoring the murmuring and snickers behind us. Nana Jones has a smile on her face as she watched the priest give the sermon. She is a committed Catholic.

The hymns the choristers are singing are like lullabies because I'm at the verge of sleeping. People are even yawning and rubbing their faces.

Sam elbows a dozing off Sarah at his side and she wakes up and slaps him against his cheek from interrupting her sleep, which leaves a hand print on his cheek. From my left hand side, Max wants to punch Evans who'd pinched the hair on his arms to keep him from sleeping, but Evans dodges and the punch jabs my shoulder.

The bastard just smirks at me and glares hard at Evans.

My nostrils flare in anger and I bite back a retort as I rub gently on my shoulder, which fucking hurts like hell.

"Behave." Nana Jones warns, glaring at us through her glasses that are hanging loosely on the rim of her nose.

The priest reads few scriptures from the Holy Missal and says Jesus is in the consecrated wafer and wine.

It was time for communion.

People at the front pew are already forming a line at the middle to receive the wafer and wine, the supposed flesh and blood of Jesus Christ as the choristers sing several lullabies they claim as hymns.

I and the Mckenzie siblings don't partake in the communion because we were Non- Catholics.

Outside, people are inviting Nana Jones over for dinner, get together gatherings and the rest. So she takes that opportunity to introduce us to her friends and acquaintances.

"These are my wonderful grandchildren." She informs who ever she shakes hands with.

And when people mutter about how the rest of the Mckenzie Siblings are my Dad children, she points out that their mum got married to my Dad a week ago.

Trust me, it was the worst moment of my life with everyone awkwardly looking at me and the Mckenzie siblings, and the Mckenzie siblings and I looking at them.

Evans is face palming, Max and Miranda wears the same smirks on their faces, not caring how they look to people.

Sam's lips are in a thin grim line and Sarah looks like she wants to be anywhere but here.

Getting bored with the looks, I shoot glares at whoever stare oddly at me, irrespective of them being old or young.

Can't they just mind their bloody damned business and head to their houses?

Even a kid with two tiny buns is currently stealing weird glances at my direction.

Groaning, I mentally face palm.

Nana Jones was happy. I had never seen her that happy before. She slapped her hands together with glee and called a photographer to take shots of us in our weird clothings.

She handed one to the Mckenzie siblings, one to me, and kept one for herself.

We were all scowling in the picture except Nana Jones and Hank. What saved it from having the complete looks of the 60s was that the photographer didn't edit it BNW.

Soon, we are in her car with her driving us back to the house.

* * * * *

All our phones are down due to the power outage caused by the burnt kitchen.

Max finally succeeded in switching his dead phone on and called one of our chauffuers to come pick us up since he being the eldest of all, wanted Nana Jones to rest.

The phone shut down immediately he dropped the call.

An hour later, the chauffeur arrives and we are packing our bags to the car. Glad to have gotten rid of the weird clothes we'd worn earlier to church.

Nana Jones almost in tears hugs and kisses us all, even Hank looks moody when Sam let go of him.

And when the car is driving us out, we still swe Nana Jones, holding Hank with her left hand and waving at us with her right hand.

"I'm so going to miss her." Max says to no one in particular as he pops his head out and blew kisses at her.

"Me too." The rest of the siblings chorus.

And Evans wipes off an imaginary tear while Sam makes a crying face.

I gulp nevoursly and return my eyes ahead of me, also paling because I would be left alone with the Mckenzie siblings again.

Hell, I don't know what next will happen.

If I will get into more fights with Max, exchange comebacks with Miranda or Sarah, or get repulsively stared at by Sam.

Evans is different.

I look over at Max just in time to catch him staring at me with his face devoid of emotions.

And my stomach does a somersault when his eyes darkens a shade greener. They always do when we exchange glares, or stares.

A pang settles itself at the pit of my stomach as I ponder what in the hell is gradually brainwashing me because despite how cocky he is, how rude he has been, the punch and the harsh comebacks, my hatred for Maxwell Mackenzie has reduce itself from the scale of 10-10 to 7-10.