Never mention a school prom in Lorraine's presence. 

That has become an unspoken rule in their house. Alas, Aubrey's best friend, who is staying for dinner tonight, accidentally pokes the forbidden topic during the table talk. He knows the subject pushes Lorraine's buttons from time to time, yet he never learns.

The rest of the dinner is torturous. The silence is thick, but the tension is lethal. A gospel song playing on the radio muffles the rattles of cascading rain hitting the window in the dining room. Between the clinking and screeching cutlery dancing on the porcelain plates, Aubrey silently prays for the dinner to be over soon.

Her idiotic best friend, Bob, steals glances at her, showing his guilty expression but she responds with a glare. He doesn't live with Lorraine. He doesn't have to deal with Lorraine's antics when it comes to subjects that are considered ungodly, which in this case is the school prom —not that Aubrey is planning to go. She's just had enough of Lorraine's lecture. It gets increasingly painful these days.

When they're finally done with their meal, Lorraine brings both her hands to her chest and interlaces her fingers. "Let's pray."

Aubrey and Bob obediently mimic her gesture before chorusing "amen" after her.

"Thank you for the delicious dinner, Lorraine," Bob says as he stands up to help Aubrey pile up the dirty plates.

"You're welcome, Bob." Lorraine's lips stretch but it's enough for Bob to acknowledge that she's attempting a smile.

Holding the dishes, Aubrey heads to the kitchen counter, careful not to drop anything. She begins scrapping all the remaining solid food to the bin while occasionally glancing out of the window. She sighs. It's not yet nine o'clock in the evening, but it's already dark outside. The rain is still pouring, cloaking the swaying trees as the wind blows. This is going to be a gloomy summer with a lot of rain, so the forecast said.

"I made an extra cherry pie yesterday. Do you want to take one for Sandra, Bob?" Lorraine's voice pulls Aubrey back from her bubble of thoughts.

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"Yes please, if it doesn't trouble you too much. Mom will love it." 

"Of course it doesn't," Lorraine says. "I heard from pastor Marlon that she missed last Sunday's sermon because of the flu. I hope she's feeling better now."

"Oh yeah, she is feeling much better. Actually, she started the counseling sessions two days ago."

Lorraine heaves a sigh. "This is unacceptable. The church should hire more than one counselor to avoid overworked staff. I've been giving this suggestion for months, but they never took it seriously. Sandra shouldn't handle this task alone."

"Yeah. But luckily, Mom seems to be enjoying what she's doing."

"Very well." Lorraine stands up, causing her chair to screech against the wooden floor. "Let me get the pie ready."

Aubrey has been listening to the conversation while loading the dishwasher, wishing she could skip this routine. She hates chores, but she has no choice. It's one of the agreements she has with Lorraine to keep the house intact day by day. While Lorraine works and cooks, she's responsible for the dishes and other small chores.

Aubrey has known Lorraine since before she can remember. Even though they are not related by blood, Lorraine is the only family she has now. She would probably have stayed in an orphanage or a random foster home if Lorraine didn't take her in when her mom died.

A nudge on Aubrey's shoulder makes the girl jump.

"You're spacing out again," Bob says.

She narrows her eyes on him. "Never startle a person who is holding a knife."

"I didn't startle you. I've been calling you, but you're just staring blankly at the window. You do this a lot lately, though. Is everything okay?" Bob leans on the wall next to the dishwasher. His red curls stand out against the shabby green wallpaper.

"Do I not look okay?" Aubrey puts both her hands on her hips.

Bob shrugs. "You're just different lately."

"Different how?"

"Dunno. Different. Can't really tell how."

Aubrey rolls her eyes as she closes the dishwasher door, sets the program, and cleans her hands under the running water. "Yeah. That's super clear, Bob. Thank you."

Lorraine enters the kitchen. "Bob, your pie is ready. It's on the dining table. And Aubrey, I need to talk to you after you see Bob out."

Aubrey dries up her hands with a towel hung on the dishwasher door handle. Something inside her ignites, accompanied by a twist in the pit of her stomach. She turns her head slightly. "Is it about the prom?"

"No, it's not. It's about something else. I'll be waiting in the living room." With that, Lorraine turns on her heels and leaves the kitchen.

Aubrey leans back into the kitchen counter, glancing at her friend while biting the inside of her cheek. "Do you think I'm in trouble?"

"I hope not."

Bob always comes up with a useless answer.

***