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I tried again to extract myself sooner rather than later. “We have a lot to do and not enough time to do it well.”
“Why don’t we finish dinner first?” Carol said, giving my plate a pointed look. “You’ve hardly eaten anything, honey.”
I picked up my fork and scooped up some mashed potatoes. When I shoved them in my mouth, my eyes practically rolled back in my head. The potatoes were rich, creamy, and buttery, not like the ones I made from potato flakes at home. “This is delicious,” I told Carol before taking another bite and then another.
“Thank you,” she said. “I’m glad you’re enjoying it.”
It wasn’t just the food, though. I enjoyed their company. Collin’s family was awesome.
“So, tell us some things about you.” Tom pointed his empty fork at me, and the mashed potatoes in my stomach suddenly felt like rocks. “Collin says that the drummer is your best friend.”
I let out a relieved breath. “Barry’s been my best friend for the last year or so.”
“That’s unusual,” Tom said. “A boy and a girl being so close as friends.”
“Not with him. Barry’s unusually kind, despite all he’s been through.”
“I imagine he’s kind because you are, honey,” Carol said. “Collin’s told us how you are, encouraging to everyone in the band, loving and protective with your sister too.”
“Thank you.” I looked at Carol, then Collin.
“Barry’s a talented percussionist, Mom,” Collin said.
Carol tapped her chin, her gaze moving to me. “How did you and Barry become friends?”
“It was sort of a mutual thing. Kids can be cruel,” I said evasively, not wanting to say more. Barry’s story wasn’t mine to share.
But Collin didn’t hold my view about sharing. “A lot of people look down on Barry because of his dad going to jail.”
I glanced at Collin sharply.
“He’s not his dad,” I said, just like I wasn’t my mother. But I kept that part to myself. “Just because our parents are a certain way doesn’t mean we’re going to turn out the same.”
“Right. Well said.” Collin’s mom pushed back her chair. “We’re each responsible for our own paths in life.” After laying down that heavy piece of wisdom, she asked in a lighter tone, “Who wants dessert?”
“I do!” Bob nodded enthusiastically.
“I know you do, silly.” Carol rolled her eyes before pinning me with them. “Could you help me in the kitchen, dear?”
“Yes, of course.” I pushed back my chair and started gathering plates.
“You don’t have to do that, honey,” she said, though she had several dishes already in her hands. “I can get them later.”
“I want to help, Mrs. Murphy.”
“Carol,” she said again to remind me, “or just Mom.”
“Okay, Carol.”
“Bob.” Carol made eye contact with him. “Grab the remaining things and bring them into the kitchen. Collin,” she said. “You and your dad get the serving bowls. Addy and I will get the dessert.”
“You got it, Mom.” Collin stood. On his way into the kitchen, he brushed his shoulder against mine and whispered, “They like you.”
“I like them too. You’re so lucky,” I said, emotion filling my eyes.
I set my stack of dishes beside the sink, and Bob did too. But when I reached for the sponge, Carol shooed me away.
“The chocolate cake is in the fridge. Could you grab it while I load the dishwasher?”
