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“Here you go, dear.” The corners of Mrs. Colbert’s mouth curled up. “You like meat, don’t you?”
Emily blinked. Was it her, or did that statement seem…loaded? She checked Isaac for his reaction, but he was innocently selecting a roll from a wicker basket. “Uh, thanks,” Emily said, pulling the platter toward her. She did like meat. The kind you, um, eat.
“So, Emily.” Mr. Colbert dug a large spoon into the bowl of potatoes. “I asked some of my catering employees about you. Apparently, you have a reputation.”
Mrs. Colbert snorted quietly. Emily’s fork clattered to her plate. The only sound in the room was the vent fan over the stove. “I-I do?”
“Everyone says you’re a great swimmer,” Mr. Colbert finished. “Nationally ranked in butterfly? That’s amazing—it’s a tough stroke, right?”
“Oh.” Emily took a long, shaky drink from her glass of water. “Yeah.” What had she expected, that Mr. Colbert was going to ask her what it was like to make out with girls? “It is a tough stroke, but for some reason I’m naturally fast at it.”
And then Mrs. Colbert murmured something else under her breath. Emily could have sworn it was, “You’re naturally fast, all right.”
Emily lowered her glass. Mrs. Colbert chewed calmly, watching Emily. It felt like her eyes were beaming into Emily’s skull. “What was that, Mom?” Isaac asked, squinting.
Mrs. Colbert’s expression morphed into a sweet smile. “I said Emily’s naturally modest. I’m sure she’s worked very hard to become such a good swimmer.”
“Totally.” Isaac smiled. Emily stared at her pile of mashed potatoes, feeling a little like she was going insane. Was that what Mrs. Colbert had said?
For dessert, Mrs. Colbert brought out an apple pie and a pot of coffee. Mr. Colbert looked at his wife. “By the way, we’re set for the opening this Saturday. I thought we weren’t going to have enough people to work it, since the party is so big, but we’ve got enough.”
“That’s great,” Mrs. Colbert said.
“That party’s going to be sweet,” Isaac murmured.
Emily grabbed a plate of pie. “Party?”
“My dad’s catering the opening of a new hotel outside town,” Isaac explained. He took her hand under the table. “It used to be a school or something, right?”
“A mental institution,” Mrs. Colbert interjected, wrinkling her nose.
“Not exactly,” Mr. Colbert corrected her. “It was a facility for troubled kids called the Radley. The hotel’s going to be called that too. The owners are kicking themselves for scheduling the opening party for this weekend—renovations aren’t all done. But the rooms they haven’t gotten to yet are all on the upper levels—the guests won’t even see them. But you know hotel people—everything’s gotta be perfect.”
“The hotel is really gorgeous,” Isaac said to Emily. “It’s like an old castle. There’s even a labyrinth maze in the garden. I’d love it if you would come with me.”
“Sure,” Emily said, beaming. She popped a bite of pie in her mouth.
“So it’s a dinner,” Isaac explained. “But there will also be drinks and dancing.”
“But they’ll only serve you virgin drinks, Emily,” Mrs. Colbert clarified.
Emily’s skin prickled. Virgin? She glanced at Isaac, unable to control the muscles around her mouth. She knows, she thought. She definitely knows.
Isaac smiled appeasingly. “Don’t worry. We won’t drink.”
“Good,” Mrs. Colbert said. “I worry about you guys going to these adult functions. A lot of the bartenders don’t even ask for IDs.” She sighed dramatically. “I thought you’d be more excited about the church trip to Boston next week than the Radley opening, Isaac. You were never interested in going to fancy adult parties until a few weeks ago.” She glanced pointedly at Emily, as if to say that Emily’s partying ways had corrupted him.
“I’ve always liked parties,” Isaac defended quickly.
“Oh, let them have some fun, Margaret,” Mr. Colbert said gently. “They’ll be good.”
The phone rang, and Mrs. Colbert jumped up to get it. Isaac excused himself to go to the bathroom, and Mr. Colbert disappeared to his office. Emily sliced her pie into tinier and tinier pieces, her hands slick and her cheeks hot. What was wrong with her? Was she being unreasonably sensitive? This had to be all in her head. Mrs. Colbert didn’t have it in for Emily and wasn’t trying to mess with her mind. She wasn’t A.
She gathered the plates and carried them to the sink, hoping she’d seem helpful. After a few minutes of scrubbing, she felt in her pocket for her cell phone. This would be an opportune time for A to write a snarky message about Mommy Dearest’s behavior. In fact, maybe Mrs. Colbert hadn’t known about Emily and Isaac yesterday…but A had tipped her off just in time for tonight’s dinner. Just like the old A, New A always seemed to know everything, after all.
But the little screen on Emily’s Nokia was blank. Suddenly, Emily realized she actually wanted a text from A. If A was behind this, then at least Isaac’s mom would be a victim of A’s manipulative wrath instead of simply being a passive-aggressive ogre.
As Mrs. Colbert let out a peal of laughter in the other room, Emily looked around the kitchen. Isaac’s mom collected cow stuff in the same way Emily’s mom collected chickens. They had the exact same refrigerator magnets of a thatched-roof French cottage, a tall-steepled church, and a boulangerie. Mrs. Colbert was a regular mom with a regular kitchen, just like Mrs. Fields. Maybe Emily was overreacting.
