Even Ares grimaced when his wife asked if Henry had any prior arrests, specifically for domestic abuse.
“Okay,” I said, stepping closer to Henry. “I think those are enough questions. And before you get the wrong idea, no he doesn’t have any criminal record, but if he did, do you really think he’d admit it in front of everyone.”
“Good point,” Ruth said. “I’ll have Zeke use his connections to run a check.”
“And now this conversation has run its course.” Zeke said, ushering us into the dining room where he’d set out food. “Your mistake, Henry, was being so open. Had you hedged a bit more, she might not have asked so many questions.”
Henry laughed as he picked up a small plate. “She’s fine. I like that she’s watching out for Nick.”
It was sweet of Ruth to make sure I was okay, but it hit a little too close to home. I wanted to believe my mom would do the same if not for Dad. Growing up, I didn’t see the extent of his abuse until I put some distance between me and them. Now, it hurt because I couldn’t save her.
“Hey?” Henry put a hand on my shoulder. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah. Just thinking of Mom” I shrugged, hoping it would move us along. “Why don’t you let Zeke show you the parts he showed me and I’ll get something to eat.”
We looked at each other and I hoped he’d get the message I needed a few minutes alone. After a few more seconds of our stare off, Henry nodded. “Sure. I mean, if Zeke’s not too busy.”
“I’m not busy. Brenda’s hosting this party,” Zeke rolled his eyes. “She treats my house like her private event hall except I don’t get a rental fee.”
Zeke motioned for Henry, but he hesitated. Thankfully, whether he meant to or not, Zeke made me smile. His description of his sister was accurate.
I must’ve reassured Henry enough, because he left to get the tour.
The moment they left, I dropped my façade. Zeke was close with his siblings. He knew what they liked, how they acted, and they did things for each other. I had people whose DNA matched mine, but otherwise we had nothing in common and no interaction.
Walking around the table, I didn’t recognize some of the food. Zeke had cooked, so I knew everything was probably delicious, but I limited myself to things I could name.
I made sure not to overload my plate, because nothing screamed socially stupid louder than stuffing your face on snacks at a party. Turning, I nearly ran into a mountain of muscle.
Brenda’s father stood watching me like I was a side show curiosity and he was trying to figure out the gimmick. He blinked, and the feeling of being scrutinized disappeared.
I stepped back to allow him access to the food. “Sorry, Mr. Masterson. I didn’t mean to get in your way.”
“You’re not,” he said, his voice amazingly soothing for a man that big. “And call me Ares.”
Why did real adults think it was cool to tell us to use their first names? I had trouble calling Brenda by her first name thefirst six months on the job. How was I going to manage call her dad Ares?
Of course, as first names went, Ares was totally cool. “Okay. Sorry again for not letting you get to the food.”
“You weren’t in my way,” he said. “I actually came to talk to you.”
Now it made sense. His “call me Ares” was a ploy to get me to relax before he swooped in to have a talk with me. “Um.” I swallowed hard to clear my throat. “Sure.”
Ares laughed and if the house had been full, I’d have been embarrassed at being the cause of such loud amusement. “Don’t look so scared. I just wanted to see how you’re doing. Brenda can be a lot. Trust me, this is better than when she was a teenager.”
“I heard that!” Brenda shouted from the kitchen.
I laughed when he pointed to the kitchen.
“Let me get some food and we can go somewhere quiet.”
Ares didn’t follow my, ‘don’t over fill your plate,’ theory. I was amazed he fit so much on his plate and astounded he didn’t drop anything as he led me to a study in the back of the house.
We sat in a pair of chairs so old I worried I’d ruin mine if I dropped a morsel of food on the cushion. In the background, I heard Brenda greeting new guest with her big welcoming voice. She could be a bit much at times, but at her core, she was a good person.
Ares put his now half full plate on the desk. “That boy of mine is going to make me fat with his cooking,” Ares said. “He doesn’t get that from me.”
“I’m hopeless in the kitchen, but my roommate likes to cook, so I eat well.”
