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We’re across from two couples we haven’t met before, but when I go to introduce myself, Carly nudges me with her elbow. “They’re all sleeping,” she whispers softly, making my eyebrows draw together.
I turn back to the silver-haired couples across from us, and after close inspection, determine that she’s right. At first, I thought they were just concentrating on something on the table or in their laps, but they are, in fact, asleep, their heads drooped forward accordingly.
Well. Okay, then.
I chuckle a little. “I guess that helps cut out the need for small talk, at least.”
Carly nods excitedly. “Thank God. I’m really starving, and I just want to eat.”
“The sandwich has worn off, huh?”
“Yesss,” she hisses. “It wore off about two hours ago, when I walked into the kitchen to find Stella sitting on Sal’s lap.”
My eyes go wide in shock. “Wait…don’t tell me they were…”
“Oh my God, no! Pretty sure they can’t do that with their injuries,” she whisper-yells back. “I mean, Sal did have his hands on my mom’s freaking boobs, but they were fully dressed. No weird naked shit.”
“Why?” I whine. “Just why is my father feeling anyone’s boobs right now even a thing?”
She shrugs with a tortured laugh. “They’re in love, I guess. Though I have to tell you, it really feels specifically designed for my suffering.”
I reach over to pat her hand, but she flips it over on the table, palm up, at the exact same time. It’s unintended, but next thing I know, we’re holding hands. Her palm is soft and smooth, and if I’m honest, just a little bit clammy. But a touch of sweating is to be expected, given the day she’s had with our parents.
Neither one of us pulls away immediately, and almost as if I’m completely removed from my body, I watch myself slide my fingers ever so slightly in between hers.
There’s a small inhale of breath at my side, a sound I know comes from her but one I’m completely unwilling to look away from our hands to investigate further.
Her fingers curl upward, around mine slowly and purposefully, and overlapping at the knuckles. All of the sound in the room seems like it’s in a vacuum—practically nonexistent in its dullness.
I can hear my heartbeat inside my chest, thud, thud, thud, and all the while, my focus is completely unable to leave the simple joining of our hands.
“Excuse me,” one of the waitstaff says suddenly—at least, it seems abrupt—moving to place a big platter full of brisket down on the spot where our hands meet, and Carly and I jerk apart on physical reflex.
Another staffer sets potatoes and green beans in the center of the table, and the little old couples across from us finally startle awake at the smell of fresh-baked rolls.
With a quick clear of my throat, I take a sip of water from the glass to the right of my plate. Carly glances to the front of the room. I’m not entirely sure if it’s as a means to look away from me or if there’s something attracting her interest, but either way, I give her the moment without interruption.
I know how strange this connection between us feels for me. I want to give her the freedom and space to feel the same.
“Is that…” she mumbles softly, officially ending the countdown on our time-out. “Are they setting up bingo?”
With her mouth pointed away from me and toward Stella and Sal, I can only listen as the two of them answer. “Yep,” Sal says matter-of-factly. “Clubhouse dinners are always the same.”
Stella laughs, nods, and continues. “They always start with the who’s who of Sunny Creek happy hour, transition into family-style food, and then end on some sort of game night. Betty heads up the committee on the games, and she usually rigs it so one of her bitches wins.”
“Her bitches?” I mouth, tugging on Carly’s arm to get her attention.
“Who?” Carly questions, turning back to her mom instead of acknowledging me. “Nan?”
“Nan and Glinda. Maybe Sue, but she’s more of their backup plan when the heat turns up.”
“And, what? You just let her get away with it?” Carly asks in outrage, starting to get worked up. I put a comforting hand to her shoulder, but she shakes it off like a fighter in the ring who’s ready to go a few rounds.
Stella shrugs and forks a bite of potatoes into her mouth with a grin. “Sal and I are usually too busy to care about who wins. Isn’t that right, Sally?”
I gag a little in the back of my throat, and Carly scoffs, finally disgusted enough to bring her attention back to me.
There’s no less fire in her eyes, though, when she makes a declaration of, “We have to win.”
“What?” I ask with a small chuckle, but she doesn’t return the laugh. Her blue eyes are sensationally serious, so much so that they start to look a little scary.
