Page 80 of The Sound of Him

That’s nice.

That’s really nice.

Maison helps carry things to the table, setting up plates and forks. I help with the glasses and the pitcher of ice water. I take my time, not wanting to be available when it’s time to bring the food so everyone can eat family style at the table. I think if I have to look at the mashed potatoes one more time, I’ll lose it.

I try not to let my mind tumble in the wrong direction at the thought. I try not to think about how they’d feel in my mouth.The mush of them. The weight. The way it’d ooze into every crack and crevice.

I blink and realize I’m sitting at the table now, most of the others seated there too. I don’t know what I missed. A quick glance at Nolan makes me think nothing important. He’d be looking at me all worried if I had.

Then again, his focus is pretty much all on Maison right now, so maybe that isn’t as good of a clue as it could be. Bryce smiles when I meet his eye, though, so it’s okay. Everything is okay.

They’re all happy. Laughing. Teasing, I realize. They’re teasing Ace about his cooking. I watch his face as they do. He’s smiling big. He’s pretending he’s offended, even though he’s the one who stopped me from having to try to eat his food the other night. He had been doing his rambling thing again, when he’d stopped me. He had signed some of his words. He had smiled.

And then that night, when I came to hide, he had played me music. He had filled the air with pretty words that didn’t want anything from me. He stayed nearby, safe, steady, without ever looking at me with worry or pity or expectation.

His eyes meet mine across the table. His smile gets smaller, but not in a bad way. The first one, the big grin, was part of the act. This one is real. This one feels like it's just for me. It's so much warmer, this one. So much nicer.

I smile back without trying, the movement suddenly easy. It had been that way in his office, too. It had happened so fast that it had taken a second for me to realize what was even happening. It was like magic.

I had thought it was the chance to hide that made it easy for me then, but maybe it’s justAce.

Maybe there’s an observation that needs to be made about myself, a reflection of Maison and my friend; Maybe I breathe easier with Ace.

It’s nice.

It’s really nice.

Better than nice.

But then he looks away, picking up a roll to playfully throw it at Carter, and I look down, trying to think of the word to describe this feeling, and-

-and-

-and-

-and someone - someone put-

-someone put food on my plate.

A slice of the roasted chicken, all white and glistening, too moist, the smell of all the seasoning overpowering, nauseating. Green beans that have a slimy looking sauce drizzled over them. A dinner roll, a corner of it soaking up the green bean juices.

And mashed potatoes.

Someone put mashed potatoes on my plate. A big scoop of them. I can practically hear the echo of the scoop plopping down on the plate, sticky and wet, a heavy thud. I can feel it on my tongue, without taking a single bite. I can feel the air in my lungs catching.

I inhale slowly through my nose, then out through my - my - but bile is crawling up my throat, my stomach churning angrily at the heavy scent of the food. I have to quickly snap my mouth shut without finishing the exhale, swallowing, swallowing, swallowing, begging my body to not do this, not right here, not in front of everyone, in front of Ace.

I’m fine. Iam. I haven’t even taken a bite. My body has no reason to have a reaction. There is no swelling. No itching. No textures. No powerful tastes. My mouth is empty, hasbeenempty.

I'mfine.

It’s all in my head. It’s not real.

It’s not real, it’s not real, it’s not real -

There’s movement around me. A voice.

It’s Jake.