Page 13 of Sending Love Letters to Animals

“All right, all right,” Dad said.

Mom set about carrying the containers of food to the table as Dad made his exit from the kitchen. Juno was sliding into her seat opposite me when Dad jerked to a stop at the kitchen doorway.

“Ryan!”

“Dad!”

“Friday,” he said. “You and me. What shenanigans are the boys getting up to?”

There it was. On a Monday afternoon after school. The man wasted no time. Most people wouldn’t see much of my father in me, but we have the same nose and eyes. Staring back into those familiar features and wondering how to tell him I had plans was painful.

“Oh, what?” Mom piped up. “You forgot about promising to take me out to dinner Friday?”

Dad’s smile turned to a frown and my stomach slowly descended from my throat as he turned to look at Mom.

“Don’t just stare at me, mister,” Mom said. “You said we were going out for steaks Friday night.”

Juno was oblivious. Her headphones were still blaring loudly enough that I could hear her song as she tapped away at her phone.

“Did I?” He winced. “I’m sorry, honey. It’s been a long day.”

Mom chuckled.

“Don’t you even worry about it,” she said with a flick of her hand. “Go get cleaned up. I know you’re starving.”

Dad smiled and turned to me.

“Sunday?” He asked. “You and me? The boys?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Obviously. And no worries. Jules said something about doing something Friday, so I can make other plans.”

Dad grinned from ear to ear and went on his way to go clean up for dinner. When I looked over at Mom, I could tell she wasn’t happy. She glanced over at Juno, then her eyes were back on me.

“A public hug and couch-slash-movie time,” I said.

“You bet your narrow ass,” she said. “I just lied for you.”

“Give it up, Mom,” I said. “You’re getting a steak dinner out of it, too.”

She laughed and brought the final few containers over to the table.

“You just better do something with your dad on Sunday or it’ll be you and me.”

She playfully nudged me in the chin with her fist.

“Sure thing.”

A few minutes later, Dad was seated at the table with the rest of us and we were passing containers of pupusas, tamales, and rice around. Even though I felt bad about Mom and me deceiving Dad a bit so I could hang out with Jules, that melted away quickly. Between the pupusas, tamales, rice, and all of the jokes and laughing, nothing could sour my mood for long. Besides, I actually wanted to spend time with Dad. But I also wanted to hang out with Jules. Luckily, it all had worked out.

On Tuesday, the lunch menu hadn’t improved. Salisbury steak made with questionable meat, a side of potatoes—most likely from a box—and overcooked vegetables, was the main choice. Leftover hot dish was the other option. Luckily, between Jules and Liam, I was able to swap the questionable items for more vegetables and fruit. I didn’t have to actually ingest circus animal meat. Writing about the subpar lunches served at A.M. Whitemane brewed in the back of my head once more, so I had to remind myself that it wasn’t worth it.

Wednesday’s offering was basically equal to or slightly grosser than Tuesday’s lunch. During Journalism Club after school Wednesday, I almost begged Ms. Tabatabai to let me write an article about the cafeteria food. However, she had already put me on the extracurriculars beat and I didn’t want to annoy her. Also, it occurred to me that my new beat already put enough on my shoulders. Writing a full editorial column about the cafeteria ladies trying to kill the students would have simply been too much.

By Thursday, I was bringing my own lunch from home. Everyone in my friend group gave me crap about it, but nothing solves questionable food choices like having a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and a side of grapes. Maybe my lunch choice wasn’t exactly healthy, but at least I knew what type of junk I was ingesting. At least I knew it wouldn’t kill me by the end of the day. Unless I choked on it, of course.

When Friday arrived, and I was at home stuffing my lunch bag into my backpack, I had hit my limit with the school cafeteria. During breakfast, Mom and Dad were treated to a twelve-minute speech about the war crimes and other atrocities being committed in my school’s cafeteria. Their amusement at how worked up I had gotten over the course of a handful of days only made me more pissed off about the whole situation.

My morning classes didn’t go well. Every time I thought about anything school related, my blood began to boil. I’d sink into daydreams about burning down the school cafeteria and proclaiming all of my fellow students “free” from the abuse they had suffered for so long. Daydreaming during class is not actually conducive to learning—or jotting down assignments—so it made me even happier that it was Friday. I had two and a half days to find out which homework assignments I had to do.