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At the last second I remember to ask directions to her house even though I haven’t forgotten the route the cabbie took just a couple of days ago. I’m going to tell her I followed her home that night, but not tonight. That would make me look like a creeper, and I don’t want her to change her mind about the dinner invitation. No woman, or even girl for that matter, has ever invited me home to have dinner with her family. I’m filled with the oddest combination of excitement and anxiety. What if her mom and sister don’t like me? What if she deci
des that she doesn’t like me? I’ve faced enemies in combat with less apprehension than this simple dinner invitation is causing me! What does that even mean? It’s times like this when I long for the normal childhood that I didn’t have. Where I would know what to do in everyday social situations.
Following her directions, I pull into the driveway of the modest, stucco house. I notice that there is a small sedan parked between the house and the fence. I file that information away. They have a car, but she rides the bus. I wonder briefly what that’s about, then remember that the night I followed her home I heard a crying child. They probably keep the car where the baby is. That’s logical, right? I’ve never been around babies. Not since I was a kid bouncing around foster homes anyway, but I think that’s a reasonable assumption.
The porch light comes on and the front door flies open before I’ve even had a chance to unlatch my seatbelt. Ellie giggles and glances my way, waving at someone in the doorway. The small shadowy figure jumps off the low stoop and dashes to the car, pulling open the passenger door with a flourish. I get a glimpse of long, light brown braids and a sparkly pink t-shirt before Ellie climbs out, blocking my view. It has to be her sister.
“Ells! You brought home a guy?” There is something off about the voice. It’s a woman’s voice, but at the same time it’s not. Confused, I step into the driveway and push the button on my key to open the trunk. I close the door and go back for the bags.
“Can I help?” that same voice pipes from right beside me. I look over into the grinning face of Ellie’s sister. There is no way she could be anyone else. Ellie said they were only fraternal twins, but in the dim light of the trunk light I’d swear that they are identical except for their hair color. She is bouncing eagerly on the toes of bright pink Chucks waiting for my answer.
“Sure,” I say handing her a bag, “You must be Lizzie.” Her smile gets even bigger.
“Yep,” she pops her P loudly, reminding me of Ellie doing the same thing earlier in the store and I return her smile. “What’s your name anyway?” Up close she’s a little taller than Ellie too. I’m categorizing the differences as I notice them and filing them away, still not able to put my finger on what exactly feels different about her.
“Liz, this is my…” she hesitates, thinking about what to call me. We aren’t exactly friends, but I’d like us to be that and more. “My friend Blake.” She finishes. Friend is a good start. A perfect start.
“Hi, Blake,” Lizzie sings out, skipping away from us swinging the bag I gave her.
I hear Ellie’s long sigh in the darkness beside me as the front door slams shut. “I suppose I should tell you about Liz, so she doesn’t surprise you once we get inside.”
“Something’s wrong?” I ask, knowing that it is even without her confirming it.
“Lizzie was in a car accident two years ago. Her husband didn’t make it and we almost lost her and Auggie, her son, too.” Her tight voice gives away how little she likes talking about her family's tragedy.
“Auggie was born by emergency C-Section while Liz was in a coma. We didn’t know if she would even wake up, and when she did, she didn’t remember that she had been married and pregnant. The part of her brain that was injured held all her more recent memories. Lizzie knows she is twenty-five, the same as me, but in her mind she’s fifteen.”
Her words tumble out in a breathless rush and she finally looks up to meet my eyes. She looks worried, waiting for my reaction. Slowly I raise my hand and brush an escaped lock of hair behind her ear and gently cup her soft cheek. She leans into me for just a moment before stiffening her spine and slowly blinking her large doe eyes up at me. I want to say something comforting, but don’t know how or what would help.
“We should get this stuff inside,” her voice is a trembly whisper.
I nod, not wanting to frighten her with the feelings churning inside me, and turn back to the trunk, gathering up most of the bags and leaving only a couple light ones for her.
“Can you close the trunk?” I ask, hoping to put her at ease. She smiles gratefully and does as I ask before motioning with her head toward the front door.
“Let’s go inside. Auggie isn’t going to know what to make of you.” Her laughter is back, and I’m glad that we got past the painful moment.
“Right behind you,” I say, and fuck am I glad that I am! Her light grey housekeeper’s dress and cardigan aren’t meant to be tempting, but I can’t help but appreciate how the fabric drapes lovingly over the curve of her hips and the hem brushes just at the top of her knees, showcasing her lean, strong calves and trim ankles.
“Hola, Mama!” she calls out as she leads me through the front door and into a tidy, well-lived-in living room.
“Hola, mija,” a sweet, lightly accented voice calls from somewhere out of sight.
“Come on,” she urges, and I follow her into a large, sparkling clean kitchen. Already the pungent aroma of spices and cooking food fills the air. Lizzie is chattering rapidly in Spanish, but I’m not able to hear her clearly enough to use my high school Spanish classes to translate.
“Mama, this is my friend from work, Blake,” she says, setting her bags on the floor by the table and motioning that I should do the same. I realize that I’ve never told her my last name. I probably should do that since it’s going to be hers someday, too.
Dark brown eyes, the same rich shade as Ellie’s, lock on mine with laser focus and an enormous smile lights up her pretty face. Warmth expands inside my chest as she wipes her hands on a white kitchen towel and approaches me.
“Welcome,” she says warmly, pulling me into her embrace and the oddest sensation of homecoming washes over me.
“Mrs. Lovell, thank you for having me for dinner on such short notice.” I’m digging deep for my very best manners, wanting to make a good impression on this woman more than I ever have in my life.
She hugs me tight again before letting me out of her motherly hug with a small pat of her hand on my forearm. “Any friend of Ellie’s is family, Blake,” she says kindly before returning to her place behind her large kitchen island and taking the lid off a pan releasing a cloud of fragrant steam into the room.
“Lizzie, get Mr. …” she leaves it open since no one knows my last name.
“It’s Stone, but please, you should call me Blake.”
