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JULIE AND MATTHEW HAVE a house straight out of a Home Improvement magazine. The whole design is a rustic atmosphere, with exposed wooden beams, various stains of wood and soft light throughout the house that brings you comfort and warmth. Everything about this house screams homey, despite its enormous size. It’s hard pulling my eyes away from every detail when all I can wonder is what my life would be like if I grew up in a house like this.
Can’t imagine I would be as bitter as the two grown men sitting at the table, one spewing hateful glares and the other ignoring his existence entirely. Mako will only look or interact with his parents, but when he does, his expression is full of warmth and respect. Whereas Ryan eats his dinner like a spoiled child forced to eat his greens.
How can anyone be unhappy when you have a home and parents like this?
“So, River, Ryan told me that you’re graduating college this year. What did you major in?” Matt asks right before spooning a pile of broccoli in his mouth. Ryan rests his hand on my thigh and squeezes, as if warning me not to say the wrong thing.
What a typical question. Why not ask me what my interests are? Where I grew up? What kind of person I am? How about the things that actually tell you about a person?
I could be a crazy bitch. Maybe I am a crazy bitch. Wouldn’t that be important to know?
I smile serenely. “Psychology.”
What a typical answer.
As if reading my mind, Ryan rolls his eyes. He never did approve of my career choice.
Why don’t you want me to figure you out, sweet Ryan?
“Why psychology?” Mako asks this time, sparing me a glance from his food. I shiver when his voice rolls over me. He hasn’t spoken to me since our introduction.
Hmm. Because my mother did a lot of fucked up things when I was a child, and I’m desperate to understand why? No, can’t be that. Who would care to understand a crackhead? That’s all there is to her. Jagged, cracked pieces.
I shrug a shoulder. “Because I’m good at figuring people out,” I answer blandly.
“Ah, you found yourself a smart one, Ryan. Make sure you’re careful,” Matt teases, winking at Ryan as he does. Matt talks with his mouth full. Julie lightly admonishes him for doing so. He just grins at her in return.
Something tells me not a lot bothers Matt. It makes me want to figure out what does.
Ryan scoffs lowly. “I think I can handle her.”
I think I can handle you too, baby.
Dinner drags on. Every time I’m asked a question, Ryan squeezes my thigh, warning me to watch my mouth. I’m not sure what I could possibly say, but I’m beginning to feel discouraged. Do I embarrass him that much?
By the time I shove the last piece of sinful apple pie in my mouth, I can feel a bruise forming. It’s almost enough to distract me from the pie, but I’m pretty sure we can get bombed by a terrorist right now, and I’d still ask for seconds. He’ll kiss the bruise for me later.
“Do you need help cleaning up?” I ask Julie graciously. She smiles at me and accepts. Ryan taps my thigh twice in appreciation. I beam as giddiness floods my chest.
I collect mine and Ryan’s plates first, my hands shaking at the prospect of breaking Julie’s fine china. With the kind of money that Matt and Julie make, this china probably costs more than my college tuition. If I break it, I’ll embarrass Ryan. He’d never forgive me for that.
When I circle around to collect Mako’s plate, he gradually slides his gaze up to me. His eyes connect with mine, and I wish I hadn’t stuck around. Julie should’ve taken his dishes.
I hold out an expectant hand, keeping a pleasant smile on my face. He takes his time, as if I’ll be standing here waiting for him no matter what. Ryan’s eyes sear into the side of my head, all previous appreciation gone.
Now I’m mad. I worked hard for that.
“Did your arm lose its motor function?” I ask with a bored tone when Mako just stares.
The slightest curl tugs on his lush lips. Without looking away, he hands the plate over. I yank it out of his grip and rush away, china be damned. My heart is racing and my stomach is fluttering. For the life of me, I can’t figure out why. He hadn’t even spoken to me.
“You okay?” Julie asks, noting the expression on my face. I’m not sure what it looks like, but I imagine I look flustered. Far more flustered than I should be when I just ate the best apple pie in North Carolina. Probably even the world.
“Fine,” I smile, gently setting the plates in the soapy water Julie had prepared.
“I’ll wash, you dry,” she says.
How cliché. I smile, and listen, grabbing a dry towel and await the first plate. I don’t think washing dishes has ever been so stressful in my life.
