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“He’s all by himself. Shouldn’t we sit next to him?” I ask.
“No thanks.”
Wow. Cold.
“You don’t like your dad?” I ask.
He turns to me again, his nostrils flaring. “Does it matter?”
I shrug. “I don’t know.”
“I’d much rather sit here,” he says. “Where it’s quiet.”
I look at the man again as he’s tasting some of the snacks Mrs. Caruso put out, like the crispy fried cookies covered with peanuts and honey glaze. “He doesn’t look like the type to get ignored by his son.”
“You really wanna go there?” Felix says through gritted teeth.
“Are you always this cold?” I rebuke.
“Talk to Dylan if you want the heat,” he retorts.
I ignore his obvious taunt. “Did your father come here all by himself? Where’s your mom?”
Suddenly, he punctures the table with the knife. “Do not. Speak. About my mother.”
Everyone looks at us.
Literally, everyone.
And it’s gone so quiet I can hear my own heartbeat.
“Felix, not at the table. Please.” His father smiles. “We’re guests at a friend’s house.”
Felix’s face contorts, and he rips the knife out of the table only to scoot back and march off.
“Jesus,” I mutter.
“Ignore him, it’s sensitive,” Lana says as she hovers over my seat. “He hates these kinds of family things. Reminds him too much of something we don’t have.”
She smiles before following Felix outside.
“Sorry,” I say to everyone at the table.
“It’s fine,” Dean Caruso says. “Let’s just keep the spirits up.”
Mrs. Caruso walks in on her high heels with even more plates. “Dinnertime!”
Everyone starts talking again as she puts down copious amounts of food, and my mouth begins to water at the sight. Two hot pots on the table are filled with broth along with all sorts of meats and vegetables, as well as dipping sauces. And my favorite, Kimchi.
I take some leaves and put on some veggies and Kimchi and roll it up into a ball before shoving it into my mouth.
“Goddamn, this is delicious,” I murmur.
Mrs. Caruso laughs. “I thought I’d need to explain how it works, but I see you’ve already got the hang of it.”
“I had a Korean friend when I grew up who invited me to her house for dinner so many times. Well, I invited myself over.”
Everyone laughs.
“Sounds like you, all right,” Dylan jests as he takes some of the meat and dunks it into the hot pot.
Every bite is delicious. “Oh my God, I love this.”
Mrs. Caruso chortles. “Well, I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself. What was your name again? I didn’t quite catch it.”
“Penelope,” I reply.
“Penelope … what?”
The whole room goes quiet for a second.
“Richards,” I mutter between slurping some of the broth in my bowl.
I swallow when everyone looks at me.
“And how did you meet my son again?” Dylan’s father asks.
I put my spoon down. “Well … I, uh …”
Why does it feel like I’m being interrogated all of a sudden?
“We helped her with a couple of bullies,” Dylan muses, putting some wrapped leaves filled with meat and sauce on his father’s plate. “Now eat. You’re scaring her away with all your questions.”
“Oh, nonsense,” Mrs. Caruso says. “I’m so glad she’s here.”
I take another sip of the soup before they decide to kick me out because it’s just too good.
“I finally get to meet my son’s girlfriend.”
I spit out almost half a spoon all over the table.
Now everyone looks at me like I’ve made a scene. And maybe I have. I mean, half my plate is covered with broth.
I grasp a paper towel and rub it all over. “Sorry.”
Mrs. Caruso looks surprised. “So you’re not his girlfriend?”
“Mom!” Dylan gasps. “You know I don’t …” He makes a sign with his hand in front of his neck to make her quit.
Good God, this is embarrassing.
“Oh, right, you don’t do that,” she muses, waving her hand around. “You’re ‘flexible.’” She makes air quotes.
“Flexible,” his father parrots, and a bulky laugh follows. “Just say you’re a player and deal with it.”
“Dad …” Dylan rolls his eyes. “Do we really have to do this now?” He grabs more meat. “I just want to eat Mom’s lovely dinner.”
“Aw,” his mom gloats, and she immediately runs over to his chair and gives him a big fat kiss on the cheek.
Lana and Felix come back into the room and they sit back down again, breaking the awkward spell. I wonder if they talked in private.
“So what is it that you do, Mrs. Caruso?” I ask, trying to be nice. “I know Dylan’s father is head of Spine Ridge.”
“Oh, I work in finance,” she mumbles. “I also do some work for our trust, which regulates some of the funds that go into the school.”
“Ah, so you’re both part of the board that runs it?”
She looks up at me like she’s surprised I even know about it.
“Interesting,” Dylan’s father says like I’m saying something suspicious.
“I just wanted to know everything about Spine Ridge before I started studying there.”
