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He moved in even closer, his body was brushing mine and his face was an inch away.
“What?” I kind of shouted.
What could I say? It’d been a rough day. I was close to losing it.
“Whatever happens, you’re worth it and I don’t want to hear you say again that you’re not. Get me?”
I felt that warm strangeness hit me and I had no choice but to nod.
ELEVEN
DINNER AT MY PLACE
“I’ll get it!” Mom yelled.
I was in the kitchen, finishing dinner, freaking out, and I knew Eddie was at the door.
He’d left after helping me bring up the groceries, saying he had things to do. I was glad for the break. He was getting to me, wearing me down like he said he would, and I needed to regroup.
I’d done my chores and then got ready for Smithie’s, so I was in my slut makeup but wearing my day outfit. I’d change into my Smithie’s uniform at the very last minute.
Mom had gone weirdly quiet, sensing my mood, but also, I thought, because she was up to something.
I couldn’t worry about it. I had enough worries to last a lifetime.
Mom wheeled into the door of the kitchen. She’d overtaxed herself that day and I could see the exhaustion in her face. Nonetheless, she wasn’t missing tonight, no way, no how. When I told her Eddie was coming to dinner, she’d put both her hands to her cheeks, her mouth dropped open and tears filled her eyes. Such was the reaction of moms with big dreams for their daughters when hot guys with good jobs and fancy trucks came over to dinner.
I decided to wait to tell her we were going to Blanca’s tomorrow. She was already residing on cloud nine, it was too soon for a promotion to cloud ten.
“Eddie’s here,” she told me unnecessarily as I could feel his presence in the house with senses honed from months of Eddie Torture.
“Great, dinner’s ready. Everyone at the table,” I ordered abruptly.
I had planned the evening closely. We had an hour and a half to eat dinner and in that time I also had to change and get to work. It was enough time not to seem rude (or at least nottoorude) but not enough time for true disaster to fall.
Or so I thought.
“But…” Mom started, “shouldn’t we offer him a drink? Maybe sit and have a chat?”
I did notthinkso. No chats. Eddie could drink at the table while forking food in his mouth.
“No time, supper’s done and I’m about to mash the potatoes. Go, go, go!”
Mom wheeled out, defying my order, intent on being both meddling and polite. “I’m asking him what he wants to drink.”
“Just do it in a hurry,” I called after her, knowing Eddie probably could hear. “We don’t want cold potatoes.”
I hid in the kitchen, fiddling over the final touches. I knew this was the act of a supreme wuss, but I didn’t care. Mom came in, made Eddie an iced tea, then Mom went out.
I put food in serving dishes and started to head to the table. I’d made chicken fried steak, an enormous mound of mashed potatoes, peppered white gravy and green beans. Mom forced me into frying all eight beef cutlets I bought, rather than just four, telling me Eddie was a man and men were big eaters.
I’d never known anyone who could eat two huge chicken fried steaks, much less five, but who cared. I didn’t have the energy to fight her.
Maybe he could.
Maybe he would, just to be nice, and then he’d lapse into a food coma. I was focusing on the next hour and a half and hoping I’d survive it. An Eddie Food Coma would just be a bonus.
“Let’s eat,” I announced, walking into the living room and heading toward the dining table. I was balancing two bowls and a platter and nearly dropped them when Eddie looked at me.
