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I know she’s thinking about it, too. She keeps chewing the edge of her lip, while her knees squeeze together beneath the table.
My dad can tell something’s up. I don’t think he was drinking today, or at least not as much—he’s clear-eyed as he watches Theo and me a little too closely.
“You two went to school together?”
“That’s right.” Theo nods.
“Huh.” He picks up an asparagus spear with his fingers and bites it in half. “Then how come I never saw you over here with the rest of the hooligans?”
“Dad—“
“I was a nerd,” Theo says lightly. “Still am, really.”
“You weren’t a nerd.” I don’t know why it comes out harsh, like I’m mad at her.
Theo glances at me, eyebrow raised. “It doesn’t bother me, Sully.”
Her use of my nickname throws me off balance—nobody calls me that except my brother and dad. And my mom, before.
I like the sound of it on Theo’s lips. It’s softer than “Sullivan”—playful and affectionate.
Theo’s not offended at the thought of herself as a nerd.
But I am.
“You weren’t a nerd. You were just…yourself.”
“Thanks,” she says with very little enthusiasm.
“What I mean is…in high school, everyone’s so desperate to impress, to prove themselves, to fit in…you never seemed to give in to any of that.”
Theo shakes her head. “I just wasn’t good at it.”
I remember one lunch hour when I watched her read a novel in the cafeteria, the paperback propped open on her knees while she ate a microwaved cup of noodles. She never looked up once, never reacted to the shrieks or clatter of trays all around her, completely absorbed in her story.
I watched the emotions sweep across her face—excitement, intrigue, worry, relief…and felt jealous of how Theo had somehow escaped while the rest of us were still stuck at school.
“You stood out,” I say. “Without even talking. That’s why those girls wouldn’t leave you alone.”
What I’m saying is true. Some quiet people fade into the background. You never forgot that Theo was in the room. Or at least, I never did.
“Stella used to say that,” my dad remarks, spearing a cube of watermelon on his fork and popping it into his mouth. “That some people have a kind of gravity that makes you want to watch them.”
I look at him, surprised. My dad doesn’t talk about my mom very much. Granted, he doesn’t talk about anything much—eating dinner with me two nights in a row is rare. And chatting the whole time? Unprecedented.
Theo’s meals make you want to linger. They demand to be savored with second helpings, with conversation. When we’re done, the sense of satisfaction is so complete, all we can do is sit back and gaze up at the stars.
My dad is peaceful and relaxed, hands clasped loosely behind his head. Theo leans her chin on palm. Her eyes are as deep as the night sky, her cheeks glowing like the moon.
Softly, she says, “You couldn’t take your eyes off Stella on-screen.”
A shiver brushes over my skin. But my dad only nods. “Her more than anyone.”
Usually, when my mom comes up, my dad gets this stunned, blank look on his face. It’s like her name is wind that blows out the candle behind his eyes.
But tonight, candlelight dances golden across his skin. My dad takes a piece of soapstone out of his pocket and turns it over in his hand, rubbing its softness with the ball of his thumb.
“Directors were always asking her to eat food in scenes. Because whatever she was doing, it was mesmerizing. You put something in her hand, and whatever that thing was…it became something more.”
