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“It’s not bad,” I say and Miri huffs. “Actually, I’d go as far as saying it’s delicious, though I wouldn’t want it as a meal every day. Not because I’ve eaten caviar my entire life, that’s not remotely close to the truth. In fact, what I grew up eating was probably nowhere near as gourmet as this, considering I procured most of my food from the dumpsters behind restaurants.” Though I say it for Miri’s benefit, it’s Andie’s reaction I’m taking in.
She pauses, with her fork halfway to her mouth as she processes what I’ve said. Then her eyes lift to mine, hers so full of question and shock.
“You lived on the streets?” Miri asks after a moment, her voice slightly less hostile.
“Believe it or not.” I take another bite. “It’s good.”
The table remains quiet for a bit, only the sound of silverware clanking against the plates.
When someone finally breaks the silence, it’s Lola. “Did your mom die? Is that why you were homeless?” There is so much worry in that question, as if she’s been considering what I told them about me, comparing her situation to mine. Her brows are pinched tightly together as she waits for my reply, as if I’m about to confirm something she’s been afraid of.
“Oh baby, I don’t think we should talk about that,” Andie tells her. “Why don’t you tell us about school today instead? Did you see Mr. Pines for chess?”
It doesn’t take long for the conversation to ease out of that tense territory I took us into, mostly because of Andie’s and Miri’s efforts to shift. For the most part, I try to keep my mouth shut, since it’s obvious I’m not the best at appropriate conversations around the family table. How could I be? Even as an adult, I mostly eat alone.
However, after a while, I begin to enjoy the noise of their chatter, Josh’s random humming and Miri’s wild cackling laughter. And there is something about the familial comfort, the routine they seem to have as they ask for salt or even when it’s not asked for, someone notices and automatically responds, that has my chest tightening in something akin to envy. And why the fuck would I envy this, a dinner on a foldout table that consists of noodles and water when I can have fillet mignon and expensive wine? Or maybe it’s not envy, but something else entirely. I don’t know.
They discuss things, mundane things I’d usually deem boring, but instead, I find myself acutely attuned to.
Besides being a natural with the violin, Lola plays chess competitively. That’s what all the awards in the bedroom are for. Again, impressed.
Andie never misses a match, even though she doesn’t know the first thing about it.
I glance down at my plate and suddenly there are three extra Brussels sprouts lying beside my noodles. Damn, she’s good.
“Eat your chicken nuggets,” Miri says to her son.
He spits out his food and stares at it with a horrified expression. “This is chicken?”
“Eat your T-Rex, Josh.”
The rest of dinner goes very much the same way, with more chatting than eating, and laughter over silly things. It takes over an hour to end, yet when it does, it seems too soon.
After Lola collects the plates, I clean and put away the folding table. Then I go to stand by Andie who is at the sink.
I prop my hip against the counter and watch her washing dishes with pink rubber gloves. A smile tugs on my lips. “Those gloves were in my fantasies.”
Laughter bursts from her. “You need therapy.”
“Maybe.” I lean in to murmur in her ear in a deep and low tone. “Or maybe I just need to fuck you while you’re wearing those gloves.”
Her cheeks go flame red and she clears her throat. “Someone is going to hear you.”
There’s no one close enough. Miri left a little while ago and Lola is playing chess against the computer on her tablet.
But she changes the subject anyway. “Did you enjoy dinner?”
“We will address the gloves later.” I chuckle. “Do you do this every day? This dinner thing?”
“Only when I’m off. Although, I guess now…” She trails off, but I know what she was going to say. Now that she’s going to have all her days off because of me.
Something uncomfortable creeps into my chest and settles there. It feels a lot like guilt, except… I’ve done many bad things in my life. I’ve carried the weight of that guilt for years. But punishing someone for stealing from me has never been something to feel remorse about. And yet…
“Andie,” I whisper, reaching out to tuck a loose lock of hair behind her ear.
She presses her cheek into my palm and lets out a long breath. “I’m so tired.”
Before I can say anything, Lola screams. “Momma, I forgot to do my math homework!”
