Chapter 2

“Wouldn’t do what?” she asks. There’s that laugh again, like she doesn’t know what I could possibly be talking about. “She’s a friendly girl, real pretty, works at the orthopedist’s across from the deli.”

The deli, meaning the tiny sandwich shop where Ray works. He’s twenty-eight and a night cook—“night manager,” to hear him tell it, but there’s only one other person there in the evenings and she’s almost half his age. Whenever my classes threaten to drag me down, I think of my brother and pray to Godthat I’m never that bad. The fact that he moved out of the basement to the room above the garage this past summer is a big deal to him. “My own entrance,” he said, showing off his digs earlier. “You know, like the Fonz? On my own, man. On my own.” He doesn’t even own a car, still rides a bicycle to work. Twenty-eight. Already balding, too, I hope I don’t have that gene.

Throughout dinner he’s sat beside me, an eerie imitation of Dad, elbows on the table as he leans over his plate to snarf up his food. At the mention of Mary Margaret, his ears prick up, and he narrows his eyes as he asks Mom, “Who’s this again?”

From across the table, Caitlin rolls her eyes. “No one interested in you,” she tells him.

Ray glares at her, suddenly twelve years old. “I didn’t ask you,” he growls, and beneath the table, I feel a small foot kick out past my leg to connect with his shin. “Ow! Mom—”

“Caitlin, don’t,” my mother warns.

“It’s Cat,” my sister replies.

With an embarrassed duck of my head, I half-turn to Dan and whisper, “Welcome to hell.” I almost forgot how wonderful these family dinners could be. I knew there was a reason I didn’t come home more often.

Dan raises his glass of water to hide the smirk that tugs at his lips—pretty lips, well defined, almost heart-shaped when he smiles. He rarely smiles. When we first met, I thought he was just another hard-nosed grunt, but it’s shyness that makes him seem so aloof and distant. Once I dug past the hardened Army exterior, I found a soft, wonderful boy inside, and even now I can look into his dark eyes and see my lover peering out. Tonight,I think, after this dinner is over, after the coffee and the cake and whatever else my mother has planned for this evening. Tonight, in the darkness of my old bedroom, he’ll hold me the way he does that makes everything alright again, his breath faint in my ear, his hands flat against my stomach, his legs entwined with mine.

But first, we have to get through this. My mom starts in on the girl again. “Wasn’t she in your math class?” she asks, frowning at me as if she’s sureI’ll swoon once I remember just which Mary Margaret she means. “Fourth grade, Mrs. Lingenfelter’s class, sat in the last row. I’m almost sure that’s her.”

I clear my throat and look around, and before I can even think of how I’m going to put it, I tell them all, “I have something to say.”

Mom stops in midsentence. Dad’s gaze flickers from the weather report to me, then back again. Ray’s still glowering at Caitlin, who glances at our parents to make sure they’re not watching her before she sticks her tongue out at him, far enough so that we all get a glimpse of the thick silver ball rammed through the middle of it. But our parents don’t notice it—Dad’s glued to the TV and Mom’s watching me, waiting. Beside me, Dan sets his silverware down, wipes his mouth neatly with a corner of his napkin, then folds the cloth into his lap. He knows what’s coming—we went over it in the car all the way here. Beneath the table, his hand squeezes my thigh.

I’ve played it out a million different ways in my mind. I’ve rehearsed this moment until the words rest on the tip of my tongue like the stud that pierces my sister’s. I could be witty about it, or solemn, or nonchalant. I could blow it off like it’s no big deal, or get all teary-eyed and break down, or beat around the bush about the whole thing. I’m running the show here. Everyone’s waiting on me.

I slip a hand beneath the table and take Dan’s, my fingers folding over his for strength. I love him, he loves me. That won’t change, regardless of whatever I say to my parents, whatever they have to say to me. He loves me. Taking a deep breath, I look at my brother, my sister, my dad, my lover in the mirror behind my parents, but it’s my mom’s face that I concentrate on, it’s her eyes that I stare into—the others disappear and she’s the only one I see. My throat is dry, my tongue thick, my lips chapped. “I’m…”

My voice cracks and Dan’s hand tightens in mine. When I try again, I squeak like nails on a chalkboard. “Mom?” She nods, a faint ghost of a smile on her face, as if she’s sure she’ll love whatever news I have for her, she just knows it, so she’s getting her happy face ready to put on. Only the smile never fully materializes. “I know you mean well, but I’m really not interested in…this girl. I’m—” I look at Dan, his high and tight hair dark above his eyes, and he nods at me to continue. “I already have someone. Dan.”

Dad’s eyes focus on me—finally, he sees me.He looks at me the way he looks at the TV, like any minute something interesting might happen and he doesn’t want to miss it. I give him a grin that he doesn’t return, and when I glance at my mother, her face has turned ashen, her eyes wide in her head. She stares at Dan as if he’s just insulted her and she hasn’t quite recovered from the affront.