by Sarah Dessen
“Of course it was.”
Dave rolled his eyes, fastening one last house onto his sector. Then he stood up, wiping his hands on his jeans. “Okay, that one’s done. I’ll start up the next when I come in Saturday.”
Deb glanced over, checking his work. “Sounds good.”
“You’re leaving?” I asked.
“Previous engagement,” he replied, as Heather and Ellis walked over to the windows, looking down at the street. Riley was still standing over the model, taking it all in. “We have this dinner thing we do every month. It’s kind of mandatory.”
“What he means is,” Ellis piped up, “the food is so good you don’t want to miss it for anything. Or, um, anyone.”
Heather snorted, glancing at me. Riley said, “Let’s just go, okay? You know how she gets if we’re late.”
Ellis and Heather started for the door, with Dave falling in behind them. Riley took one last look across the model, then said, “You guys are welcome to come. I mean, if you want.”
“Where are you going, exactly?” I asked.
“My house,” she replied. “And Ellis is right. The food is amazing.”
“I don’t know,” I said. “It sounds great, but we’ve got this schedule, and owe time . . .”
“. . . but it can be readjusted,” Deb finished for me. I looked at her. “I mean, we can make it up. It’s not a problem.”
“Oh,” I said, surprised she was so quick to agree to this. “Well, great. Sure, then. We’d love to.”
Riley nodded, then turned to follow Dave and Heather, who were at the top of the stairs. Over her shoulder, she said, “Fair warning, though. My family’s kind of . . . crazy.”
“Isn’t everyone’s?” I replied.
“I guess,” she said with a shrug. “Come on. You can ride with us.”
“I know what you’re thinking,” Ellis said, hitting the key remote in his hand. “It’s pretty much the most stunning example of vehicular perfection ever.”
We all stood there, watching as the back door of the sky blue van slid open, revealing two rows of seats, the rear of which was stacked with soccer balls and various pairs of cleats.
“Don’t try to point out to him that it is just a minivan,” Heather said, climbing into the backseat and pushing a ball onto the floor. “We’ve tried.”
“It’s the modern man’s love machine,” Ellis replied, walking around to the driver’s-side door as Riley got in beside Heather, and Dave took a seat in the next row. I glanced at Deb, who was standing there clutching her purse, then slid in next to him, giving her the front seat. “How many vehicles do you know of that have an AC adapter plug-in, three feet of washable cargo space, and fully reclining fold-down seats?”
“It’s still a minivan,” Heather said. “Before you were macking around in it, it was strictly for car seats and crumbled Goldfish.”
“But I am macking around in it,” Ellis replied, cranking the engine as Deb shut her door. “And we’ll be macking all the way to Austin in it, too. That’s all that matters.”
We pulled out of the lot beside Luna Blu, turning into traffic. I turned around, so I was facing Riley, who was looking out the window while Heather checked ion ever.phone beside her. “You sure this is okay? Inviting two extra people at the last minute?”
“Oh, yeah,” she said. “My mom always makes too much anyway.”
“You can never have too much fried chicken,” Dave told her.
“She made fried chicken last time,” Heather said, still studying her screen. “I remember, because Dave ate two breasts, two legs, and two wings. Which was actually . . .”
“. . . an entire chicken,” Dave finished for her, sighing. “A personal best for me.”
“The gluttony on display is unbelievable,” Riley told me. “It’s almost embarrassing.”
“Almost,” Ellis said. Then he shot her a smile in the rearview, and she smiled back briefly, before looking out the window again.
We drove through town, past neighborhoods and subdivisions, until the road turned into a two-lane highway. The landscape began to change, with rolling hills on either side, the occasional farmhouse, and broad pastures dotted with cows. I realized suddenly that Deb hadn’t said a word, so I leaned forward, around her headrest.
“You okay?” I asked, my voice low.
“Yeah.” She was looking straight ahead, taking it all in. “I’ve just . . . never done this before.”
“Been out in the country?”
She shook her head. Beside her, Ellis was messing with the radio, snatches of music and voices popping up here and there. “Been invited to dinner like this.”
“What do you mean, ‘like this’?”
“By, you know, a bunch of people from school. As friends.” She pulled her purse a little closer to her chest. “It’s really nice.”
We aren’t even there yet, I wanted to say, but I kept quiet as, yet again, I was reminded that as much as she’d told me about her past, there was a lot I didn’t know.
“Everything cool?” Dave asked me as I sat back.
I nodded, looking at Deb again. She was sitting so still, like at any moment someone might realize their mistake and tell her to go. It made me sad, not for now but for whatever she’d been through to make this so new. “Yeah. Everything’s fine.”
After driving for what seemed like a long time, Ellis slowed down, turning onto a gravel road. POSTED: NO TRESPASSING! a sign read, just past a row of mailboxes, and then we were bumping along, Dave’s knee knocking into mine every now and then. I didn’t move out of the way, though, and neither did he. As we came over a small hill, we saw a woman coming toward us in sweatpants, a long jacket, and sneakers, walking two big dogs. She had a beer in one hand and a cigarette in the other, and still managed a broad wave as we passed.
“That’s Glenda,” Dave explained. “Out for her evening power walk.”
“One beer down, one beer back, cigarettes as needed,” Riley added. To me she said, “My neighbor.”
“Right,” I said.
“And that,” Heather said as we passed a short driveway, a little te house at the end of it, “is where I live. Try not to be too stunned by the size and majesty.”
“I love your house,” Ellis said. Over his shoulder, he added, “Her dad buys MoonPies at Park Mart in bulk. Has an entire glass jar of them on the TV. It’s the best.”
Heather looked pleased, and I realized I’d rarely seen her smile until now. “He has a bad sweet tooth. I try to make him eat healthy, but it is a thankless job.”
“Let the man have his MoonPies,” Dave said. “What are you, the food police or something?”
“He needs to watch his weight!” she told him. “Diabetes runs in our family. And it’s not like he can keep a woman around long enough to take care of him.”
I turned slightly as we passed the house. “You live alone with your dad?” She nodded. “Me, too.”
“He’s a mess,” she said affectionately. “But he’s my mess.”
Ellis turned into the last driveway before the road ended, pulling up in front of a large, brown house with a bunch of cars parked in front of it. It had a silver metal roof, a wide front porch, and what looked like a barn just behind it. A thick chimney on top spouted smoke, puffing up into the sky.
“Here we are,” Dave said, as Ellis cut the engine. “I hope you guys are hungry.”
The van door slid open, and he and I slid out, Heather and Riley following behind. There were several lights on inside the house, casting yellow light out onto the steps as we climbed them. I turned back to check on Deb, who was bringing up the rear with Ellis.
“Something smells amazing,” she said softly, as Riley moved ahead of us, pulling open the door.
She was right. I’d been brought up in restaurants, and eaten a lot of good food. But something about the smell of that house was totally unique. Like fried food, and cheese, and warmth and sugar, the best, most tasty bite you’ve ever taken.
“You�
��re late,” a woman’s voice called out as soon as we stepped over the threshold. This was followed by the sound of an oven door banging shut.
“It was Dave’s fault,” Riley replied, dropping her bag by a flight of stairs.
“I was volunteering,” Dave said. “Just so you know.”
“Of course you were.” Riley shifted out of the way, and I saw the voice belonged to a small, red-haired woman who was standing at the sink, wiping her hands on a dish towel. She had on jeans, sneakers, and a U Basketball sweatshirt, and she was smiling. “Because you are a good boy.”
“Hey, what about me?” Ellis said.
“The jury is still out,” she said, offering her cheek. He gave it a kiss, then moved past her, into the dining room I could see just beyond. “Heather, sweetie, your dad called. He’s going to be late.”
“Why doesn’t he just call my phone?” she said, pulling it out of her pocket. “I have tried to explain to him that he doesn’t need a cell to call a cell. But he cannot comprehend. He’s such a caveman.”
“Leave Jonah alone,” I heard a voice say frothe dining room. I looked in to see Ellis sitting next to a man with a beard, also in a U sweatshirt and a matching hat. A beer sat on the table in front of him, his hand loosely around it. “Not everyone is attached at the hip to their technology like you people.”
“It’s not technology,” Heather said, flopping into a chair on his other side. “It’s a keypad.”
“Be sweet,” he said to her, and she stuck out her tongue. I watched as he laughed, picking up his can and taking a sip.
“Mom, this is Mclean and Deb,” Riley said. “They were hungry.”
“Oh, we really weren’t,” Deb said quickly. “We didn’t mean to impose—”
“You’re not imposing,” Riley’s mom said. “Now come sit down. We’re running late and we know how your father gets if he thinks he’s going to miss the tip-off.”
I glanced at Riley, who was tying on an apron patterned with red checks. “They know nothing,” she assured me. “Promise.”
“Tip-off?” Deb said.
“U plays Loeb College at seven sharp,” Riley’s dad called out, gesturing for us to come into the dining room. Once we were closer, he stuck out his hand. “Jack Benson. You know you have the same name as one of the best college basketball coaches of all time?”
“Um, yeah,” I said, shaking it. Behind me, Riley and her mom were bustling around, bringing out various pans and casseroles and putting them on the table. “I’ve heard that.”
“Can I help you with anything?” Deb asked her as she dropped the best-looking macaroni and cheese I’d seen in ages onto a trivet.
“Do you see that?” Riley’s mom said, pointing at Dave and Ellis. “That’s called manners. You all should take lessons. Or at least notice.”
“We stopped offering because you never said yes,” Ellis told her. To me he added, “She’s a total control freak when it comes to cooking. Our plating skills were not up to her standards.”
“Hush up,” Riley’s mom said, swatting at him with a stack of napkins. To Deb and me, she said, “You two are guests. Sit down. Riley, make sure everyone has a drink, will you? We’re almost ready.”
“You know,” Mr. Benson said as I sat down next to Dave, “I gotta say, you look kind of familiar to me. Do I know you from somewhere? ”
“No,” Riley called over her shoulder as she dumped ice into a pitcher.
“I think I do.” He squinted at me. “You were the one at the game with Dave the other day! Talk about great seats. You must be pretty special to warrant that. He still won’t tell me how he scored them.”
“Because it’s not your business,” Mrs. Benson said. The smell of fried food, hot and mouthwatering, wafted over me as she walked behind me, depositing a huge platter of chicken on the table in front of her husband. “Now let’s stop talking about basketball for ten minutes and say grace. Any volunteers?”
I looked at Deb, sort of panicking. Then Dave said, “Don’t worry. That’s a rhetorical question, too. You could never say grace as well as she does.”
“David Wade,” Mrs. Benson said, pulling out a chair and sitting down. “That is not the least bit true.”
Everyone else at the table laughed, but she just shook her head, ignoring them. Then she put out both hands, one to Ellis on her left, and to me on the right. Just as her fingers closed around mine, I felt Dave take my other hand.
“Thank you, God, for this food,” Mrs. Benson said, and I looked around the table, seeing that Riley and Deb both had their eyes closed. Mr. Benson, from what I could tell, was eyeing the chicken. “And for the opportunity to share it with our family and friends, old and new. We are truly blessed. Amen.”
“Amen,” Mr. Benson agreed, already reaching for a serving spoon. “Now, let’s eat.”
I’d learned from my dad that opinions about food are always biased, and to be skeptical of even the most rave review. In this case, however, what I’d been told was not an exaggeration. After a few bites, I realized that this was true southern food: crisp chicken, creamy mac and cheese, green beans cooked with pork fat, fresh-baked rolls that melted in your mouth. The iced tea was sweet and cold, the servings huge, and I never wanted it to end.
I was so immersed that it wasn’t until I reached for another piece of chicken—well on my way to coming close to, if not meeting, Dave’s record—that I realized how long it had been since I’d sat around a table this way, eating like a family. I’d spent the last two years eating either on the couch at home, at the end of one bar or another, or in the kitchen with my dad, picking off the same plate, as he made other people’s dinners. Here at Riley’s, it was so different. The talk was loud, bouncing from topic to topic, as plates were passed and cups refilled. Dave and I kept bumping elbows while Riley’s mom peppered me with questions about how I liked Jackson and how it was different from my other schools. Meanwhile, Ellis and Heather talked basketball with Riley’s dad, and beside them, Deb was telling Riley about the model and the plans she had for it. It was loud and hot, my face flushed. I suddenly understood again the appeal of food, how it was bigger than just having something made and then slid across a kitchen prep window. It was about family, and home, and where your heart was, like Opal had said about Luna Blu not so long ago.
“Mclean, get yourself some more of those green beans,” Mrs. Benson said, gesturing for Ellis to pass them down. “And it looks like you need another roll, too. Where’s the butter?”
“Right here,” Heather said, picking up the dish and handing it to Mr. Benson, who passed it to Dave. As the conversation rose up again, I watched both it and the bread basket move down the table. Steadily, they went from hand to hand, person to person, like links on a chain, making their way to me.
After dinner, Riley’s mom put us all on dish duty, while Mr. Benson excused himself and went into the living room, where he eased into a big leather recliner with a fresh beer. A moment later, I heard an announcer’s voice and glanced over to see two men in suits shaking hands, a referee between them.
“Look at that,” Mr. Benson called out over his shoulder. “Old Dog Face is only wearing two of his championship rings tonight.”
“Daddy hates Loeb College,” Riley said, adding some soap to the watrunning in the sink. Clearly, there was a routine here, as everyone had fallen into certain places: she had the sponge, with Ellis beside her to rinse, and then me and Deb armed with dish towels. Dave and Heather were the floaters, already opening cabinets to put things away. “Especially the Loeb coach.”
“Doesn’t everybody?” Ellis said.
“No,” Heather told him. “You know my dad is a Loeb fan. So stop the trash-talking.”
“Jonah only pulls for Loeb to be contrary,” Mr. Benson called out. “It’s like rooting for Darth Vader. You just don’t do it.”
Riley rolled her eyes, soaping up a plate as Mrs. Benson moved behind us, putting something wrapped in Saran in the fridge. “Mom, go sit down,” she said
. “We’ve got this.”
“I’m almost done,” her mom replied.
“She’s never done,” Ellis said to me.
There was a burst of cheering from the TV, and Mr. Benson clapped his hands. “Hell, yeah! Now that’s how you start a game!”
“Jack,” Riley’s mom said. “Language.”
“Sorry,” he replied like a reflex.
Ellis handed me a platter, which I dried and passed off to Deb. “You know,” she said, taking it, “I’ve never really understood the whole basketball thing.”
“It’s pretty easy to follow, if you just watch,” Heather said.
“I guess. I’ve never watched a game, though.”
A silence fell. Even the TV went mute. “Never?” Riley asked.
Deb shook her head. “My mom and I aren’t really into sports.”
“Basketball,” Dave said, “is not simply a sport. It’s a religion.”
“Watch it,” Mrs. Benson warned from the pantry, where she was organizing cans.
“Let the boy speak!” her husband called out. I looked over to see him turning in his chair, lifting a finger, and pointing at Deb. “Come over here, sweetheart. I’m about to give you an education.”
“Oh, God,” Riley groaned. “Daddy, please. Don’t.”
“That would be great!” Deb said. Then she looked down at her dish towel. “Let me just—”
“It’s okay,” Heather said, taking it from her. “Just go. It’ll be easier if you let him go ahead and start. God knows how long this might take.”
“You sure? ” Deb asked Riley, who nodded. “Okay. Thanks!”
We all stood there washing and drying in silence as she walked over, taking a seat on the corner of the couch closest to the recliner. The volume on the TV came on again, but we could still hear Mr. Benson begin. “Okay,” he said. “Now, back in 1891, Dr. James Naismith invented—”
“Oh my God,” Riley said. “He’s starting with Naismith. College just can’t come fast enough.”
Beside me, Dave laughed. Heather said, “Don’t say that. Next year, we’ll all be eating cafeteria food and wishing we were here.”