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ugh!

couldn’t they have waited to come back until saturday or something?

Me

9:28 pm

guess not :/

Tatum

9:30 pm

well, that stinks!!

i hope you have so much fun with that (not really) we’ll miss you here!

I let out an exasperated sigh and set my phone down, lying back on my bed and staring up at the ceiling.

Can't. Wait.

******

The days chill off as Friday rolls around, and I find myself setting the table for five with our best silverware. The dining table is small, having only needed to feed two for so many years, but we make it work, somehow fitting five sets of dinnerware and three huge crockpots.

The doorbell rings.

“Drew, they're here! Please act like you remember them because they certainly remember you.” Mom lectures as she rushes to open the door.

A brunette woman with not nearly enough wrinkles to be a mother to a grown teenager hugs my mom and hands her a potted plant. Her hair falls short, framing her sharp jawline, and her neck is adorned with a golden cross necklace. Beside her stands a very tall, slender girl who I'm assuming is Laine. Laineoffers my mom a polite smile, then extends her arms out to hug me. At first, I'm taken aback by her bold gesture, considering we haven't seen each other in years, but she seems comfortable with me, so I ease into her and don't pull away immediately. As she wraps her arms around my shoulders, her hands are warm, despite feeling oddly bony and lanky.

Eventually, she pulls away and meets my eyes as our mothers exchange formalities. Her eyes are a deep green with subtle swirls of brown, and her hair is a wave of chestnut brown that sits effortlessly below her shoulders.

I notice her hands are stained with fresh remnants of pastel-colored paints, but they look so natural on her that you’d assume it was a purposely designed tattoo etched into her copper skin. Her pastel yellow sundress sticks to her side as the wind picks up outside, and she smells of strawberries and cinnamon, a combination you would have never thought would go together, but the pleasurable mix lingers under my nose from her hug.

The nervous pit in my stomach grows. This girl is never going to be friends with my ragged ass.

Feeling awkward, I rack my brain for what to say to her, but quickly stop myself because the silence doesn’t feel uncomfortably looming.

Glibby, being the socialite she is, comes and jumps on top of the dining table, reaching her head toward the potato-filled crockpot. Mom embarrassingly shoos her off and apologizes, then gives a tour of what’s on the table as she beckons Laine and her mom to sit opposite us.

“This looks lovely, Anne. Thank you for having us.” The brunette woman nods at my mom.

“Of course, Marissa. I’m glad we’ve reconnected!” Mom says, cheerfully clasping her hands together.

Laine still hasn't said anything to me, but her eyes return to my face as we sit down. I can't tell if her look is admiration orjudgment, but I'm not sure I want to know. Her stare is heavy, but it makes up for the lack of dialogue she’s provided to the conversation. Almost as if her face says the multitudes that she can’t bring her mouth to say.

“Where is Todd? We saved a seat for him!” Mom reaches across the table to serve Marissa and Laine chicken pot pie from the crockpot.

“Oh, he couldn't make it tonight. Work has been giving him a hard time since the move.” Marissa shakes her head in what I'm assuming is disappointment, except the gleam in her eye tells me she's both happy and concerned that her husband isn't here with us tonight. I take mental note of that as I glance over at Laine, who is now shifting uncomfortably in her seat and looking down at the napkin folded neatly in her lap, avoiding eye contact with anyone at the table.

There’s an awkward bout of silence, and then Marissa joins hands with Laine and reaches for my mom’s hand as Laine reaches for mine. I look around, scanning for clues as to what to do next, until Marissa and Laine bow their heads. Laine wiggles her fingers, gesturing for me to take her hand as her mom starts to speak.

“Dear heavenly father, bless this food our dear hosts, the Sterlings, have prepared for us, and thank you for this meal. Nourish our souls with grace, kindness, and strength. Amen.”

“Amen,” Laine parrots as I glance at my mom, who politely smiles at me, then at Marissa.

******