by Nora Flite
“Of course I have,” she pouted, copying me and grabbing a tray from a stack. “Your mom made some last night. I've never seen it at a buffet before, though.”
Handing her a plate, I scooped out a big spoonful of the sweet kernels, plopping it onto her tray. “We like corn here, what can I say?”
Leah pointed at a big square of something that was tan, something that excited me by mere sight. “I'll say. Is that more corn?”
“Oh, well,” I murmured, gently serving her a pile of the soft, decadent pudding. “Sort of. This is spoonbread, it's... it's just delicious. It's both bread and pudding and corn and not really any of them. I don't know how you make it, don't ask me that. I just know it's amazing.”
Hearing her laugh, I was encouraged, guiding her along the line further. “Now, this is a mysterious thing, here.”
Rolling her eyes, she reached past me with the tongs in the tray, grabbing the brownish meat. “I know what fried chicken is.”
“Do you?” I asked, lifting an eyebrow. “Are you sure?”
Leah bumped me gently, dropping a piece of fried chicken onto my plate. “Shh. Don't tease.”
“I can't help it, I like hearing you laugh.” Her cheeks went pink, enticing me to lean closer. “I like when you blush even more.”
“Stop,” she gasped, looking around nervously. “Everyone can see us.”
“So?” Smiling, I walked around her, heading for the one container of anything green. “Since when are you shy about that, weren't you the one that suggested we sleep in the same—”
“Deacon!” She groaned, cringing so hard I felt I might have gone too far.
I added a scoop of green beans to her pile of food, motioning towards my parents. “Come on, let's go grab a seat before this gets cold.”
My parents looked up as we arrived, making room so we could settle in at the small table. In the center was a large pitcher of iced tea, condensation rolling lazily down the side.
Carefully, I poured Leah a glass, then drained most of the one I made for myself.
“Took your time, son,” my dad said, crinkling his forehead. With the casual practice of years spent in the habit, he reached out, grabbing my hand and my mother's. Following suit, I gripped Leah's, noticing her bafflement.
She's never prayed before a meal.
Closing my eyes, I bent my head slowly and deliberately, hoping Leah was copying me. “Father in heaven,” my dad began, “we thank you for our good health, our good fortune, and for letting us be together in this present time. Amen.”
“Amen,” I repeated, syncing with my mother; noticing Leah's delayed, whispered mumble.
Peeking at her, I sat back, releasing my dad's hand but still holding hers. She met my gaze, her mouth an uneasy line. “Well, go on,” I said languidly. Unclasping her hand took a great effort. “Eat up, try a real taste of the south.”
She started with the chicken, biting into the crispy skin; the crunch was hard, loud. Leah smiled, clearly loving the taste. The scent of the hot food was tantalizing, I couldn't resist anymore.
Scooping up some of the spoonbread, I closed my lips around it eagerly. It was velvety on my tongue, extravagant. Closing my eyes, a small noise of pleasure escaped me. I hadn't had food like that in some time.
“Oh my gosh,” Leah gasped, straightening like she'd been kicked. “This is amazing! Like—this is seriously so, so good.” The pile of cornmeal pudding had a nice dent in it, so I knew she had decided to emulate me and try the delicious snack. The spoon in her hand was licked; she blushed as she noticed us all watching her.
“Never had spoonbread before, I take it?” My mother chuckled, looking pleased. “Where are you from again, dear?”
“Oh, uh,” she struggled, put on the spot. I was reminded of how little she had wanted to tell me about herself when we had first met. “Just a small state in New England.”
“Mmhmm,” my mother nodded, sipping her tea. “Makes sense, food like this can't be found out that way.”
“Your brother keeps complaining about the food on campus.” Dad sighed, poking at his chicken. “I told him, just go here, the state university has a great pre-med program.”
Wiping my mouth with a napkin, I wondered how much that fact actually bothered my dad. I knew he was proud of the state, of the college in the area. He'd certainly impressed as much on me when I'd been rebelling against the notion of going into a medical degree, myself. I was eager to change the subject. “Speaking of Nicholas, Mom said he was coming down... when, again?”
“Tonight,” she said, daintily stabbing a green bean. “He should be driving down in time for dinner. Also, we'll be heading to your grandparents tomorrow for the usual get-together.”
That reminds me, I'll need to find time to sneak off and buy Leah's gift. “That should be fun,” I said, swallowing another bite of creamy food. “Is there a chance I could borrow your car and do some shopping before we leave tomorrow?”
“Well, this weather has been threatening snow all week. 'Spose if you make it quick, that's alright.”
“What?” Laughing, I lifted my glass and waved it at my mother. “Are you suggesting I'm a bad driver?”
Dad cleared his throat, leaning back slowly. “Now, it isn't that. Your mother just means you haven't driven in snow in some time, you don't get none of that in sunny California.”
My mom turned towards Leah, tilting her head enough to make her holly-berry earrings catch the light. “Did you do much snow-driving in New England?”
Leah almost choked on a mouthful of green beans, looking surprised by the question. “Uh, um, sometimes? I mean, we got a lot of snow, so...”
“Did you drive out to California from there when you moved?”
“Oh, no, I flew—”
“Ah, so you don't have a car now. How do you manage to get around, dear?”
“No, no, I bought a car out there—”
Sighing, my mother effectively kept talking over Leah, the questions melding into one another until Leah looked ill. “I see. Y'all doing well out there, then?”
Sliding down in the chair, Leah looked far too pale and too small for my liking. “Well enough, I guess. My paintings have been selling, Deacon thinks I'll be doing even better when we get back so I can work on some new things.”
Sensing her silent cry for help, I set my glass down on the table loudly. “That's right! She's doing amazing. She's super talented. Her first gallery sold everything inside of it in its first week.”
“Oh,” my mother nodded, perplexed. “Is that unusual?”
“Very,” I assured her.
“So,” Dad started, folding his napkin carefully. “You're still just painting?”
Wrinkling my nose, I gave him a long look, trying to decide how to take his words. I knew my father's opinion of my career, for better or worse, so it was impossible to convince myself he wasn't dubious. “Yes. I am, in fact, just painting still. Is that a problem?”
“No, of course not,” he almost laughed, taken aback by the cynicism soaking into my tone. “I was simply wondering. Nicholas is starting work in a lab after classes a few days a week, they're paying him pretty well, considering it's a side job.”
Lifting an eyebrow, I laughed softly. “That's nice, but painting isn't a side job for me. It's how I make a living.”
“I know that,” he sniffed, the tension in the air making oxygen feel scarce. “Still, it's good, consistent work. He's been really pushing himself between classes and on-site experience—”
I couldn't take it anymore, hearing him go on and on about my little brother. Am I crazy, or does he turn every conversation about me into one about Nicholas?
I stood quickly, chair clattering back with a screech. “I'm going to go grab some dessert. I'll be right back.”
Leah blinked, starting to move, but I shook my head at her. “No, sit, I won't be long. I'll grab you something.”
She seemed unsure, yet proceeded to sink back down without a word. My gut hurt, not f
rom food, but from the irritation of feeling like I didn't meet the standards of my family.
Nicholas Nicholas Nicholas, he isn't even here, and it's all they want to talk about.
Scowling, I stomped away from the table, moving blindly towards the buffet area. People were still milling around, the restaurant packed as could be. It was claustrophobic; I was thankful for it. It kept me from thinking too hard on what my dad had been heavily implying.
Absently, I grabbed two plates, hardly looking at what was in front of me. The desserts should have been exciting. Instead, they appeared plastic in my grim state.
Why does he always do that? I'm living in California, doing what I love, and still he manages to make it sound like I'm out there playing house or something.
Reaching down, I moved to grab the plastic scoop, figuring I'd bring Leah a slice of chess pie. I was miserable, it was true, but it was hitting me that I had abandoned with my parents.
They're probably making her super paranoid right now with all their questions. I should hurry back, relax some. It isn't like any of this is new... it isn't like my dad ever approved of what I decided to do before...
I wonder, I thought in a moment of clarity, is that why I never brought Nicholas up to Leah? Was I just so sick and tired of competing with him my whole life, that when I finally didn't need to compare myself, I just quit letting him exist as a topic worth talking about?
My fingers, when they moved for the serving spoon, found something else entirely. The skin was smooth, warm; pale as a yellow rose. I touched the hand there, fingers that had grabbed for the spoon at the same time as me, and jerked back in surprise.
“Sorry!” I blurted, looking up as I spoke, “I didn't mean to do that, I was just sort of zonking out and...” Trailing off, my voice gone, I stared into the face of the last person I wanted to see.
“It's fine,” Bethany said, flashing me a sideways smile of perfect teeth. “They should really have another serving spoon out here for this, but they never do.”
Bethany. Again, she worms her way in.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, my words coming out colder than was perhaps fair. Truthfully, I didn't want to be so angry, to feel so upset by the sight and sound of my ex. But she hurt me, and she did it so easily, it's... it's so hard to turn that feeling off.
“Getting brunch,” she answered, brushing her hair back over her shoulder. “I figured that was obvious.”
“No,” I frowned, glancing around in a burst of self-consciousness. “I mean what are you doing here, talking to me? What do you want, Bethany?”
“Why the hostility?” She balked, hands finding her hips, gripping her dress tightly.
“I'm not—I'm not trying to be hostile,” I said, sliding a hand over the back of my warm neck. “I just... what is this, why are you talking to me?”
“Can we not talk now, is that a rule?”
“You seemed fine with not talking to me when you broke up with me,” I said, my whisper betraying more emotion than I intended. This was too much, I didn't want to be standing there, facing off with... with...
Bethany flinched, the idea that my comment had hurt her at all drove a spike of guilt deep into my veins. “Listen, Deacon.” Those thin fingers dug into the fabric at her sides, eyes like a deep lake wandering from the floor, to me. “That was for your own good. For my own good.”
“You say that, but none of what happened at the end felt good, Bethany.”
“If I hadn't cut contact, it would have been way worse.” She lowered her voice, reaching out to touch my shoulder. To my shock, I let her remain there. “Emotions would have lingered too long, and you'd have never moved on.”
Wrenching away, I grabbed the serving spoon, my body turning so I could avoid seeing her. “Yeah, speaking of which, excuse me.”
She stood there, watching me intently, eyes burning into my back. My arms were shaking as I put two slices of pie onto the plates; I pleaded she wouldn't notice.
“Deacon,” she said, halting me as I started to walk away.
Keep going, you idiot. Don't entertain her, don't bother with this.
“She seems nice,” Bethany mumbled, words hardly grazing my ears.
Inhaling deeply, my hands squeezed the porcelain trays. I looked over at the table where my parents were.
Leah was watching me, watching both of us. Her eyes betrayed her confusion openly. Knowing what she had probably witnessed set my hackles ablaze.
She saw us talking, saw Bethany touch me.
Saw me allow her to touch me.
“Be careful about her,” Bethany said, so close to me I jumped. I hadn't noticed her move at all. “A girl like that, she could easily break your heart.”
“Yeah,” I agreed, stoic. “I suppose you would know all about that.”
I strode away from her, not once looking back. I didn't need to, I knew she was staring at me. I knew those emotional eyes, those watery blues, far too well.
I could never forget those eyes.
Even if I wished... even if I wished I could.
Do I, though? I wondered, meeting Leah's complete opposite, darker orbs as I approached.
Do I truly want to forget everything?
Six Years Earlier
Chapter 5.
Her eyes betrayed her confusion, her voice confirmed it. “Why didn't you practice this more?”
Scratching at my hair, I sat back on the chair in the music room. “I did practice, Bethany. I don't know what you're talking about.”
“You should be way better at these lyrics by now,” she grumbled, her blonde hair sticking to her neck. “Ugh, I'm sweating over how frustrated I am. Let me take a break.” Standing, she stomped away from the piano, heading for the door.
“Wait, hold up,” I said, hurrying to follow her. She didn't turn, so in my desperation, I grabbed at her wrist. “Please, just wait!” To my shock, she stopped, those blue eyes looking up at me with an icy fury. I released her, flinching.
“What?” She spat, folding her arms.
“I—I'm sorry, Bethany, please. I'm really sorry. You're right,” I huffed, hanging my head in defeat. “I should have been working at this harder.”
“Don't you want us to win?” She asked, anger still tainting her voice.
No, I don't care, I thought, I just want to get closer to you! “Of course,” I fibbed, noticing how her shoulders relaxed. “Of course I do, and I know we can. I'll do better, I promise.”
She considered me, a long moment where I wasn't sure what she would do. “Well, if you promise, then okay.” Her smile was sweet, it made my heart flicker. “Let's start over from the top. The show is tonight, Deacon, we need to be ready.”
Nodding, I cleared my throat and cracked my knuckles. “Right. Okay. Then let's become stars already.”
Bethany grinned, making my blood warm.
We'd been coming after school everyday since I'd first convinced her to enter the show with me. In that time, her piano playing had blossomed from fitting, to stunning. Her talent was without question, but Bethany had more going for her.
She worked so hard at everything she set her mind to. Beside her, I paled in comparison. In the moment, though, it hardly mattered.
I didn't care at all.
She could outshine me all she wanted if it meant she'd give me a single chance with her.
I'd planned how I would ask her out, it had been what I'd been working on instead of practicing for the show. All this time together, I sensed her walls were vanishing. Bethany was letting me into her world.
I wouldn't waste that opportunity.
****
That night came far faster than time should have allowed. I was both ready to get the show over with, and hoping the clock would slow down somehow.
The auditorium was packed, the talent show was the last big event before the end of the school year. It gave people one last thing to look forward to.
It's giving me the chance to start something real.
&nbs
p; “Hey,” Bethany said, seeing me as I rounded the corner behind the stage. Her eyes flicked down, baffled by the flourish of red roses I pulled out from behind me. “Oh!” She cried, covering her mouth. “Are those for me?”
“Of course,” I smiled, glad she seemed a little dazed. I was fighting off my own shock at seeing her looking so lovely.
She'd worn a long dress, flowing like ivory water. It was cut high; modest, convincing me her parents had gotten it for her. Her hair had been wound upwards in an elaborate braid.
Bethany was starkly beautiful.
Letting her take the flowers, I adjusted the front of my suit, hoping I looked anywhere near as sharp as I wanted. Feeling drab beside Bethany was not going to do me any favors.
“You look really nice, too,” she said carefully, cheeks tinging with pink.
“Thanks,” I said, helplessly swelling with delight. “So, you nervous?”
“No,” she scoffed, poking at the floor with her toe. “Maybe a little.”
“Don't be,” I said, wishing I had the courage to reach out and lift her chin. I settled for forcing myself to step closer. The scent of her perfume filled my head. “You're amazing, you'll do great.”
Bethany bit her lip, looking from me, to the side, then back again. “Thank you. You'll do great, too, I'm sure.”
“Well,” I said smoothly, glad she couldn't see how sweaty my palms were, “of course I will. I'm a natural.”
This made her giggle, which set my chest thrumming. “Here,” I said, lifting the other item I'd brought, my fingers trembling. “These are the music sheets and lyrics, I printed them out on nicer paper.”
Please don't look inside yet, I willed her mentally, terrified as she took the folder from me. To my relief, she just smiled, tucking it under her arm.
“Thanks. We should be called soon. You sure you're ready?”
“Yeah,” I said, and truly, I felt I actually was. Whatever happens now, she'll find my note at the end of the music sheet. I can't stop this now. “I'm definitely ready to do this.”
