7. Screeching Silverware
7
Screeching Silverware
The trouble was, I had no idea when my mystery man worked. Or what movie to see next. On my day off, my mind wriggled with the effort to craft opportunities to see him again while I gently shooed Jinx off my fresh-out-of-the-dryer laundry. I couldn’t exactly call and ask for the hot manager. Was I supposed to go to the movies on my own again? That’d give maximum flirting opportunities. But it also might make me look desperate if I was trying to catch his eye, hanging around the theater all day, and isolating myself except for coworkers.
Ugh, why did courtship have to be so complicated?
I surrendered a towel to my cat, then texted my sister.
Me: Hey, what are you up to today?
Tori: Studying. Forever :’(
No time to listen to me ramble on about a hot guy, then.
Tori: What are you up to? Do you want to come by for dinner?
Normally, snuggling with my cat would’ve been an ideal way to relax. But there was an itch under my skin to do something reckless. If I didn’t take care of it, I’d end up waiting in the mall parking lot for my theater guy like a psycho in one of my favorite movies.
Jinx stared at me; his golden-green eyes narrowed with censure.
Okay, maybe the theater guy would enjoy a little weirdness. But I hadn’t seen Tori, my parents, or my other sister, Jen, for a few weeks. Maybe family dinner could be my reckless thing.
Me: Yeah, if the ‘rents are cool with it, I’d love to come to dinner.
Mom called me a few minutes later. “I can make chicken and spinach pasta,” she enthused. “Iron and protein.”
“Oh, yay.” So much better than a stranger’s spit. Or salty, suck-worthy popcorn. Ugh. Why did I always picture the most bizarre things? I perched my phone between my cheek and shoulder to finish putting stuff away as Mom confirmed the rest of the details. By the time I hung up, I’d cleared the bed. Jinx eyed me with wariness that implied I made the wrong choice with my evening plans. It wouldn’t be that bad spending one night with my family. I kissed Jinx’s head, scratched his back, then drove to my parents’ house.
Stubborn yellow leaves clung to the elm tree in the front yard. I pushed the empty tire swing, half hoping the foliage would sprinkle down on me. The familiar creak of the rope joined the rustle of decaying leaves. Stiff hairs on the tire pricked my fingertips and sent a tingle down my spine. They were kind of like a spider’s touch, in a way.
Dad opened the front door and stepped onto the landing in his brown loafers. “We ought to get rid of that.”
I grabbed the rope. “Why?”
“It’s a safety hazard. Can’t bear weight," he said.
Scoffing, I slipped one leg through the tire. This was a childhood staple. Even if I’d gotten bigger since then, they couldn't get rid of it.
“Kat, don’t you dare. You’ll break your neck,” Mom piped up from the cheap video doorbell she got off the shopping channel.
I hugged the tire. “Why don’t you come outside and make me?”
“Dinner’s ready. And if you put one more leg in that death trap, I’ll be the one to break your neck,” she said.
I rolled my eyes. The worst she’d ever done was swat at our butts with newspapers and give exasperated lectures.
Dad stuck his hands in his beige trouser pockets. “Would you like to come in?”
“Yeah, I guess.” It’d make eating dinner a lot easier. I twisted away so I didn’t flash him as I got my legs back on the ground. “Don’t cut this down,” I warned, pointing at his nose.
“We’ll see.” He let me go inside first, then closed the door behind us.
Wiping my boots on the woven multicolor rug, I glanced at the dining room table. Place settings had replaced the usual array of binders and pens. “Where’s Tori?”
“Upstairs.” Dad tapped on the banister, then shouted, “Girls, dinner.”
“Be right there,” Tori called.
Mom poked her head out of the kitchen. “Jennifer said she’s going to be late.”
“Okay.” I crossed my arms. No big loss there.
Mom wrinkled her nose. “Just as well. The smell of spinach would probably make her nauseous. Jim, help me here.”
I stepped forward. “I can—”
“Don’t be silly. Go sit.” She shooed me away.
As Dad slipped by her, he gently cupped her elbow. She squeezed his arm and smiled. Part of me wanted to congratulate them on thirty years of adorable mediocrity, but that’d be mean. At least they were happy.
Tori padded down the stairs with a toddler’s focus as if each step was important. Upon seeing me, she lit up. “Kat.”
“How’s my favorite future RN?” I squeezed her in a side-hug, her oversized jacket flapping against our legs.
“Fine.” She wrapped her arm around my waist as we walked to the dining room table. “Although bio chem might kill me.”
I grinned and sat in my usual place. “Will you still talk to me via Ouija?”
“No Ouija in this family,” Mom ordered, walking in with a giant bowl of pasta and Dad.
“No, we wouldn't want to do anything out of the ordinary,” I mumbled. Five minutes in my childhood home, and I was regressing to a moody teen. The pasta had barely hit my plate before they started in on the questions, our silverware screeching against the plates.
“How’s work?” Dad asked.
I shrugged and twirled my fork. “Good. The dynamic is still shifting, but I know how to run everything.”
Dad nodded. “You’re not their friend anymore, you’re their manager.”
The monster in my chest squirmed at the implication. “I know. Way to be blunt.”
“She did organize a team-building activity,” Tori chimed in.
Mom beamed. “Oh, that’s wonderful. What did you do?”
“We saw a movie,” I said.
Her enthusiasm dimmed. “There’s not much talking during those, is there?”
“No, but there is before and after. It’s more of a shared experience,” I said. Based on my parents’ wordless glances, they didn’t get the appeal. I waved my knife around in exasperation. “We talk all day. It was a relief.”
Mom thinned her lips and busied herself with her meal. “Which movie did you see?”
“The Widow.” I wagged my brows. “It was amazing.”
“It sounds kind of scary,” Mom said.
I scoffed and scooped some spinach. “Our store doesn’t mind scary things. Or creepy. Shockingly enough, we sell more hardcore stuff than pony onesies.”
Tori nudged my arm. “Do you still want a movie buddy?”
Besides the hot manager? “Maybe. If you want to see something else, I was actually thinking of buying a movie pass,” I said.
Mom wiggled her manicured nails. “Oh, we have gift cards. Don’t we, Jim?”
He backed up from the table, his chair scraping against the hardwood floors. “I’ll get them.”
“No, you don’t need to do that.” I didn’t want to involve them in theater stuff. Plus, we were eating dinner.
“It’s not like we’re going to use them,” Mom said.
“What’s there to see?” Dad added, strolling out of the room.
Um, everything. I stabbed a piece of chicken, then tore it off the tines with my teeth.
Tori eyed me, her spinach drooping off her fork as I chewed.
Don’t worry, my downcast gaze told her, I wouldn’t bite anyone’s head off tonight. Not unless they snapped at me.
Mom leaned in, her eyes sparkling with conspiracy. “Are you seeing anyone?”
“No.” Not unless they counted the hot spider guy. I hid my grin with a water glass. “Maybe I’ll meet someone at the theater.”
Mom furrowed her brow. “You’re a beautiful girl. Do you think the goth getup scares them off?”
I laughed. “If a guy is intimidated by my outfit, then he’s not much of a soulmate.”
“Madonna wore fingerless gloves, and she got plenty of dates,” Tori said so earnestly I had to bite my cheek to stop from snickering.
Dad strode back in and gently tossed the gift cards between us. “I don’t think Madonna’s love life is a golden standard.”
Mom raised her fork. “But she does have a lot of beautiful children.”
“And on that note, I’d love to change the subject.” I aggressively steered the conversation towards my sister and her classes. Her life was a lot milder than mine. Perfectly in line with my parents’ expectations. She’d probably fall in love with a doctor, then pop out three kids.
It was fine. Whatever made her—and my parents—happy.
But no matter how much spinach pasta I shoveled down, it would never sate my taste for the strange.