39. Dinning With the Enemy
thirty-nine
Dinning With the Enemy
I look at myself in the mirror. I spent a long time debating what to wear to meet Jacob’s new girlfriend.
My mom betrayed me by inviting them to dinner and then made it clear that I wasn’t allowed to have “other plans.” I finally settled on a plain blue t-shirt and pair of jeans.
No reason for me to go out of my way to impress either of them.
I don’t want Jacob to think I’ve been losing sleep on his account, so I cover the dark circles under my eyes with a little make-up.
Eyeliner and lip gloss and that’s it for the rest. I flip my ponytail up into a clip that makes it spill over the back of my head in an untidy mass of hair.
I stick my tongue out at my reflection and head downstairs to help Mom with dinner.
When I see Laini, I immediately regret my decision to go casual.
She’s gorgeous—petite, blonde, polished.
She’s dressed in a green silk blouse, stylish but tight white slacks, and high heeled sandals.
Her jade jewelry looks like it was custom made to match her eyes and her outfit.
Her long fingernails are manicured and even her toenails look like she just walked out of the salon.
I feel like a kid—a tall, gangly, awkward kid standing next to a cover model.
I’d probably hate Laini even if she were a saint. Lucky for me, she makes hating her easy.
It starts when Dad sets a platter of his famous smoked ribs on the table. “Those look amazing,” Jacob says. He looks to Laini for her approval. Her face bunches up like she just ate a lemon.
“Ladies first.” Dad picks up the juiciest rib on the platter and starts to put it on Laini’s plate.
“Oh. No. No thank you.” She literally covers the plate with her arms, as if Dad was going to try to sneak a rib onto it.
She turns to Jacob. “Sweetheart, did you forget to tell them about my specific diet?” Her voice is still mock-sweet, but I catch the undercurrent of superiority and irritation in the way she says it.
Jacob flushes, “I’m sorry, I forgot. Laini doesn’t eat red meat.”
“Or white potatoes,” Laini picks up where he left off, her gaze moving across the table, taking in the mashed potatoes, Mom’s homemade rolls, corn on the cob, and the brownies I made for dessert, “or corn or gluten, any grains really, or sugar.” She’s basically eliminated everything on the table except for the herby, lemony salad she brought.
“It must be difficult to live with so many food allergies.” I can tell Mom is annoyed, but she's working to keep Laini from seeing it.
“No allergies. I’m just very particular about what I put in my body,” Laini says. She straightens her back and lifts her chin as if to show off the perfect body any normal food might defile.
“We can’t let you go hungry.” Dad has recovered enough to set the rib back on the platter.
She laughs, “Don’t worry about me. I don’t eat much.
I don’t have space to put it away like some people do.
” Her gaze lands on me. I fight to control the rising flush of anger and embarrassment that colors my cheeks.
She turns her gaze back to Jacob. “I’m sure you’ve all seen how Jake eats.
Yet somehow he manages to convert it all to muscle.
” She sets her hand on his bicep possessively.
“Do you eat fish? I have salmon. It would just take a few minutes to cook it for you,” Dad says
She looks at Dad demurely. “I don’t want to be a bother. But I do love salmon. You said it was wild caught, right?”
“Caught it myself,” Dad is falling for her charms.
“That sounds absolutely heavenly. I’ll come out with you and I can show you how I like it cooked.
” Laini slides herself back from the table and goes with Dad to retrieve the fish.
Like the lapdog he’s become, Jacob follows her out.
The rest of us sit around the table while the ribs, the potatoes, and everything else gets cold.
“Do we really have to wait?” Tyler says as he eyes the ribs hungrily.
“It wouldn’t be polite to eat without our guests,” Mom says.
“As if she’s been anything that resembles polite,” I say, not quite under my breath.
Mom gives me a look. “We can put the ribs in the oven to stay warm.”
“I’ll do it.” I stand and pick up the platter. I have to get out of the dining room and away from the open window and the sight and sound of Laini openly flirting with both my dad and Jacob.
I turn the oven on warm and shove the ribs inside.
They’re perfect now, but I’m sure they’ll be bone dry by the time we actually get to eat them.
I imagine eating the ribs—my fingers and lips coated in barbecue sauce–while Laini daintily picks at her salmon.
I’m sure she’ll come up with some off-hand and yet biting comment about the way I eat.
“Perfect,” Laini finally declare after what seems like an eternity. She walks back in from the grill laughing at something my dad said. Jacob follows them, carrying her custom-made plate of salmon to the table.
I slip on a pair of oven mitts and pull the ribs out to carry them to the dining table.
I’m being careful. I’m only distracted for a minute when Laini leans into Jacob’s neck as I pass by with the platter.
Maybe that’s why I don’t notice that Tyler’s chair is pulled out a couple of extra inches or that the leg is just at the right angle for me to smack my shin into it.
I lose my balance. The platter tilts, just a fraction of a degree, just enough to drizzle hot, oily red barbecue sauce onto the leg of Laini’s stark white pants.
She screams and stands, nearly knocking the tray completely out of my hands. I manage to keep it steady.
“You little–” She faces me with pale, white-hot anger, holding the stained part of her pants away from her as if the barbecue sauce were acid, “They’re completely ruined! How could you be so clumsy, so absolutely, incredibly–"
“I’m so, so sorry,” I say, and I really am, mostly, even if it looks like I spilled the sauce on purpose. I set the platter down and reach for a napkin, attempting to sponge off some of the stain.
“Don’t touch me!” Laini jumps back. “Do you have any idea what these slacks cost?”
Jacob looks mortified at what I've done. My face is the same red as the barbecue sauce. “I’ll pay for them, I’ll–”
Mom stands up, desperate to get control of the situation. “Maybe if we get them soaking right now we can save them. Jess, go get Laini a pair of your pants to put on. Laini you can change in—”
“No. Her clothes would never fit me.” Laini’s words are clipped, angry, and insulting. She’s livid. “We’ll just go. I’ll see if I can salvage them when I get home.”
“I can replace the pants,” I’m trying not to cry.
I’m embarrassed, frustrated, and furious at Laini for being the person she is; furious at Jacob for bringing her here and making me feel stupid and fat and clumsy and worthless in my own home.
It's like this whole dinner has been orchestrated to humiliate me.
“No.” She takes a deep breath, slipping back into her mock-kind condescending tone.
“You couldn’t possibly afford to replace them.
And I wouldn't dream of asking you to. Jacob told me you’re trying to save money.
For college right?” She smiles at me like she’s a queen pardoning the village idiot.
“I’ve been meaning to treat myself to some new clothes anyway. Really, you’ve done me a favor.”
She turns back to the table. “Thank you so much for inviting me and for the extra time you took to cook the salmon, but under the circumstances, I think it would be better if we left.”
"You don't need to–" Dad starts.
Mom cuts him off, matching Laini's mock sweetness, “Are you sure? I'm sure we could find something for you to wear. Jess' pants would only be a little tight.” Mom might be the only person at the table who's on my side.
A dark look for Mom shows that Laini didn't miss the jab. “I actually feel a headache coming on anyway. I've been putting in a lot of extra hours at work." She sighs dramatically. “Jacob, could you get my purse for me? And my shoes, I left them by the door.”
“I’m happy to wrap up the salmon for you to take.” Dad reaches for her plate. “And some ribs for Jacob too.”
“That won’t be necessary. The salmon will be plenty for both of us.
” Laini stretches her legs out for Jacob to help her with her shoes.
He kneels in front of the chair and slides the sandals on her delicate feet as if she were Cinderella instead of both stepsisters and the wicked stepmother rolled into one.
I haven’t had the chance to move from my place of dishonor, the place where I spilled barbecue-flavored liquid animal fat on the queen.
I’m standing directly in front of them when Laini finally rises from her seat.
She extends her hand and for a second I think she expects me to kiss it and grovel before her.
Instead, she presses my hand like we were affectionate rivals in some Regency romance.
“It was so nice to meet you Jessica. Please, don’t worry about the pants, accidents happen. ”
Jacob gives me a kind of ‘I’m-embarrassed-for-you’ helpless look as he passes, but he doesn’t say anything. Dad wraps up the salmon. Mom ignores Laini’s request and wraps up a plate of ribs for Jacob. Everyone follows them out to the car to say good-bye except for me.
Just when I think I'm safe—just as my family comes back in and sits down to resume what’s salvageable from dinner—Mom notices Laini’s crystal bowl full of salad. She hands it to me. “Jess, run out and see if you can catch them.”
I open my mouth to protest, but I know it’s not worth arguing about. Besides, the last thing I want is for Jacob to have an excuse to bring Laini back in my house, even if it’s just to retrieve her bowl.
I make it to the steps before Jacob intercepts me. “Laini forgot–” I thrust the bowl at him. “Thanks,” he takes it, but doesn’t move. “Are you okay?” he says quietly.
“Fine,” I answer.
“It was just an accident,” Jacob is trying to be comforting, but I hear the shades of doubt in his voice when he says 'accident.'
“I know. It was my accident.” I turn to go back in the house.
He puts his hand on my arm. I stop. “I still owe you an oil change. I can come by this week and take care of it.”
“Whatever.” I can’t even pretend to care. I’m tired and humiliated and somehow it feels like it's all his fault.
"Whatever?" He sounds surprised. Is he really that oblivious?
I raise my eyes to meet his, hoping I'm conveying a look of utter disinterest. “Whatever you want to do. It doesn’t make any difference to me.”
“Jess, I’m–” An impatient beep from Laini’s horn cuts him off. “Sorry. I have to go.” I can’t tell if he meant for his ‘sorry’ to be attached to his ‘Jess, I’m,’ or not. “Tell your parents–”
But I don’t hear what he wants me to tell my parents, because Laini leans out the window and says, “Jake,” like she’s calling a disobedient puppy in training.
"Gotta go." He hurries down the stairs and climbs in her immaculate BMW. His car must not be good enough for her either.
As they drive away my mom joins me on the front step. She shakes her head. "Guys can be such idiots."
I couldn't agree with her more.