The Sea of Tranquility(27)
Author: Katja Millay

“I do,” Mrs. Leighton says, patting him on the cheek as she walks by. “Just last week I called you the bane of my existence.”

“That’s right,” he says. “That was a good day.”

It’s hard not to want to smile watching them. It hasn’t been so long that I don’t remember what it was like when my family was happy, too.

It’s only seconds before Josh Bennett finds us. Judging by the look on his face, he didn’t know I was going to be here any more than I was expecting him. I think he literally took a step back when he saw me.

Drew’s mom steps between us before excessive awkwardness sets in. She hugs him and he actually hugs her back. It looks wrong to me. I’m used to seeing Josh separated by a six-foot radius from all human contact, so to see him here, looking warm and alive and touchable with Drew’s mom, takes me a minute to process. I hope my mouth isn’t hanging open. I’m going to have ten-miles worth of thoughts to sort through when I run tonight. Not only do I have unexpectedly sincere Drew to process, but now I’ve got not-so-untouchable Josh Bennett as well.

Sarah’s in the kitchen a moment later. She obviously knew I was coming because there’s no surprise on her face. Only disdain.

“I guess you all already know each other,” Mrs. Leighton says, saving us from friendly pretense. “Dinner will be ready in ten minutes. Sarah, you pour drinks. Drew, take Josh and check on your Dad at the grill. Make sure he doesn’t overcook the steaks again. Nastya, you can help me bring in the food from the kitchen.” I nod, thankful that she’s given me something to do so I don’t have to stand around feeling not only out of place, but useless, as well. I follow her to the stove and she hands me a couple of trivets to put out on the table. There’s something at once comforting and unsettling about being asked to help. Like I’m not being treated like an outsider. This morning, my plans consisted of eating FunDip while watching misguided fame whores choke down buffalo testicles on old reruns of Fear Factor. Now I’m standing in black stiletto heels in the middle of a Norman Rockwell painting. More thoughts to process for later. I should start writing a list so I won’t forget anything.

Dinner is actually the most enjoyable thing I’ve done in months. For all the pomp and circumstance of the table, Drew’s parents are completely down to earth. His father is self-deprecating and funny. His mother is sharp as a tack and doesn’t take crap from any of them. Drew turned up the well-bred charm and turned down the suggestiveness as soon as we’d walked into the house. He sits next to me and Josh is on the other side of him so I really can’t even see Josh at all throughout the meal. I make a note to count that particular blessing tonight. Sarah is seated across from me so I can’t avoid seeing her. She says nothing to me and remarkably little to everyone else, but with all the talking going on at the table, it seems to have gone unnoticed. I do catch her looking at me a lot and I can’t figure out if she’s angry or uncomfortable. Maybe she’s afraid it will come out how she’s treated me at school and she doesn’t want her parents to find out that she’s such a stereotypical bitch. They must have some clue. I’ve seen the way she acts with Drew and she can’t hide that all the time. Maybe sibling rivalry is acceptable here but treating other people like crap isn’t.

Once dinner is finished and we’ve all helped clear the dishes, Mrs. Leighton brings the cake over to the table along with an apple pie. Sarah follows behind her with a stack of plates and forks and a container of vanilla ice cream.

“This is delicious, Nastya. Where did you order it from? I need dessert for a dinner party in a couple of weeks and I’d love to bring one of these.”

I shake my head and point to myself.

“You?” She doesn’t sound shocked so much as intrigued. I nod. “From scratch?” I nod again. I only bake from scratch. I don’t have anything against mixes, they just seem like cheating and I don’t feel like I can take credit for them. It’s just a cake. It’s not music, but it’s something.

“I can’t bake at all,” she says. I’m sure she could. It’s not that hard; you just need to know the ratios and once you get those down you can play with it. It mostly comes down to math and science, which is funny, because I suck at math and science. “Josh knows someone who can bake. Don’t you?” She looks over at him and I get the feeling the question isn’t entirely innocent. I look down and push the cake around my plate into a pool of melting ice cream.

“Just someone from school.” He sounds as uncomfortable as I feel. I mentally will everyone to drop it and I think Josh may be doing the exact same thing. I really don’t want him to explain the circumstances surrounding how those cookies ended up on his porch. He obviously didn’t have any trouble figuring out they were from me, which means he knew exactly why they were there.

“Who?” Drew asks around a mouthful of chocolate cake. Interesting, though not entirely surprising. He didn’t tell Drew. I wonder how his mom knows. Josh is waiting just a little too long to answer and I see Mrs. Leighton’s gaze flick from him to me. She seems satisfied. She got her answer.

“Drew, talk with your mouth full again and you’ll be serving at my next book club meeting.” She points her fork in his direction and his mouth clamps shut. Obviously this is a threat of monumental proportions. He holds his hands up in surrender to his mother.

Once we finish cleaning up the dessert dishes, Mrs. Leighton makes coffee and we all sit on the oversized white couches in the living room. I decline the coffee. I don’t drink it, because no matter how much sugar I put into it, it is still tastes like ass-water to me. Maybe it’s just because my taste buds are so desensitized to sweet that anything not comprised of at least ninety percent sugar tastes wrong. Even if I was addicted to caffeine, in a dystopian future where coffee was an illegal controlled substance and I hadn’t gotten my hands on any in three days, I still would have refused it. I never would have overcome my horror if my hand decided to lose its grip while holding a full cup of coffee on one of those white brocade sofas. Sarah doesn’t drink any, either, so I guess it doesn’t seem strange. Josh drinks three cups of it, not that I’m counting.

I listen to everyone talk until the conversation dwindles and the coffee pot is empty. The phone rings, giving Sarah an escape she must have been desperate for, judging by how fast she jumps off the couch at the sound. Drew walks over to his mother and takes her empty cup. Josh takes Mr. Leighton’s and follows Drew back to the kitchen. I don’t have a coffee cup to use as an excuse to bolt, so I sit in awkward silence, hoping they don’t stay in the kitchen too long. I study the coffee table, not really wanting to make eye contact with either of Drew’s parents. It looks familiar to me. I tilt my head to study the legs and I realize that it’s almost identical in style to the one I had seen in Josh’s living room on the morning we shall not mention. The similarities in the design are clear, but this table is obviously newer. The surface of the wood and the finish are flawless. I don’t even realize that I’m leaning over and running my fingers along the curved wood of the table leg when Drew’s father speaks.