Page 74 of Forest Proximity
“Dad!” I call after him.
The air conditioner kicks on, and he comes back quickly. “What?” he asks, all innocence.
My mom pins him with a familiar glare, and he takes his place at the end of the table.
“Have a seat, Shirtless Adam.” My dad gestures to the dining chairs. “Or do you prefer Shirtless?” he teases again with a wink at me like we’re coconspirators.
Normally, I’d go along with this. Of course, it’s not the first time my mom has gathered an unsuspecting young man to her table. My dad and I have always joined forces to fend them off. This time it’s different, though. I don’t want my dad to shoo this one away. I want his stamp of approval, I realize. But how do I communicate that to him?
Dad, stop!I try to indicate with my eyes.We’re going to be nice to this one.
My dad looks confused.
“Just Adam is fine,” he answers patiently, with a smile for my dad. He sits in Conor’s old chair.
I sit across from him in my usual spot, as jittery as a bird.
Only now do I notice the familiar white paper bag Adam must’ve given my mom. The sticker from Marlow’s Diner tells me he remembered the whoopie pies, and my lips curl into a small smile. It reminds me of Ike and August. It’s something they would do—not flashy or over the top. He remembered something small, and that’s actually huge. My heart skips at the thought.
Meanwhile my mom trades the dessert for a water pitcher, setting it on the table with a warning clank aimed at my dad. She takes her place on his other side. “Bless the food, Brian.”
I can’t tell if my mom feels validated or terrified. She asked for this, though.
My dad and Adam have been talking about endangered animals and invasive plants since we served the shepherd's pie—literally, through the entire meal. It started with my mom’s choice of centerpiece. My dad brought it up, but he got Adam’s attention. Now they’re like a couple of teenage girls who’vediscovered their shared obsession with the same college football player, only they’re talking about Japanese knotweed instead of Sam Hartman.
They’ve covered everything from New England cottontail rabbits to wild turkeys, and my mom has unsuccessfully attempted to change the subject throughout dinner.
This conversation makes it easy to hide the fact that we’re secretly seeing each other and that Adam has been resting his leg against mine throughout the meal. They can talk about the forests of Maine all they want. I’m content right here, listening to my dad and Adam talk shop. I could not be happier, in fact.
On my mom’s most recent attempt to change the subject, Adam has pity on her.
“Adam, how did you get into this line of work? Is your family very outdoorsy?” she asks, with a look to my dad that begs him to shut his yapper once and for all.
My dad grins.
“No, ma’am.” Adam smiles while he seems to consider how to answer. “My sister, Ruth, is my only sibling. She doesn’t like bugs or being uncomfortable. She’s more of a books-and-movies person. When I was a kid she used to tell me my parents adopted me after they found me on the beach being raised by an aggregation of manatees—”
“Aggregation,” my dad repeats. “That’s a good word.” Then he steals Adam’s attention away again. “Did you know that a group of rabbits is called a fluffle?”
Adam nods. “Yes, sir.”
I sneak a look at my mom. Her jaw is fixed and her cheeks are flushed. “Brian. Can you help me serve dessert, please?” She scrapes her chair away from the table. “Stevie, you can clear the table.”
I stand, gathering empty plates and cutlery, and Adam joins me.
“You don’t have to help,” I whisper. “You’re a guest.”
My parents are half whispering, half arguing in the kitchen. This is our halftime huddle, I guess.
Adam ignores me. “I’m not going to sit while you clean up.” He takes the plates in my hands, adding his to the bottom.
I blow out the candles and trail after him into the kitchen area. My parents fall silent.
Adam takes the dishes to the sink and starts the process of rinsing them.
“Please don’t.” My mom waves him off. “We’ll get to it later.”
He ignores her, too.
