Page 10 of Penny For Your Thoughts
“This is a great channel,” I mumbled, scrambling for something to say. Small talk was not one of my fortes.
Heath had settled in his recliner. “Yeah. It’s great, isn’t it? I subscribe toNational Geographicmagazine, too. The history edition, not the regular one. It’s fascinating. I prefer zipping through short columns to slogging through thick nonfiction novels. Documentaries are more my style.”
I nodded, agreeing without words. I’d never been much of a reader, magazine or otherwise.
Silence prevailed.
I sensed Heath was equally uncomfortable, having been given the unfortunate task ofentertaining the boyfriend. We watched the program and drank our beers. I reminded myself not to guzzle.
Quiet conversation flowed from the nearby kitchen, the clattering of dishes, the hum of a dishwasher, and laughter. The savory scent of roasted meat drifted into the living room. This wasn’t a family dynamic I understood. It lacked shouting, insults, and broken glass.
It lacked tension.
I fiddled with the label on the beer bottle, peeling it up at the corner, then gluing it in place with the excess condensation until the show went to a commercial.
Heath shifted and eyed me.
I scrambled for something to say, came up empty, and guzzled the beer instead.
Heath popped the recliner into an upright position and leaned forward, lowering his voice. “He put pressure on you to come, didn’t he?”
“I’m sorry?”
“Tallus. Did he drag you here against your will?”
“Oh. No, no. I… should have come a long time ago.”
“He’s like his mother. Doesn’t take no for an answer.”
“It’s fine. I’m fine.”
“Well, either way, we’re glad to have you. Bernice is absolutely tickled. She’s been cooking up a storm and talking about you all day. She was sure you’d change your mind.”
“Oh.” I didn’t know what to say, so I nodded and mumbled something incoherent.
The show resumed, but before Heath could settle back in his chair, Tallus poked his head in. “Dinner’s on the table.”
Family meals never happened when I was growing up. Dad often worked late or hit the bar before venturing home, stumbling in drunk and looking for a fight hours later. On the occasions we did sit together at the table, the friction was unbearable, and no matter what I did, I did it wrong, be it slurping my milk too loudly, scraping my teeth over the tines of the fork, taking too large a helping of mashed potatoes or not enough, and didn’t I like my mother’s cooking?
I either ate too fast or too slow. If I said nothing at all, I earned a swat for being an unappreciative cunt—Dad liked that word and used the insult often enough I was immune. If I mentioned the chicken was tasty, I earned another swat because it was fucking dry—as a cunt—and I was a moron for not realizing it.
I couldn’t win.
The relaxed format of dinner at the Domingos’ took a second to absorb. It went against the grain. Everyone dove in simultaneously. Heath wasn’t first. Heath didn’t demand to be first. Everyone served themselves, passing dishes, chatting, teasing one another, and laughing. It was a clashing of hands and hearts. It was the essence of all those family sitcoms I’d watched growing up that had always felt too fantastic to be real.
It shouldn’t have surprised me.
Over a year and a half living with Tallus, and his motormouth colored every shared meal, but until this moment, I’d never seen it as normal. Tallus had always been a chatterbox with a seemingly endless number of things to discuss, from the mundane to the intriguing. He talked. I listened. With the growth of our relationship, I’d learned to take part on occasion, injecting my own commentary, albeit self-consciously.
The people in Tallus’s family conversed like it was an Olympic sport, often increasing their volume to be heard and trampling overone another’s sentences. No one took offense. No one shouted for silence or manners or respect. No one name-called or swore, except good-naturedly.
I let it wrap around me, taking comfort from Echo’s weight on my feet—she often positioned herself under the table while I ate, her body pinning me down. In the back of my head, my father pointed out every fault.
The table had been set with full glasses of white wine at every place setting. I wasn’t much of a wine drinker but indulged greedily. When I drained my helping too soon, Heath automatically refilled the glass without asking. I kept my head down, avoiding Tallus’s gaze, wallowing in shame.
When I drank at home, I usually did it when Tallus wasn’t around or after he’d gone to bed, so he didn’t witness my failures. It was another red flag. I wasn’t stupid. I knew the signs.
Bernice had roasted chicken and potato fingerlings with butter and herbs. She’d baked acorn squash and made a fresh loaf of flaxseed bread that was still warm from the oven and instantly melted the butter. The robust salad Tallus had helped create boasted tomatoes, cucumbers, peppers, onions, and feta cheese. The dressing offered a tangy zip.
