Page 3 of The Storm
“He’s a space cadet.”
“Be nice, Dia,” Liz admonishes.
India shrugs and sends a curious look my way while Liz claps her hands.
“Lunch,” she says, starting to hand out plates. “Oh, shoot. I forgot the… I’ll be right back.” She rushes into the house and comes back with glasses and a pitcher of water she precariously balances between her forearm and hip. Gus takes them from her and kisses her on the temple. Her shoulders drop until her eyes move over the table once again.
“Utensils,” she groans.
“I’ll get them.” Gus disappears inside the house.
She’s scattered. Nervous. She tries to hide it. Fails.
She masks the nerves with chatter.
She talks.
Gus talks.
He’s an artist.
She’s an accountant.
An unlikely pair, they both say, laughing.
They moved here from New York because the city was too loud and busy for Gus.
Liz likes to redecorate. Dia and Gus tease her about it.
Gus has a studio in the backyard where they used to have a pool, but “who needs a pool when you live by the bay?”
India’s a theater kid. Obsessed with Broadway. They went and sawThe Phantom of the Operaon her birthday, and her dream role is Eponine or maybe Sandy or Elphaba, but it’ssodifficult to decide because there are so many, and “do you get what I mean?”
Their last family vacation was a disaster. We learn about it in detail. “Never rent an RV online, sight unseen, am I right?”
I’m bombarded with information, and my brain isn’t ready to process any of it. I don’t want to know what their jokes are about, don’t want to hear their stories.
Questions start flying.
Suddenly I’m being involved.
They want to know everything.
About school and hobbies and friends.
Favorite foods.
Music.
TV shows.
Movies.
Video games.
The chair lets out an earsplitting screech when I abruptly push it backward. It topples over, silencing everybody, and then I’m left standing there, pulse pounding in my neck, breathing too shallow, ears buzzing.
“I—”
