Page 54 of Double Exposure

Now he's got an apron on and he's asking directions from Jace on how to dice an onion effectively. Ross in the kitchen is a little like a Martian on Earth. An anomaly.

Jade disappears down the hall to use the bathroom.

As soon as she leaves Brock lowers his voice and directs his message only for my ears. “Hey, man, keep it together.”

“This is exactly what I’m talking about. Do you see?”

“All it proves is that you really care about this girl. Make a move.”

“Make a move? Fuck, I’m going to screw this up before it starts.”

΅

Dinner was perfect. Jade received one phone call from her mother in the middle of the meal only to hear her father was doing well and would be released by tomorrow morning for sure. When she returned to the table, her face was flushed. I could tell she had not had it out yet with her mom.

Our family rule is you cook, you sit afterwards. This meant the rest of us had to furiously clean the kitchen and do dishes. So, while we were all busy, I watch Mom duck out the back and head toward the fire pit, a packet of matches in her hand. By the time we’re finished, she’s got a crackling fire going and has set up a crockpot with mulled wine. She also had Jace break out the coveted soapstone cups. Mom likes to heat them up in the microwave before she serves—they keep any drink warm.

God that woman needs to learn to relax.

One by one, we all grab coats and meander out without invitation.

Despite my angst, the fire is beautiful. Everyone is bundled up, kicking up snow as they sit down on either chairs or old stumps. Small, thawed creeks from spring melt trickle underfoot. Tonight will be clear and cold with the promise of stars. Already, our breath comes out in cottony streams. The mulled wine casts a sweet, fruity scent over our group.

In retaliation, Ryan announces he’s having “man-drinks,” and sets out piece of plywood across the handles of a wheelbarrow, stacking shot glasses next to a bottle of Maker’s Mark. “Help yourself,” he says.

Jade is inside on the phone with her dad this time. I have yet to pull her away separately and apologize.

I sit down next to Mom and put my hand on her knee. “That was really nice,” I say. “Thanks.”

“I enjoyed doing it. I don’t get to cook for you all en masse anymore.”

Ross comes over and lays a hand between her shoulder blades. “You are one hell of a cook” he says.

Her laugh is high and fluty and when she tosses her head back, her wavy hair tumbles across her shoulders. In the firelight she looks young, beautiful. I imagine my mother as a young woman, but my memory is informed by photos. Most of the pictures of her younger self are at dig sites.

What I do remember about her is how strong her arms were. Or are. She can lift anything. She still can. Her strength comes from all those years of lifting rocks and excavating archaeological sites. Mom is small but powerful.

I get up to throw more wood on the fire. When I turn around Jade has rejoined us, sitting in a chair.

After poking at the fire, I glance up and see Jade leaning over, bending Brock’s ear. Or maybe it’s the other way around. Either way, his glance at me tells me she's asking him a question—about me. She nods her head and then looks back into the fire. Then Brock says something to her, she laughs, and the conversation goes on for a beat or two.

After another couple of minutes, I feel that's probably enough. I have a sneaking suspicion concerning what they're talking about. I rise to offer some mulled wine and refill Jade’s goblet.

I cross the semicircle of the fire pit and stand next to her. “What's going on here?”

“Oh, we're just talking about a certain someone,” says Jade and grins. “How you used to try and talk to prairie dogs.”

“They have a secret language, I’m sure of it.”

“Just singing your praises, my man,” says Brock and then Ryan and Jace involve him in a bourbon-rich discussion.

Jade slaps the log next to her and speaks with a sudden twang. “Why I think you need to have you a sit-me-down, mister.”

“Why the Southern hospitality?”

She tosses her hair. “Just feeling magnanimous, I guess.” Then she loses the accent. “Dad is doing great, he sounds great, and he didn’t ream me out about going in . . .the cave. For the shots.”

“Are you sure he knows?”