Highly Illogical Behavior(26)

“I hope you like enchiladas, Lisa,” his mom said as they all sat down to eat.

“I do. The cheesier the better.”

“These are vegan,” Solomon said with a serious expression.

“Oh . . . well, vegan sounds great, too. Vegan all around.”

“He’s kidding,” his dad said.

“But you’ve passed an important test,” his mom added.

“Very important,” Solomon echoed. “Always love whatever the cook cooks, isn’t that right, Dad?”

“That’s right. Unless it’s tofurkey.”

“I try it one time and now I’ll never hear the end of it,” his mom said. “Who wants to say grace?”

“Is it Christmas?” Solomon asked, looking at her like she’d offered to sacrifice a lamb on the dining room table.

“Do you say grace at your house?” she asked Lisa.

“Mom . . . seriously? The only two rules of a dinner party are no discussing religion or politics.”

“Lisa, you a big fan of democracy?” his dad asked with a grin on his face.

“I’m an agnostic fiscal conservative, actually,” Lisa said. “But I think you should make Sol say grace anyway.”

“Fine,” he said, bowing his head. “Thank you for the world so sweet. Thank you for the food we eat. Thank you for the birds that sing. Thank you, God, for everything. Amen.”

“Amen,” his parents and Lisa said in unison.

“Also, praise Xenu,” he added.

“Praise Xenu,” they echoed.

“That was adorable,” Lisa said.

The rest of the meal went better than Solomon had expected. They did interview her, but it was innocent enough, and by dessert, he just sat back and watched as they all shared stories and laughed at one another’s little jokes. It was as familiar as when his grandma was over, but more exciting. She was new, after all, and as he watched his parents hanging on her every word, he thought maybe they’d needed a Lisa Praytor just as badly as he had.

Over the next three weeks and into May, Lisa spent most of her free time at the Reeds’. She’d stay for dinner most nights, helping Solomon set the table and do the dishes afterward, like they were siblings sharing chores. And he could quickly feel the rhythm in his house changing—the day would be quiet as ever and then Lisa would show up and they’d all fight over her attention. But, she seemed to love it, always down for an in-depth conversation about film history with Solomon’s dad or a baking lesson with his mom.

“No one here cares about cake, Lisa. It’s my living nightmare,” Valerie Reed said to her one evening as they poured batter into a cupcake mold.

“I didn’t peg you for a baker,” Lisa told her. “I didn’t think you’d have time, I guess.”

“I used to make birthday cakes to help pay for college. My aunt had a cake shop. Taught me everything she knew. Plus, you can’t do root canals at home. I get bored.”

One day, Lisa and Solomon were putting together a puzzle that had been taking up one end of the dining room table for going on two weeks. They listened to the radio, silently scanning for the right pieces and bobbing their heads to the music. Having a friend was no longer new to him, but he was still Solomon—and that meant he’d sometimes overthink every little thing they said to each other, letting their conversations hang in the air around him for hours after she’d leave, hoping he hadn’t said anything stupid or offensive or too immature. Before her, he had nothing to lose except the safety of his home. But now, since she was part of that, too, he couldn’t risk losing her.

“You’re telling me you’ve never chatted with anyone online?” Lisa asked.

“Do Star Trek forums count?”

“Sure,” she said. “But you never Skype with anyone?”

“Strangers looking at me through my computer screen? No thanks.”

“Agreed,” she said. “You know . . . there are sex ones, too. Like video chat rooms.”

“I know. What’s wrong with people?”

“I’m not sure,” she said. “But I put a little piece of tape over my webcam a long time ago. I don’t trust any of my electronics anymore. My phone probably just sent our whole conversation to Wal-Mart or something.”

“Yep. We’ll get coupons in the mail for condoms and webcams tomorrow.”

“America the beautiful,” she said.

“Even on the forums, I don’t post too much,” he said. “It’s just never really been my thing.”

“I like that. A true loner.”

“The world’s too big,” he said. “And the Internet is way too big. I don’t hate everybody. I hope you don’t think that. I just have to protect myself—and I can’t deal with talking to a bunch of strangers who could be anybody from anywhere. It just never feels real.”

“I get that.”

“Lisa?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t you miss Clark?”

“Say what?” she asked, finally looking up at him.

“Well, you’re over here, like, every day and, I don’t know, I guess I’m starting to feel like I’m stealing you or something.”