Again, But Better(51)

Oh no, we can’t go to dinner. No no no no. It’s late, 7:00 p.m. It’s … no.

“Ahhhut,” is all I manage to get out. I just stand. Rooted to the floor. Gagging on protests. The flatmates remain silent.

“Shane? I asked you a question,” prods my father.

My brain switches to autopilot. “Sahra’s not here…”

“Text her and tell her to meet us— Where are we going, honey?” He looks over at Mom.

“The Covent Garden Tube stop.”

He turns to me. “Tell her to meet us at the Covent Garden Tube stop.” He looks pointedly around the room with raised eyebrows. “Everyone ready?”

Pilot glances from Amy to me to my father. “Uh, well, sir, we actually had plans to go to dinner.”

“Great, come on. My treat!” he responds.

“But we’re kind of—” Pilot starts again.

“You don’t want a free dinner? Come on!” he insists. Loudly.

I meet Pilot’s eyes with an expression of extreme desperation and/or embarrassment. There’s no mirror in the kitchen, so I can’t be completely sure, and I’m currently drowning in both. I drop my gaze to the ground.

“I won’t take no for an answer. It’s gonna be fun, let’s go,” Dad bellows again. He pivots and holds open the door. Mom looks at me expectantly. My flatmates hold still, like somebody hit the pause button on time.

Babe breaks the spell and hops off the couch. “Thanks, Mr. Primaveri!”

We’re corralled out of the kitchen. I do as I’m told and text Sahra.



* * *



“So all of you been traveling every weekend, huh?” my father asks as he drops his glass back to the table. I wince at the small boom that reverberates when it makes contact. We’re seated at a large circular table at Delia’s, the Italian restaurant my mother led us to. Me, my parents, four flatmates, and Pilot’s girlfriend.

“Oh my gosh, we’ve been following all your Facebook posts. The pictures have been beautiful. It looks like you’re all having so much fun.” Mom smiles.

Babe answers with over-the-top enthusiasm. “Yeah! Paris and Rome were amazing, and I was in Ireland last week. I went by myself on a kind of an epic journey of self-discovery!”

She’s taken up the role of me for the time being, since I’ve become almost mute, uttering one-or two-word answers, if any, before descending back into my cone of anxiety.

“Yeah, um, I was all over Europe last week for spring break,” Pilot pipes in.

“How exciting! I know Shane was in Paris with you a couple weeks back, right?” Mom looks over at me with wide eyes, trying to drag me into conversation.

“Yeah, she told me about Paris!” Atticus answers. He starts retelling a story I shared with him about a little crepe shop we ate at. He doesn’t know what’s wrong, but he’s trying to help. And Babe’s trying to help. Pilot’s trying to help. Sahra injects words every so often when she feels they’re necessary. She wasn’t there when they walked in, and she seems a little confused. I’m surprised she even made it. They’ve all been struggling to engage my parents in conversation for the last half an hour, while I sit in silence, quietly trying to master the art of teleportation.

Why’d they have to come? They never leave the country. They barely leave New York.

“We’ve never even been to Europe! But we’re so proud of our genius girl here.” Mom gestures to me sitting next to her. Heat floods up my neck. “We had to come see her here in her element!” She laughs lightheartedly. “How about we play a game and go around the table and everyone shares where they’ve traveled since they got here and how they liked it?” Mom suggests. “Atticus, kick us off!” She grins and tucks a wavy chunk of hair behind her ear.

I feel like an anvil’s floating over my head, and I can’t get out from under it. Like Wile E. Coyote. I wipe my sweaty palms over the napkin in my lap. Keep it together, or they’ll know something’s wrong. You’ve made it this far. You can lie if they ask. You’re just trying to follow your dreams. There’s nothing wrong with that.

I don’t know how to lie to their faces like this. I’ve never kept anything from them. I’ve never had to.

Conversation comes to a screeching halt when Mom’s where-have-you-traveled game hits Amy. There’s a long pause while my parents wait expectantly for her to speak.

“I, um…” she sputters. Come on, Amy, say something. Keep the focus on travel. She shakes her head slightly. My feet bounce against the floor. Too long. She’s taking too long. Dad’s uncomfortable with long silences. He’s going to change the subject!

“London?” she offers just as Dad jumps in with, “Everyone’s working! Is it going well?”

I’ll stay silent. I can’t raise suspicions if I never speak.

I pull out my brick phone and fiddle with it absently. I’m busy. I’m not suspicious. I’m phone.

“Yeah! I’m working in the West End, and I’ve seen so many plays. It’s been such a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity,” Atticus shares.

“I work at Disney headquarters here! And it’s so much fun. I can’t wait to actually work for the company someday,” Babe adds.