Everything Leads to You(55)

“Ava,” she says, placing her hands on Ava’s shoulders. “The girls have told me all about you. You are a strong and beautiful young woman. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. And what is your name, young man? Jamal: handsome, grace. Welcome, both of you, to our home. Would you like water? Tea? Perrier?”

I am mortified, but I try to tune her out and join Dad in the kitchen to peruse the take-out menus while Charlotte sticks with our new friends, hopefully ready to snatch them from the eagle’s claws if her grip gets too tight. Dad and I look through seven menus only to decide on Garlic Flower like we always do, and he pretends to consult the menu before he orders all the dishes we always get.

When he hangs up, he comes in the living room but kind of hovers on the periphery. He’s a pretty outgoing guy. It’s weird that he isn’t introducing himself, especially since my mom is talking to Jamal about the rich and tumultuous history of his hometown and Ava is perched on the edge of the sofa, looking uncomfortable even though Charlotte’s sitting with her.

“Dad,” I say. “Come meet Ava.”

Dad takes two strides toward her and sticks out his hand.

“P-pleasure to meet you, Ava,” he stammers.

And then I realize what’s held him back. My father is star struck.

“Hi,” Ava says, standing to shake his hand.

“I’m a huge fan of your grandfather’s work,” Dad says. “I wrote my senior thesis about his pivotal role in creating the mythology of the American West.”

“Okay, Dad,” I laugh.

Ava looks nervous.

“I never actually met him,” she says. “But Emi and Charlotte showed me one of his movies. Well, part of one.”

“You have his nose,” Dad says. “And his freckles.”

“I didn’t know he had freckles,” I say.

“Most people don’t know,” he says. “The studios thought the freckles made him look too boyish, so he wore heavy makeup to cover them. In 1966, when he was presented the Oscar for best actor in The Stranger, the public first got a glimpse of them. It was in all the gossip columns.”

Ava cocks her head and her hair falls over one shoulder.

“Really?” she says. “It was gossip-column worthy?”

“Yes. In fact,” Dad says, “I have a collection of Dorothy Manners columns in my office. I have the one where she talks about his ‘boyish appearance at the Oscars last Monday.’ Want to take a look?”

Ava nods and stands and follows Dad down the hallway, and then Charlotte and I are together on the couch while Mom is saying, “Really? You didn’t learn about the Watts riots in school? In Watts? What on earth were they teaching you if not that? You have to know the history of where you come from. Okay, so it started like this . . .”

I say, “I felt kind of bad about us all descending on their mellow evening just because we wanted them to buy us dinner, but I think we just made their night.”

Charlotte nods. “This is a dream come true for the Miller-Price household.”

Finally, our buddy the delivery guy rings the bell.

He waves at me from the other side of our glass door as I open it.

“Hey, Eric,” I say.

“Hey, Emi,” he says. “Big order this time.”

“We have guests,” I explain and, when Mom joins us with an article she clipped from the Sunday Times for him, I mouth, Good-bye, and take the food to the kitchen.

Charlotte and Jamal and I pull out plates and silverware.

“Hey,” Jamal says. “I think your mom likes me.”

“Yeah, probably,” I say. “Why?”

“She called me handsome and graceful.”

“She was telling you what your name means,” Charlotte says.

“My name means ‘handsome and graceful’?”

“Apparently, yes,” I tell him.

He laughs.

“I didn’t even know you were black,” he says.

“Yeah,” I say. “My grandpa’s black, so I’m a quarter.”

He leans back to get a better look at me.

“Yeah, I can see that,” he says. He drifts to the refrigerator and studies the photographs hanging there. “Who’s this?” he asks, pointing to a photo of Toby and me. We’re dressed up for the premiere of a documentary Dad was featured in, and I see it as Jamal must be seeing it now: Toby several shades darker than me, his hair thicker and curlier, his eyes dark brown to my amber.