People Like Us(69)

“I’m sure it’s better than what I’m used to. I practically ate it daily back home.”

I take a sip of the Pinot Noir Bernie has set in front of me. It’s much drier than any wine I’ve ever tasted, and has an odd cardboard aftertaste. I wonder if this is what people mean when they say oaky.

Bernie and Mrs. Kent both shoot me a sympathetic glance.

I eye my shrimp lo mein. I’ve avoided Chinese food since that dark period. Oversaturation, for one thing, but also, it brings back that feeling of isolation, of sitting in the living room silently, eating in front of Pardon the Interruption and wondering how long I had to sit there before I could escape and go for a run without feeling like I was abandoning Dad. Or if he would, like, kill himself if I left him alone for too long or if I got hit by a car or something terrible happened to me. This isn’t very good lo mein, anyway. The place at home was better. These noodles are greasy and there’s too much garlic in the sauce. I nibble on a piece of shrimp, which at least is plump and, I’m sure, very fresh.

Mrs. Kent suddenly turns to me with a coy smile. “So, Miss Katherine. Can you tell us anything about Bianca’s mysterious new gentleman?”

I dart my eyes to Nola, who purses her lips and gives me what is probably meant to be a very meaningful and communicative look. But I have no idea what she’s trying to get me to say.

“I’m as curious as you are,” I say, trying to return the coy expression.

Mrs. Kent looks dissatisfied. “Well, I hope it’s worth lying about.”

It takes me a moment to absorb the sting of her words. I lie fairly openly and unapologetically. Everyone does it, though maybe not as often as I do. But never once has an adult called me on it so casually. It makes me feel insignificant, like she’s putting me on notice that I’m way out of my depth.

“No one is lying, Mother. I just don’t see why we should talk about him until we’re sure things are serious.”

I wonder how much more serious things can get than an engagement, but then Nola does seem to have a crappy relationship with Bianca, so maybe there’s a jealousy thing going on.

“Like the last one, mmm?” Bernie says darkly.

Nola glares at him.

“It’s too bad Bianca couldn’t make it,” I offer.

Nola kicks me under the table.

Mrs. Kent holds up a finger as she coughs into her napkin. “Too bad Bianca couldn’t make what?”

I twist my napkin into knots under the table. Nola’s family is terrifying. “Dinner, I guess?”

Mrs. Kent places her fork down and studies Nola sternly. “Well.”

I decide the direction the conversation has taken is mostly my fault, and it’s on me to change it. “Who cares about dinner when there’s a wedding to plan, right?”

Everyone looks at me with irritation, even Nola.

“For Bianca.” I take a sip of wine and wish I could disappear.

Bernie folds his hands on the table, all trace of his friendly, breezy personality evaporated. “Nola.”

“For God’s sake,” Mrs. Kent breathes into her wineglass, fogging up the sides.

“Bernie.” Nola downs the rest of her glass and sets it down a little too firmly.

“Why are you discussing our family with strangers?” Bernie taps his pinkie finger against his plate, and for some reason the sound makes me want to scream.

“Katherine is not a stranger,” she insists. She casts me a desperate look, but there’s nothing I can possibly do to save the situation.

“So I noticed,” Mrs. Kent says drily.

“She didn’t tell me anything,” I attempt weakly. And I thought my friends were secretive. Who forbids their daughters to discuss each other outside of the family? “I saw a picture of Bianca with a guy and I asked who he was. Nola said they were getting married.” That’s when I really start kicking myself. Because the key to a good lie is vagueness.

“Which picture was that?” Mrs. Kent asks icily.

“Katherine, please excuse yourself,” Bernie says in a dangerously calm voice.

“You don’t have to go,” Nola says, her voice rising in volume and pitch.

“This is my house,” Bernie growls.

Nola stands, slamming her fists on the table. “No it isn’t. It’s not supposed to be. You lied to get the house. You’re a hypocrite.”

There’s a long moment of silence, and then Bernie turns to me calmly. “Katherine, we’d be pleased to have you another time, but I’m afraid this week just won’t work. If you pack your things, I’ll happily pay for your ticket home and drive you back to the train station right away.”

I flee up the stairs as Nola screams at her parents and they shout back at her. There are all sorts of ugly phrases bouncing back and forth, mostly with the tags “my” and “mine” attached. “My guest” and “my house.” “My sister” and “my friend.” And from Mrs. Kent, “you promised” and “last chance,” though I can’t tell whether that’s directed at Nola or her father.

I wait outside in the biting cold until Bernie comes out to drive me to the train station. Nola doesn’t come outside to say good-bye, though I see the light go on in her room upstairs and watch her fling herself down on her bed. I wonder what’s up with Bianca’s fiancé, and whether Nola’s parents are as shitty as her cousins. Her mother definitely didn’t look pleased when she walked in on us. Maybe that was the deal with Bianca, too. Nola never actually said the fiancé was a guy—but I did, at the dinner table. Now that I’ve seen more of them, I’m not sure I want Nola’s family to like me.