Lock and Key(80)

“He’s almost totally stopped burping. I mean, it’s like a miracle. And if I can’t be thankful for that, what can I be thankful for?”

“Gee,” Nate said, cocking his head to the side, “I don’t know.”

“There might be something else,” I said slowly, turning the key in my palm, end over end. “But it’s escaping me right now.”

He stepped closer to me, his arm brushing, then staying against mine as he reached out, taking the key from my palm and sliding it back onto the table. “Well,” he said, “maybe it’ll come to you later.”

“Maybe,” I said.

“Nate?” Mr. Cross called out. He was closer now, and Nate immediately stepped back, putting space between us just before he stuck his head around the corner. He glanced at me, giving a curt nod instead of a hello, then said, “What happened to five minutes?”

“I’m leaving right now,” Nate told him.

“Then let’s go,” Mr. Cross said, ducking back out. A nearby door slammed and I heard his car start up, the engine rumbling.

“I better hit it,” Nate said, grabbing up the stack of papers and the key ring. “Enjoy your dinner.”

“You, too,” I said. He squeezed my shoulder as he passed behind me, quickening his steps as he headed out into the hallway. Then the door banged behind him, and the house was quiet.

I checked on the pies again, then washed my hands and left the kitchen, turning off the light behind me. As I walked to the door that led out onto the patio, I saw another one at the end of the hallway. It was open just enough to make out a bed, the same USWIM sweatshirt Nate had lent me that day folded on top of it.

I don’t know what I was expecting, as it wasn’t like I’d been in a lot of guys’ rooms. A mess, maybe. Some pinup in a bikini on the wall. Perhaps a shot of Heather in a frame, a mirror lined with ticket stubs and sports ribbons, stacks of CDs and magazines. Instead, as I pushed the door open, I saw none of these things. In fact, even full of furniture, it felt . . . empty.

There was a bed, made, and a bureau with a bowlful of change on it, as well as a couple of root beer bottle caps. His backpack was thrown over the chair of a nearby desk, where a laptop was plugged in, the battery light blinking. But there were no framed pictures, and none of the bits and pieces I’d expected, like Marla’s fridge collage, or even Sabrina’s tons of cats. If anything, it looked more like the last apartment he’d taken me to, almost sterile, with few if any clues as to who slept, lived, and breathed there.

I stood looking for a moment, surprised, before backing out and returning the door to exactly how it had been. All the way back home, though, I kept thinking about his room, trying to figure out what it was about it that was so unsettling. It wasn’t until I got back to Cora’s that I realized the reason: it looked just like mine. Hardly lived in, barely touched. Like it, too, belonged to someone who had just gotten there and still wasn’t sure how long they’d be sticking around.

“Can I have your attention, please. Hello?”

At first, the plinking noise was barely audible. But as people began to quiet down, and then quieted those around them, it became louder, until finally it was all you could hear.

“Thanks,” Jamie said, putting down the fork he’d been using to tap his wineglass. “First, I want to thank all of you for coming. It means a lot to us to have you here for our first holiday meal in our new place.”

“Hear, hear!” someone in the back said, and there was a pattering of applause. The Hunters were effusive people, or so I’d noticed while letting them in and taking their coats. His mom, Elinor, was soft-spoken with a kind face; his dad, Roger, had grabbed me in a big hug, ruffling my hair like I was ten. All three of his sisters shared Jamie’s dark coloring and outspokenness, whether it was about the pond (which they admired, loudly) or the recent elections (about which they disagreed, also loudly, albeit good-naturedly). And then there were children, and brothers-in-law, various uncles and cousins—so many names and relationships to remember that I’d already decided to give up trying and was just smiling a lot, hoping that compensated. It would have to.

“And now that we have you here,” Jamie continued, “there’s something else we’d like to share with you.”

Standing at the entrance to the foyer, I was behind him, with the perfect view of his audience as he said this. The response was two-pronged: first, hopeful expressions—raised eyebrows, mouths falling open, hands to chests—followed by everyone looking at Cora at once. Oh, shit, I thought.

My sister turned pink instantly, then pointedly took a sip from the wineglass in her hand before forcing a smile. By then, Jamie had realized his mistake.

“It’s about UMe,” he said quickly, and everyone slowly directed their attention back to him. “Our new advertising campaign. It rolls out officially tomorrow, all over the country. But you get to see it here first.”

Jamie reached behind a chair, pulling out a square piece of cardboard with the ad I’d seen blown up on it. I looked at Cora again, but she’d disappeared into the kitchen, her glass abandoned on a bookcase.

“I hope you like it,” Jamie said, holding the picture up in front of him. “And, um, won’t want to sue.”

I slipped through the foyer, missing the Hunters’ initial reactions, although I did hear some gasps and shrieks, followed by more applause, as I entered the kitchen where Cora was sliding rolls into the oven, her back to me. She didn’t turn around as she said, “Told you.”