Not Today, But Someday(54)

“We’ll get to know ourselves better,” he says. I hadn’t considered that, but he’s right.

“Yeah,” I say brightly.

“Abstinence for a year and a half,” he nearly sighs, “and no smoking,” he adds.

“You can bitch about it all non-stop to me. I’ll be here to listen. I’ll encourage you,” I tell him, hoping to convince him.

“Sit up,” he says to me. I push away from the stage and cross my legs, imitating his posture. “I’ll do it for you,” he says.

I shake my head. “You can’t do it for me, Nate. You have to do it for yourself.”

“Nathan?” Donna calls from the back of the auditorium. “Dinner’s almost ready.” He waves at her in acknowledgement. He chews on the inside of his lip in thought.

“You hungry?” he asks.

“Sure.”

I follow him down the two flights of stairs and across the house to the kitchen. Three plates are prepped on the island, formally placed with silverware, a cloth napkin, and two glasses, one of which is already filled with ice water.

“I thought we’d eat in here instead of the dining room,” Donna says. “It’s just easier.”

“It’s nice,” I say with a smile, wondering if Donna set the makeshift table or if Elsa did it for her.

“Here is your mail. Is there anything else I can get you, Mrs. Wilson?” Elsa asks after she quietly enters behind us. She sets a few envelopes and magazines down on the kitchen counter by the sink.

“No, sweetheart. Go home to your family. Thank you for your help.”

“You’re welcome. Good night, Nate,” she says politely. “Nice to meet you, Emi.”

“Nice to meet you, too.”

“Have a seat,” Nate’s mom suggests. “Soda?” she asks, turning around and thumbing through the stack of mail. “Or we have juice.”

“Water’s fine,” I tell her.

“I’m good, Mom,” Nate says. “You need to join us, too.” He takes a long sip of his water before putting the napkin in his lap. I do the same.

“I’m coming,” she says as she pours herself a glass of wine. “Look, Nathan, isn’t this nice? Your English teacher has invited me to your Canterbury Tales presentation on Friday.”

“Great,” Nate says unenthusiastically.

“Do you know Miss Spindler?” I ask her curiously, taking a bite of my food after watching Nate start to eat. I wasn’t sure if prayer was something they did before dinner, but now I assume it’s not. Although the gesture fits Donna, it doesn’t fit Nate.

“I’ve never met her.”

Nate looks over at me as my stomach drops. Already he knows exactly what I’m thinking. “Can I see it?” I ask her, setting my fork down and feeling the panic rush over me. She hands me the small, printed notecard.

“Dear Parents,” it begins.

The rest of it doesn’t matter to me. The fact that my dad may have been invited is all I need to spoil my appetite. Nate takes the card from me and reads it. “They probably got your address from your school records. Don’t you think it went to your mom?”

“We put him as an alternate contact,” I explain. “I’m sure he was invited. I have to tell him not to come. Can I borrow your phone?” It seems so urgent to me, to do it now, while I have the nerve to make the call. I get up, but Nate and Donna stay seated, watching me.

“Emi,” Nate starts, “what did we promise?” Wanting to forget the deal we struck, I focus on Donna, who has a faint smile as she watches our interaction. “You said you’d try.” I grip the back of the chair, feeling my fingernails dig into my palms through the wrought iron slats.

“In front of my classmates, though?” I ask. “In front of you? I don’t want him in my business!”

“Think about it. It’s in the middle of the school day. If he chooses to come, he’ll be sitting in the back, watching, and after the performance, you’ll have to go to your next class. It gives him an opportunity to reach out to you, and you don’t even have to say anything to him. Let him come,” he urges me. “It’s the best possible scenario, really.”

“I don’t think I can do it in front of him. I’m supposed to be sweet and demure, and he just pisses me off!” I blurt before thinking. “Sorry, again, Donna,” I say, lowering my head in embarrassment. She’s laughing quietly at me, then tells me she isn’t bothered by my language.

Nate’s hand touches my shoulder lightly. “You can just focus on me,” he says. “Just keep your eyes on me through the whole thing. I’ll get you through it.” I look over at him, and immediately I’m calmer. If he can do that on Friday, I know I can get through it.

“Maybe he won’t even come,” I say with a sigh.

“Maybe he won’t,” Nate agrees. “But let him make that choice, okay? Don’t make it for him.”

I nod my head. “Okay.” Looking back over at Donna, she’s staring at her son with a look of wonder on her face. She looks proud of him. I can tell she adores him.

“Sit back down, Emi, and have your dinner,” she says. “Don’t let this ruin our night.”