“It’s just not supposed to happen,” I tried to say confidently.
Zoe snapped her gum. “Yeah, okay, you keep telling yourself that as you’re looking into his soft hazel eyes.”
As we said goodbye I heard her laughing on the other end. Why did I agree to meet his family?
****
It was Sunday night, and I was staring at the eucalyptus wreath that hung on the white front door of 16 Chatum Lane. Brandon’s house. He had texted me mid-morning to inform me that every Sunday was lasagna night and to ask if it would be possible for me to come tonight. I figured it was better to get this over sooner than later, so I agreed.
I tugged on my purple scarf that now felt like it was choking me. It had probably only been a minute or two, but it felt like I had been standing in front of that door for days. Every muscle in my body tensed as I began to knock quietly on the door. Almost instantly, Brandon swung the door open.
“Hey.” He was wearing weathered blue jeans and a green shirt with a local sports team logo on it.
I exhaled softly, relieved that it was he who answered the door, and not his mother or younger brother. “Hey.” I walked over the threshold and felt like I was somehow leaving my old secure life behind for some new unknown one.
“Do you want me to take your coat?” He held out his hands to me.
“Are you sure you’re a teenager?”
He smirked. “My grandmother taught me good manners. Is that a crime?” His voice was playful.
I let him help me off with my coat. “Not at all. I’m just not used to that type of thing, I guess.” I must have sounded so stupid.
“I see.” He hung my brown suede coat up on a hook near the front door. “So you were raised in a barn then I take it?”
Before I could respond, a woman’s voice lilted into the room from the kitchen. “Brandon? Are you going to bring her back here, or do I have to come get her?”
Brandon put his hand on my lower back and steered me toward the voice. “Just relax,” he whispered.
Somehow the way he was with me, the way he seemed to already know things about me, made me even more nervous. We walked into the kitchen, and I saw the back of his mother. She was slicing up some garlic bread that smelled heavenly.
“Mom,” Brandon said, and she turned around. Her eyes locked straight on me, and I couldn’t help but look at the floor.
She crossed over, stopping in front of me. “I usually don’t forewarn people but,” she stopped and looked me straight in the eyes. “I’m a hugger.” Then she wrapped her arms around me and gave me a little squeeze, the type only mothers know how to give. “Thank you for what you did. Whatever made you do it, I’m grateful,” she whispered to me, and the smell of her vanilla perfume touched upon something visceral inside me and it made me want to cry.
“It’s fine. I mean, you’re welcome.” My voice sounded weak and far off.
When she unwrapped herself from me, I was able to look at her more closely. Her eyes were a mix of hazel and brown. She had thin lips that were coated in a soft pink gloss. Frosted blond hair fell neatly at her shoulders, and her side-swept bangs almost covered one of her eyes. She was beautiful.
“Well,” she began, “everything’s ready, so why don’t we move into the dining room? Brandon, honey, grab the bread please, and don’t eat any on the way from here to the table.” She shooed him over to the bread. “He always sneaks a piece,” she said to me while we walked to the dining room.
She retreated back into the kitchen, and I stood near the table unsure of where to sit. In my house, if anyone sat in Marc’s chair, he’d throw a fit. I didn’t want that to happen here, so I stood awkwardly near one of the table ends. Brandon’s mother came into the room carrying a large salad.
“Oh, sweetie, you can sit here.” She pointed to a chair on the left-hand side of the table. There was a place setting next to me, and one across from me, and one at the head of the table. Brandon came in and set the garlic bread down on the table before sitting down next to me.
“Nicholas, it’s dinner time!” Mrs. Carter yelled while carrying in the lasagna. She sat on the other side of me at the head of the table.
Just then a young boy came running into the room. He had a head of moppy, chestnut curls that looked like they needed to be trimmed. I watched as he bounded into the seat across from me and grabbed the biggest piece of garlic bread off the plate.
“Ahem,” his mother cleared her throat. “Nicholas, if you stop being a crazy child for a moment, you’ll notice Brandon’s friend is here.”
The boy stopped fidgeting and looked up at me. I smiled weakly. “Hey, you came!” His face beamed with joy.
“Do you have something you wanted to say to Marissa?” Mrs. Carter asked.
Nicholas got up from his seat, walked over to me, and threw his arms around me. “Thanks for my balloon.” He squeezed me uncomfortably. “Sorry, I’m a hugger.” He let go and crossed back to his seat.
Brandon and his mother started to laugh, and I did too. I grabbed a piece of garlic bread, and the knot in my stomach began to loosen. Everything about the dinner — the food, the company, the conversation — felt right. Mrs. Carter asked me about my hobbies, and I told her I enjoyed running
