Serene's mouth watered. "She's not fussy about that sort of thing."
Steve grabbed several cups out of a different cabinet. "Ramani doesn't do scheduled stuff like dinner," he grinned at Serene, setting the cups at each placemat.
"Oh?' Maggie's gaze wandered toward the living room and the blare of commentary from a sportscaster on the TV. "Ron," she called. "Dinner."
Serene lingered, unsure, the plate that Carrie had thrust at her still in her hand.
"Serene, have a seat. As long as your mother doesn't mind, we're happy to have you." Maggie poured some wine into a glass for herself.
Serene pulled one of the chairs out slowly, just as Steve leaned around her to fill her cup with water from a pitcher. He was so close she could smell the fresh scent of soap coming off his skin from a recent shower. When he straightened, their eyes locked for a moment and Serene slipped into the chair. Maggie placed a sea-blue dish full of pasta and meatballs and the platter of garlic bread on the table. Carrie opened the fridge, chewing at her lip. "Where's the milk?"
"There's no more," Steve said, taking a seat.
Carrie turned around to scowl at him. "You and your friends always drink it all."
Steve flashed her a teasing grin before gesturing to the pasta. "Help yourself," he said to Serene.
"Yes, honey, help yourself," Maggie added, a hint of fatigue in her voice. She joined them at the table with her glass of red wine and a mug of beer in her other hand, which she set down where Ron presumably would be sitting. At that moment, Ron lumbered into the kitchen, the TV still going. His eyes widened slightly when he saw Serene at the table. He took a seat.
"Lord, bless this meal," Maggie said.
Ron grunted and downed half his beer while Serene carefully lifted a tong full of pasta out of the bowl, aware of all eyes on her.
"So," Maggie said, shifting in her seat and taking a sip of her wine. "How has the adjustment been, moving from the islands?"
"Good." Serene almost added “Aunty,” a knee-jerk deference of respect, but it died out on her lips. For some reason, calling Maggie Aunty or Ron Uncle, for that matter, didn't feel natural.
"A bit faster paced in LA," Ron said, taking the salad bowl his daughter handed him and drowning the leaves in Italian dressing.
"Yeah," Serene agreed.
"Is your biological dad Hawaiian?" Maggie asked, head tilted. Ron glanced at her, curious as well.
“Mom,” Carrie pursed her lips and shook her head at Serene, rolling her eyes, as if to say, yes, we have idiot parents too. "Her dad's African American, obviously."
"Oh. Well." Maggie's cheeks reddened. "It wasn't obvious. You have a kind of Polynesian look to you. She could be Hawaiian."
Steve gave his mom a look.
"Right?" She said to Ron, who now had the pasta. He was putting one tong full after another of the noodles and meatballs onto his plate.
"Exotic," he grunted. "The bone structure is different, though, not Polynesian, maybe East African."
Serene twirled her spaghetti around on her fork, hoping the conversation would move on.
"Your parents were in a commune, right?" Carrie's eyes were bright with interest, and Ron and Maggie looked up sharply from their dinner. "Isn't that where your dad is? Ow!" She jumped from the kick Steve gave her under the table.
"My dad's not there anymore," Serene mumbled.
"A commune, huh?" Ron raised his brows and then shook his head, shoveling a bite of noodles into his mouth.
"What was the commune called?" Maggie asked.
"Mom, come on, what's with the third degree? Let her eat her dinner," Steve spoke up. His face was flushed with embarrassment at Carrie's indiscreet choice of a topic that was obviously told to him in confidence.
“Shangri-La,” Serene said.
Ron's brows pulled in tight. "I've heard of them."
"You have?" Maggie made stabs at her salad with her fork.
"Weren't they up north? Oakland, I think."
Serene nodded.
"They shut down," Ron said. "The leader committed suicide with some of the followers."
Now Ron had Serene's attention. She held her fork suspended on its way to her lips.
"That never happened."
"It was all over the news." He turned to his wife. "Don't you remember? You made some comments about what kind of people join places like that."
A strained silence followed Ron's remark and then he cleared his throat. "Anyway," he talked down at his plate of food. "It was back in the early eighties."
"Serene was, like, three back then. Can we drop the subject now?" Steve said, his voice tight with anger.
Ron finished off his beer and lowered his glass, studying Serene before attacking his spaghetti.
"You seem to have had quite an adventurous life," Maggie said lamely.
It was hard for Serene to regain the appetite she came to the table with. Was Ron right? The rest of the dinner conversation continued, unbearably awkward. When Steve walked her to the door, his hand fiddled with the knob.
"Fuck," he finally said under his breath. "Look, I'm sorry. My folks…”
Serene cut him off. "They didn't mean anything by any of it. I have to go now."
"I hope you're not going to stop coming by." He lifted his eyes to meet hers and Serene felt her stomach twist.
"You don't need to apologize," she said in a low voice. "You've met my parents, so…”
He grinned. "Yeah. That's true." When he opened the door, he remained standing in the doorway, watching her make her way across the street. Once Serene got to her door, she turned to wave, and Steve held up his hand to return the gesture.
Ramani was sewing in the living room. She glanced up when Serene came through the door.
"You're home late." Ramani had that probing look she got when she was trying to decide something.
Serene sighed. Why did she sometimes feel so disconnected from her mother?
"Do I need to make an appointment for you at Planned Parenthood?"
"What?"
"Birth control." Ramani resumed sewing.
"I stayed for dinner. That's all."
"Hm. Okay."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Nothing. Should it mean something?"
"Whateva, Ramani."
Her mother's curly head was bent over the fabric in
