going to go. I grin at it though, because it makes me feel welcome. I’m thinking we might make it through dinner without me having to talk at all.
Then Eric raises his right hand, the family sign for quiet.
“Brit has an announcement,” he says.
I sigh and glare at him.
Mom says, “It’s all right, Brit honey. You don’t have to tell us what happened today if you don’t want.”
“Yes, she does,” Eric says with a little too much passion. “Brit?”
I haven’t felt this on the spot since I moved here three months ago and had to introduce myself at the dinner table. That was fun. Not.
I take a deep breath and nearly choke on a potato chip I’d swallowed just a moment earlier. I grab the white plastic tumbler in front of me and take a sip of the ice-cold water.
Everything at the dining table in the Johnson Family Manse is made of plastic— old plastic. So old that a sip of water tastes like plastic that needs another wash (even when the glass is clean).
The entire family watches my every move. I swallow and the chip stops tickling my throat. Eric has leaned forward so that he can see me around Lise. When my gaze meets his, he tilts his head slightly, as if to say, Well?
I make myself smile. “I got the job,” I say.
Everyone starts to talk at once. Congratulations, Way to go, Brit! combined with Wow, you’re kidding me, right? and a ton of other sentences that I missed in the confusion.
Mom adds her congratulations, but her eyes have narrowed. I look just like her too—only instead of a flashback to what I used to look like, she’s what I will look like some day.
She’s thin (which Hera would call amazing, considering that Mom has given birth to seven children). Her wheat-blonde hair has some strands of silver mixed with a few strands of brown. Her mouth is thin and pale pink, which matches her cheeks. She never wears makeup.
She doesn’t need any. She’s stunning. Maybe the most stunning person of all of the mothers—or at least of the mothers of me, Tiff, and Crystal.
Mom’s eyes are a very deep blue, almost electric blue. They startle when you look at them. Karl says he would call them Paul Newman blue, only that makes her sound like a man, and she’s anything but manly. I know what he means, though, because of all the old movies I watched with Tiff and Crystal when we were trapped in that magical library. Paul Newman had the most amazing eyes; you could get lost in them—and that was through a movie screen.
I have no idea how they would have looked in person. Maybe like Mom’s. When she’s being intense. Like now.
Lise asks me how I got the job, and I tell her the entire story. My side of the table laughs when I mention my confusion about illegal aliens, and Ivan, know-it-all that he can be, says that’s an impolite way of referring to people who have entered this country without the proper documentation.
Mom compliments him on his diplomacy, Anna asks me a few more questions, and then my successful job hunt gets forgotten.
We listen to Hilde’s attempt at reporting on her day in preschool, Hans’s discussion of his first grade teacher, and the first gym class that Ingrid was allowed to participate in since she broke her ankle. Mine throbs in sympathy.
None of us can leave until the last person finishes. Usually that’s Hilde and that’s under protest, but she loves Sloppy Joes, even though she ends up wearing most of her meal, so tonight we waited on Leif, who got seconds.
When he finished, we lined up to take our dishes into the kitchen to scrape and rinse. I’m not on cleanup duty tonight, so I can try to make sense of my Biology homework.
But Mom slips her arm around my back.
“Come with me,” she says.
She leads me to the coat closet, pulls out a parka, and then grabs her regular jacket. She takes me out the back door.
It’s even colder than it was earlier, and the wind howls. Leaves swirl across the yard. The yard light illuminates the parking areas, but the
Then Eric raises his right hand, the family sign for quiet.
“Brit has an announcement,” he says.
I sigh and glare at him.
Mom says, “It’s all right, Brit honey. You don’t have to tell us what happened today if you don’t want.”
“Yes, she does,” Eric says with a little too much passion. “Brit?”
I haven’t felt this on the spot since I moved here three months ago and had to introduce myself at the dinner table. That was fun. Not.
I take a deep breath and nearly choke on a potato chip I’d swallowed just a moment earlier. I grab the white plastic tumbler in front of me and take a sip of the ice-cold water.
Everything at the dining table in the Johnson Family Manse is made of plastic— old plastic. So old that a sip of water tastes like plastic that needs another wash (even when the glass is clean).
The entire family watches my every move. I swallow and the chip stops tickling my throat. Eric has leaned forward so that he can see me around Lise. When my gaze meets his, he tilts his head slightly, as if to say, Well?
I make myself smile. “I got the job,” I say.
Everyone starts to talk at once. Congratulations, Way to go, Brit! combined with Wow, you’re kidding me, right? and a ton of other sentences that I missed in the confusion.
Mom adds her congratulations, but her eyes have narrowed. I look just like her too—only instead of a flashback to what I used to look like, she’s what I will look like some day.
She’s thin (which Hera would call amazing, considering that Mom has given birth to seven children). Her wheat-blonde hair has some strands of silver mixed with a few strands of brown. Her mouth is thin and pale pink, which matches her cheeks. She never wears makeup.
She doesn’t need any. She’s stunning. Maybe the most stunning person of all of the mothers—or at least of the mothers of me, Tiff, and Crystal.
Mom’s eyes are a very deep blue, almost electric blue. They startle when you look at them. Karl says he would call them Paul Newman blue, only that makes her sound like a man, and she’s anything but manly. I know what he means, though, because of all the old movies I watched with Tiff and Crystal when we were trapped in that magical library. Paul Newman had the most amazing eyes; you could get lost in them—and that was through a movie screen.
I have no idea how they would have looked in person. Maybe like Mom’s. When she’s being intense. Like now.
Lise asks me how I got the job, and I tell her the entire story. My side of the table laughs when I mention my confusion about illegal aliens, and Ivan, know-it-all that he can be, says that’s an impolite way of referring to people who have entered this country without the proper documentation.
Mom compliments him on his diplomacy, Anna asks me a few more questions, and then my successful job hunt gets forgotten.
We listen to Hilde’s attempt at reporting on her day in preschool, Hans’s discussion of his first grade teacher, and the first gym class that Ingrid was allowed to participate in since she broke her ankle. Mine throbs in sympathy.
None of us can leave until the last person finishes. Usually that’s Hilde and that’s under protest, but she loves Sloppy Joes, even though she ends up wearing most of her meal, so tonight we waited on Leif, who got seconds.
When he finished, we lined up to take our dishes into the kitchen to scrape and rinse. I’m not on cleanup duty tonight, so I can try to make sense of my Biology homework.
But Mom slips her arm around my back.
“Come with me,” she says.
She leads me to the coat closet, pulls out a parka, and then grabs her regular jacket. She takes me out the back door.
It’s even colder than it was earlier, and the wind howls. Leaves swirl across the yard. The yard light illuminates the parking areas, but the
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