Total order.
“I’m going,” I told him. “ This summer. I have almost all of the money I need.”
Dad took a sip from his water and then swallowed, setting the glass carefully back on the table. “Let’s talk about this another time,” he said.
I couldn’t bite back my words even though I knew this was not the time to have this discussion. “You treat me like I’m a child.” My anger at Dad’s unexpected dinner guest made me unable to stay quiet. If Trisha wanted to be a part of this family, let her see what we were really like behind the fresh lilies and grilled steak. “I’m more than capable of making major decisions like this for myself.”
Ian bent over his plate and shoveled beans into his mouth as if he couldn’t eat fast enough. Whenever Dad and I argued, Ian would eat. After our mom left, he started a habit of hiding boxes of cookies and snack cakes in his room. Dad didn’t see anything wrong with this behavior, but I hunted down the junk food every few months and tossed it out.
I scowled at my dad, but he stared down at his plate as he ate, pointedly ignoring me as Ian stuffed his cheeks like a chipmunk preparing for winter.
“So,” Trisha said after a moment of uncomfortable silence, “are you seeing anyone special at school?” This question was apparently directed at me as she cut her steak into bite-sized pieces.
What was with the personal interrogation? I was in the middle of a never-ending game of 20 Questions that I was not in the mood to play. Especially with Trisha’s cleavage staring across the table at me. Ian’s gaze wandered away from his plate and I delivered another kick to his shin.
“No,” I answered. “Not seeing anyone.”
“Well, that’s okay,” Trisha said. “You never know when Mr. Right may show up. He could be that guy you’ve always thought of as a friend.” She reached over and twined her fingers into Dad’s. “Your father and I were friends for a while before he asked me out. Did he tell you how we met?” Without waiting for an answer, she continued on, her face beaming. “It was at The Percolator. We always ordered the same drink and muffin, and one day, after getting tired of waiting for your dad to make the first move, I said something about it. After that, we met at the café each morning and talked for weeks before he got up the nerve to ask me out.”
I fought hard to resist the urge to gag. I did not want to hear details of my father’s love life. Not even the seemingly innocent ones that took place at The Percolator.
“Avery is too young to be thinking about romance,” Dad said. “She has a bright future ahead of her. No need to have her distracted by some boy.”
“Oh, Mitch,” Trisha said, rolling her eyes toward me, as if trying to let me know she thought my dad was so out of touch. “It’s perfectly natural for girls to have an interest in boys. Even the smart ones.”
Was this Let’s All Talk About Avery Day? Time for a change of subject. “So how’s your art project coming along?” I asked my brother.
“Great,” Ian said through a mouthful of food. “I’ve got a lot of good pictures.”
My subject change worked. Trisha turned toward Ian, her eyes shining. She was certainly an equal opportunity brown-noser. “What kind of project are you doing?”
Ian jumped up from his seat. “I’ll show you.”
He dashed down the hall and returned a moment later with a shoebox. Pushing his empty plate out of the way, Ian opened the box and spread dozens of pictures across the table.
“I’m planning to make a collage of people around town. ‘Every Day Life in Willowbrook.’ It will be random people I see all over town doing the things they always do. I’m thinking this one will be the centerpiece.” He pointed at a picture of the old woman who ran the bakery, picking her nose behind the counter.
Trisha giggled. “Well, that’s certainly eye-catching. These are fantastic pictures. You have an eye for how to capture
“I’m going,” I told him. “ This summer. I have almost all of the money I need.”
Dad took a sip from his water and then swallowed, setting the glass carefully back on the table. “Let’s talk about this another time,” he said.
I couldn’t bite back my words even though I knew this was not the time to have this discussion. “You treat me like I’m a child.” My anger at Dad’s unexpected dinner guest made me unable to stay quiet. If Trisha wanted to be a part of this family, let her see what we were really like behind the fresh lilies and grilled steak. “I’m more than capable of making major decisions like this for myself.”
Ian bent over his plate and shoveled beans into his mouth as if he couldn’t eat fast enough. Whenever Dad and I argued, Ian would eat. After our mom left, he started a habit of hiding boxes of cookies and snack cakes in his room. Dad didn’t see anything wrong with this behavior, but I hunted down the junk food every few months and tossed it out.
I scowled at my dad, but he stared down at his plate as he ate, pointedly ignoring me as Ian stuffed his cheeks like a chipmunk preparing for winter.
“So,” Trisha said after a moment of uncomfortable silence, “are you seeing anyone special at school?” This question was apparently directed at me as she cut her steak into bite-sized pieces.
What was with the personal interrogation? I was in the middle of a never-ending game of 20 Questions that I was not in the mood to play. Especially with Trisha’s cleavage staring across the table at me. Ian’s gaze wandered away from his plate and I delivered another kick to his shin.
“No,” I answered. “Not seeing anyone.”
“Well, that’s okay,” Trisha said. “You never know when Mr. Right may show up. He could be that guy you’ve always thought of as a friend.” She reached over and twined her fingers into Dad’s. “Your father and I were friends for a while before he asked me out. Did he tell you how we met?” Without waiting for an answer, she continued on, her face beaming. “It was at The Percolator. We always ordered the same drink and muffin, and one day, after getting tired of waiting for your dad to make the first move, I said something about it. After that, we met at the café each morning and talked for weeks before he got up the nerve to ask me out.”
I fought hard to resist the urge to gag. I did not want to hear details of my father’s love life. Not even the seemingly innocent ones that took place at The Percolator.
“Avery is too young to be thinking about romance,” Dad said. “She has a bright future ahead of her. No need to have her distracted by some boy.”
“Oh, Mitch,” Trisha said, rolling her eyes toward me, as if trying to let me know she thought my dad was so out of touch. “It’s perfectly natural for girls to have an interest in boys. Even the smart ones.”
Was this Let’s All Talk About Avery Day? Time for a change of subject. “So how’s your art project coming along?” I asked my brother.
“Great,” Ian said through a mouthful of food. “I’ve got a lot of good pictures.”
My subject change worked. Trisha turned toward Ian, her eyes shining. She was certainly an equal opportunity brown-noser. “What kind of project are you doing?”
Ian jumped up from his seat. “I’ll show you.”
He dashed down the hall and returned a moment later with a shoebox. Pushing his empty plate out of the way, Ian opened the box and spread dozens of pictures across the table.
“I’m planning to make a collage of people around town. ‘Every Day Life in Willowbrook.’ It will be random people I see all over town doing the things they always do. I’m thinking this one will be the centerpiece.” He pointed at a picture of the old woman who ran the bakery, picking her nose behind the counter.
Trisha giggled. “Well, that’s certainly eye-catching. These are fantastic pictures. You have an eye for how to capture
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