Page 12 of Searching for Beautiful
Now
For as long as I can remember, we’ve always eaten dinner as a family at the dinner table. We’re not one of those fancy families with a long table, decorative lighting hanging in the middle of it and forks on each side of the plate or anything. Our dining room is small. The table could fit six if we put the leaf in it, but we never do.
Four chairs, used to be three people, and we’d laugh and eat either whatever experiment Mom came up with that night, or once a week, on Sunday, Dad made sauce. The De Luca family recipe, he’d call it. And I’d be the next person to learn it. I loved being a De Luca. I always knew it, but Sunday’s sauce was a reminder. It used to be the only time we made it, but you could always count on it on Sundays.
He would get up early and start it, making meatballs and throwing in pork and Italian sausage, too. Mom loved Dad’s homemade meatballs. It was always her favorite part. Dad went for the pork, saying it mixed well with the tomatoes. I liked the Italian sausage. We’d each grab our favorite parts, except once in a while, Mom would tease Dad and try to steal his pork. When she did that, he’d follow suit and hijack my sausage, which left me to pretend I was taking Mom’s meatballs from her.
The pot was huge, so of course any one of us could get up and grab more off the stove, but we never did. It was always a game. Maybe a silly one, but it was ours.
We still eat at the table every night, only two of the four chairs filled now. Dad doesn’t make sauce on Sundays anymore. At first he was too depressed, then we talked about it and both decided it didn’t make sense to do it every week. What was the point of making that much food for two people? Maybe once a month would be better. But it’s been months and the only time we had sauce was when we went to Grandma De Luca’s for Christmas. Now we either have takeout, or Dad and I take turns cooking hamburgers or steak.
Never, ever sauce.
Tonight it’s Dad’s turn to cook, but I go ahead and make pork chops and mashed potatoes so it’s ready when he gets home. I have no doubt he knows I skipped the second half of my day today. Maybe the food will soften the blow.
My heart jumps when my cell rings. It hasn’t really done that in so long. I mean, Dad calls, but that’s about it. After letting it ring again, I pull it from my pocket. Not recognizing the number, I answer the call. “Hello?”
“I was right, Red. Wouldn’t it have been easier just to listen to me? We still could have been together, you know. And now you’re alone, aren’t you? That’s what you get for betraying me. ”
Before I can dislodge the fist in my throat, Jason hangs up. Dropping the phone on the counter, I lean over it, my arms on the granite surface. Heat and cold somehow battle each other inside me, both trying to take hold.
The cold makes me shiver. The mocking sound of his voice, and the fact that he just called to be hateful. To be an ass because he knows he was right. He knows me enough to realize how much being alone makes me feel like I’m disappearing.
But then that heat starts extinguishing the cold. Jason feels invincible. Like he can call and torment me, and I won’t do anything about it. I let the anger wash through me, hold it in, because I’m where it belongs.
Author: Nyrae Dawn
Because he’s right.
Chapter Nine
Before
“Let me grab the chair for you. ” We’re in Sam’s dining room for dinner.
Jason told me to dress up, that he wanted to take me out, but we can’t because he doesn’t want it to get back to his dad. He pushes Jason so hard, and is so worried about a girl getting in the middle of the goals he has for Jason, that he’s a jerk about dating.
So, Jason decided we’d pretend to go out instead. I’m wearing his favorite red dress, happiness dancing around inside me as I wait for him to pull the chair out for me. When he does, I sit down.
“It smells good,” I tell him.
“I cooked. ” Jason winks before disappearing into the kitchen. He comes back with a plate of steak, potatoes, and a salad. He sets it in front of me before putting his on the seat next to me and sitting down.
The steak is perfect. Everything he does is. We eat and laugh and he asks me about school. He touches my leg under the table but doesn’t try for any more than that.
We’re finished eating when he says, “I’m staying with Sam tonight, so he said it’s cool if I have some of his wine. Do you want some?”
He pours a glass and then hesitates with the second one. A knot forms in my belly. I want to drink with him. It feels…I don’t know, adult, like we’re married and this could be our house or something. But I still have to drive home.
“No, thanks. ”
Jason’s forehead wrinkles. “I wanna have a drink with you. You trust me, don’t you, Red? I won’t let you get hurt. Half a glass and that’s all. You’ll be good by the time you drive home. ”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to say yes, but I shake my head.
“Sorry. I don’t want to push you. I just thought you’d like it, that tonight could be special. ”
He sets the bottle down.
