Authors: Karina Halle
I’m not myself lately. And I can’t be trusted.
“Good night, Jay,” I tell him, reaching over for the lamp.
“Good night, princess,” he says his voice rich and throaty.
The room goes dark.
I’ve never seen my dad fret over a dinner so much.
It’s been exactly one week since he had the idea to invite the Knightlys over. Of course they accepted when the both of us went over to ask, my father and I appearing on their doorstep like door-to-door salesmen.
As would luck would have it though, Jacob answered first and by the time Dawn and Sage came to the door, looking very happy to see us, Jacob and Jay had both gotten invites as well.
Then came a week of trying out recipes, getting new kitchen supplies, going through the old china and silverware and place settings. Either my father has been hard-up for new friendships since mom passed, or he subconsciously gets how important it is to have people like the Knightlys next door, people who understand this crazy fucked world.
My week was blissfully uneventful. After Jay spent the night (and somehow I slept the whole night through, no dreams, no midnight bathroom breaks) we ended up being rather inseparable. I don’t know if it’s because I was putting out signals that I wanted him around (
need
is such a strong word) or that he felt the need to protect me but either way it meant where I went, he went.
Of course I didn’t mind. In fact, I’d grown accustomed to spending every minute with him. It’s not just the constant eye candy or the way he makes me laugh at the most absurd things. It’s something else, something deeper, that I can’t quite put my finger on without sounding like a total asshole.
He may not have spent the night again after that first time, but we did go and play disc golf once (he kicked my ass). He drove me to the school so I could pick up a package from registration and we had a look around where my future career might be born. We even moved the rest of my stuff out of the old bedroom and into the new one, turning Perry’s bedroom to the giant walk-in closet.
Speaking of closet, the whole area felt completely benign. Whereas before I could almost feel evil lurking behind it, now it seems like a closet. But I was still not moving back and I refused to even be in that bedroom by myself.
Somehow, Jay made everything safe. But I didn’t want to test just how safe he made me.
“Ada, they’ll be here any minute!” my dad yells from downstairs.
I’d spent the last few hours helping him in the kitchen (he decided on rack of lamb after the Knightlys assured him that no one was a vegetarian) and have only had a few minutes to try and make myself presentable before the “guests” come.
“I’ll be right there!” I yell from the bathroom, staring at my reflection with a sigh. I’ve been sleeping a lot better lately—no bad dreams—so my dark circles are pretty much gone with a hefty dose of concealer. But still . . . there’s something almost foreign about my face. It’s like I’ve aged in the last few weeks. Not in a bad way—I still think I’ve got it going on (even if Jay doesn’t seem to think so), but it’s at least noticeable to me.
I add some hot pink matte lipstick, realizing it’s the first time in a while I’ve made a real effort with makeup (a fact that the old me would be having a hissy fit over), then go into my room and quickly rifle through my clothes, looking for something sexy yet suitable. It’s not that I’m trying to impress Jay tonight but . . . okay. Well. Maybe there’s a small part of me that wants to show myself off in a different light. You know, not the student (although the giant ginger hasn’t taught me anything) and not the damsel in distress. And not just an ordinary eighteen-year old girl.
I want him to see me as a woman.
And
I know
. I know that’s completely ridiculous, not to mention probably taboo. I mean, he never came right out and said that . . . you know what? No. Not going to even indulge myself with these thoughts. The man can have animalistic sexual instincts all he wants but that doesn’t mean he’ll ever use them on me.
A damn shame.
I end up picking a black dress (I can’t stop looking like Morticia Adams lately). It’s low-cut and even though my boobs are on the small-side, I think collarbones are sexy and the thin lacey straps hint at lingerie without being totally out of place for a family dinner. I add a gold Grecian belt around my waist and then slip on a pair of leather snakeskin flats in a similar gold-tone and admire myself in the mirror. I put my hair up, something rare for me, but eschew any jewelry.
I look pretty good.
Eat your heart out, J.J. Abrams.
I take in a deep breath and head out the room and into the hallway and…
Creak.
Panic rushes up my spine.
The door to my old room, Perry’s room, slowly creaks open as I pass it.
I go still, my skin erupting in goosebumps, my eyes stuck to the door.
Creeeeak.
It opens a little bit more.
I want to blame it on the wind. A breeze coming in through the window. But today is humid and heavy, the air as still as my body is right now.
Move
, I tell myself.
Stop staring at it. Keep walking.
Yet I still stand there.
The door creaks open just a little bit more, the sliver of room growing. I see the edge of the bed. One of the windows.
A tall shadow in the corner.
Then the door starts to shut, blocking the shadow out before I can get a better look at it.
“Ada,” my mother whispers from inside the room.
“Ada!” my father yells from downstairs.
Before I can think, I’m running down the stairs at a rapid rate and practically spilling into the kitchen, breathless, my heart running away on me.
What just happened?
“A little help?” my dad chides me, turning around with the rack of lamb between his hands. He frowns at me. “What’s with you?”
I shake my head, trying to compose myself, trying to ignore the knot of cold clay in my stomach. “Fine. I’m fine.”
“Well, help me set the table then,” he says, before giving me the eye. “Is that what you’re wearing?”
I roll my eyes and grab the homemade mint jelly from the counter, yet I’m secretly relieved that his ribbing is putting things back to normal.
Five minutes later, the neighbors are ringing the doorbell.
“Answer it!’ my dad howls from the kitchen, having a last minute problem with the wild rice side dish.
“I was going to anyway!” I yell back, feeling myself slip into fifteen-year old mode at the worst time. I close my eyes, breathing in deeply through my nose, then open the door.
Dawn and Knightly are on the stoop, Jay and Jacob lingering on the path behind them.
Dawn holds up a tin-foil covered tray and smiles with perfect white teeth. “Dulce le leche cheesecake. Sage says it’s the best you’ll ever try.”
I offer them a smile that I hope isn’t shaky. “And what do you say it is?”
“Pretty good,” she says with a laugh. “Sage is the expert in all things sweet.”
“Especially you,” he says warmly, kissing her forehead. She giggles like a child in response.
Aw. How disgusting.
I welcome them in, relieved to see they’ve somewhat dressed up. Dawn is wearing grey slacks and a silk green sleeveless top, her arms pale, slender and covered with freckles. She kind of reminds me of an older Julianne Moore, same kind of smile and calm energy. Sage is wearing khakis and a black and grey Hawaiian shirt. And flip-flops.
I try not to dwell on his footwear and glance at Jacob and Jay who are still on the path, as if they only planned to escort the Knightlys over and are about to head back.
“Well are you coming in or what?” I ask them, hand on my hip.
They exchange a glance I can’t read. Typical.
Normally my eyes would be fixed to Jay but Jacob looks more cagey than normal. It doesn’t help that his suit is pale green, his dress shirt underneath bright orange. The man really needs a new wardrobe, I don’t care if he’s been to Hell and back.
“Well?” I repeat. I can feel Sage and Down hovering behind me in the foyer.
Jay shoots me an apologetic smile. It nearly makes me weak at the knees. “Sorry. We don’t want to intrude.”
I tick off my fingers. “A, you were invited. And B, if you don’t come in, all that extra lamb is going to go to waste and you don’t want to see my dad when he’s angry.”
Jacob gives Jay an ever-so subtle nod and then smiles charmingly at me. “Of course, love.”
They come inside, Jay brushing up so close against me as he passes that my stupid girly brain is trying to figure out if it’s intentional or not. Also, he smells fucking amazing and I have to pretend that I’m not breathing in a huge whiff of his deliciousness.
Christ, this is worse than high school.
My dad comes out of the kitchen before I can make a fool of myself. Even though everyone knows each other, polite introductions are made again (with Jacob thanking him profusely for inviting the “renters”) and everyone takes a seat at the dining room table. My dad and I are at the heads of the table, which reminds me, in a creepy way, that I’m posed like my mother.
The usual pleasantries are exchanged as my dad displays the food (“Oh, that looks delicious, I haven’t had rack of lamb in so long” from Dawn and “You shouldn’t have gone through all this trouble for us” from Sage) and everyone settles in nicely.
I watch my father closely as he folds his hands and bows his head. He looks up, shooting me a sheepish look that also says
is this inappropriate?
Saying grace is very important to him.
“Dad,” I announce, clearing my throat. “Would you like to say Grace?”
A flash of relief flits across his brow. “Yes, sure,” he looks at the others. “Do you mind?”
Every mumbles no, of course not, even Jay and Jacob who, for all their godliness and demon dealings, don’t strike me as the type. Then again, I’m pretty sure Jacob owes the man upstairs something big for getting him out of Hell and all.
My father leads the Lord’s Prayer, short and simple, with a low voice brimming with reverence. Everyone has their head bowed and I sneak a peek at Jay who is sitting to the left of me, his knee brushing against mine every so often.
He’s watching me, eyes transfixed.
I blink at him, trying to smile but there’s something terribly off-putting at the way he’s gazing at me. It’s like he doesn’t really see me. More than that, it’s like it’s not really him. I have the distinct and unnerving feeling that I’m staring at a stranger.
And he’s not a good man.
Then Jay suddenly shakes his head, like he was lost in a daydream, gives me a startled smile and goes back to praying, or at least paying lip service.
“Amen,” everyone says and I repeat it absently. I can’t quite get that unsettled feeling out of my chest.
Dad starts passing out the plates, lamb headed down one way via Sage, rice headed down the other via Jacob. But now it’s Jacob’s face I’m paying attention to as everyone else starts talking about the food and murmuring thanks.
He’s agitated. While he’s smiling here and there as he listens to the conversations, he keeps fidgeting in his seat, twirling his tacky gold watch around his wrist, eyes darting around as if listening to conversations coming from outside the room.
I think my father picks up on this because he watches him for a moment before he asks. “So are you and Jay related? Father and son?”
This makes Jacob laugh, putting him at ease for a second. Even Jay smiles.
“No. But he often feels like a son to me,” Jacob explains. “Won’t bloody do what I tell him!”
They both burst out laughing like it’s the funniest thing on earth and pretty soon everyone else is joining in. But beneath the laughter, I can see the strain in everyone’s eyes, like this is just for show. It makes me wonder what has everyone on edge, or if we’re all just feeding off of each other.
“And Dawn, Sage,” my father says, pointing his fork at them. “How did you two meet?”
The couple exchanges a look with raised brows. I know what they’re trying to figure out—which story to tell.
“It’s a funny story,” Sage says, giving him a jovial smile and I already know which version my dad is getting. “Dawn was a music journalist sent to cover our tour. She rode on the bus with us and everything, all freckles and long limbs and unruly hair, asking all the wrong questions, digging for soundbites. I truly hated her.”
Dawn nudges Sage in the side, her smile lines deepening. My eyes go to Jacob, who I now know was there on that tour, but he’s not paying attention at all. It’s as if he’s still listening to something none of us can hear and he doesn’t look too happy about it.
“So it wasn’t love at first sight?” my dad asks. Despite what’s going on, my heart melts for him. I know it was that way for him and mom.
“Oh, it was,” Sage concedes. “I just didn’t know it yet.”
“And I was in love with him before I even met him,” Dawn adds. “Every girl worth their salt, or with at least great taste in music, had a poster of Hybrid on their wall.”
My dad then goes on to talk about actor Gregory Peck and how his wife was a journalist sent to interview him. Then Dawn brings the conversation around to me and my fashion blogging, my design aspirations.