Текст книги "The Weight of Rain"

Автор книги: Mariah Dietz

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Текущая страница: 19 (всего у книги 23 страниц)

Whether the stories truly become more emotional and gripping or my heart just feels heavier with each one is debatable. But by the end of our hour, the faces of the students in Mercedes’ class makes me feel hopeful that we’ve been able to curtail some of the damage that has been spreading.

“That was one hell of a defense,” Allie whispers as the teacher leads the class in applause.

“That was my offense,” I reply, gritting my teeth because my emotions are still torn between smiling and crying.

MY PHONE rings as I get off the bus at my stop, and while I consider ignoring it because I know King’s busy tonight, for some reason I dig through my bag to find it.

I shuffle and apologize as I nearly make a man behind me stumble from stopping so suddenly, and answer the call, hating that I become so discombobulated from seeing her name.

“How are you, sweetheart?”

I haven’t been sweetheart in years, not since I was too young to appreciate the term of endearment. “I’m well. How are you?”

“I’m great! I just spoke with your brother and he said you’re doing some modeling. I’m so proud of you! I always told you you should use that height for something. You’ll likely have to go on a juicing diet, make sure you shed any extra fat, but I bet you have the potential.” The way her tone changes, her voice quieter, it makes me wonder if she’s questioning herself.

“It’s nothing serious. Not like for an agency or a company or anything like that. I’m just helping out a friend that’s going to school for design.”

“But you realize who goes to these shows, right.” There isn’t enough inflection in her tone to make it a question. “This is a big deal, Lauren. This could change your entire future.”

“I’m not looking for it to change anything. I’m going to Italy this summer for art, and then I plan to come back to Portland and—”

“Do you understand the opportunity here?”

“I got accepted to go to Florence.”

“Lauren, you’re old to begin modeling now. If you’re scouted, you must accept. This could do huge things for our future!” Our future. The words are a dagger. A million broken promises.

“I’ve got to go.” I do. Otherwise, I might change all my future plans because of that one stupid word that has never been shared between us: our. I know she won’t stick around, but the small promise of it is so alluring. It shouldn’t be. I shouldn’t have to be a model or successful for her to consider me her daughter and make time for me, and I know that, which is the only reason I’m able to hang up.

My mood dampens further when I see Kenzie’s car in the parking lot. I haven’t seen her in weeks. I have no idea where she’s been staying, and while I’ve been a bit concerned, I know she’s been in our studio apartment because clothes and bags have come and gone.

As soon as I unlock the door, I feel her eyes watching me. I refuse to look her way, something that is more difficult than I thought it would be when I came to this conclusion on the stairs. Our apartment is so small I can’t help but look at her a few times as I change and get things set up to draw.

“YOUR PHONE keeps flashing.” I keep my attention on my work as Kenzie grumbles her acknowledgment. “Are you going to answer it?”

My hand pauses and I look over to her. “You can flip it over if it’s bothering you.”

“What if it’s something important?”

“It’s just my brother.”

“No it’s not.”

Her reply makes me furrow my brow in question. I muted my phone after his third call, knowing he wouldn’t be deterred until he had successfully filled my voicemail. I reach toward my bed to lift my phone, and see three missed calls from King, two from Mercedes, and one from both Summer and Kash. Without giving Kenzie a thank-you or explanation, I call King back and press the phone to my ear, trying to block out the sound of my blood pumping harder with concern.

“Lo?” His answer takes me by surprise because it’s filled with relief. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Are you?”

“What are you doing?”

“Drawing, why? Is everything okay?” I repeat.

“I’m coming over.”

“Now?” The shock in my voice is evident.

“I’m already in my truck.” I don’t reply, waiting to see if I can hear anything to confirm that he is. “Pack a bag.”

“For what?”

“Do you want to wear the same clothes to class tomorrow?”

Other than the night of the storm, we haven’t done sleepovers. Spending the night there still feels like I’m doing something naughty, like even though Kash knows we’re dating, this just confirms we’re sleeping together, and while it’s ridiculous that I find myself embarrassed to make it so blatant, I am.

A banging on the door stops my thoughts and causes me to drop the charcoal I’m still holding.

“I already know you’re home.” King’s voice is quiet because he isn’t yelling through the door. He’s still on the phone.

I’m fairly certain Kenzie is more uncomfortable by having King here than I am. The two barely acknowledge each other, their greetings barely cordial, but I don’t focus on it long because King is radiating with an energy that I feel through his hand that has been firmly on the small of my back since I opened the door. He’s glowing with it, and it makes me feel anxious and happy for the first time today.

Without delay, I pack some clean clothes in a bag and then slide away from King so I can retrieve things from the bathroom. I’m only gone a few moments, not long enough for a lengthy conversation, but there isn’t even a single word shared between the two.

“Ready?” he asks as I place a couple of sketchbooks into my bag.

“Yeah.” I look toward Kenzie. She’s filing her nails, but I can tell she’s bothered. I’m pretty sure I wear that same expression most times I’m with my own brother. “See ya, Kenzie.”I don’t look to see if she turns her head. I’m not saying it for me.

King and I descend the stairs at a fast pace, his energy returning as soon as the door is closed.

“You seem happy,” I remark as we clear the last stair.

King looks over to me and a sly smile lifts only the right side of his lips, and then his hands are holding my jaw with an unfamiliar timidness and his lips are against mine. I don’t notice the softness of his lips or the sharpness of the short stubble on his chin against mine. It’s muted by the heat of his breath, and the pressure that counterbalances the tenderness of his hands. Then I forget that too and wind my arms around his neck so I can pull him closer to me. His fingers constrict slightly as a sound far too similar to a purr is made in the back of my throat, and my hands fist in his jacket. It only serves to send the scent of him in the breeze, making this energy that he’s passed on to me multiply.

A car horn stretches, and King’s head snaps back. I doubt that either of us would have given it a thought if it weren’t a foot away from us. A man waves his hand dismissively, his eyebrows drawn and mouth plastered into a frown, showing his frustration.

I glance down and laugh before grabbing King’s hand and pulling him out of the parking spot.

“What an asshole,” King mutters, standing beside the car as the man parks. His shoulders are wide as he stands slightly in front of me.

I jab him with my elbow and move toward his truck, hoping he won’t say anything to the guy but knowing this is the best deterrent I can offer.

“Have I told you how incredible you are?” His words are nearly as soft as his steps, startling me. Then he wraps a hand around my waist, bringing our hips together for the short distance to his truck.

“You weren’t even going to tell me, were you?” he asks.

“About today?”

“Yeah, about today.”

I shrug. “Only later if it worked. Then I would have gloated.”

“You’re such a liar.”

“How is she?” I was a little nervous about her going to her friend Paige’s this afternoon with everything transpiring, but she was sure she wanted to go.

“She has her head so far in the clouds, I think those girls could say anything they want and it wouldn’t touch her right now.”

I stop and lean my back against the cold metal of the door, sighing with relief. Although I felt it had gone well, I was still a little concerned it would bite her in the ass, and even more concerned she would hate me for embarrassing her.

“You were right, Lo. She’s too good to stoop to those levels. And your words about numbers, and how they don’t mean a damn thing—I think she really understood your message.”

“I talked a lot. Hopefully a couple of words got stuck in each of their heads.”

“Your words needed to be said. They’re going to be better people from the message you left with them today.”

“I said bullshit in the middle of it,” I admit.

King lets out a quiet laugh, his eyes sparking with that energy the car horn dimmed. “I don’t think it was the first time any of them had ever heard it. But your cheeks turned red, and you looked really cute.”

“How do you know?”

“Mercedes taped it.”

“What?”

“We watched you on the big screen, baby.” He’s teasing but sincere, making it both sweet and maddening.

“If you mock me…” I warn.

King’s eyebrows shoot up. “Babe, you’re cute when I mock you, and I like getting you playful and feisty, but I would never mock you for this. You went above and beyond, and your love for Mercedes, and even those other kids that you’re trying to help, makes me respect you more than I already did, and I didn’t know that was even possible. I’m going to take you home and worship you.”

KING’S practices increase along with his media coverage and invitations. It isn’t long before he’s gone more than he was while trying to get things sorted with the PR team in Switzerland for Kash. This time it’s both easier and harder. We’re getting better at communicating, touching base even if it’s only for a few stolen minutes between conflicting schedules. I’m so immensely proud of him and know with how often he reaches out that we’re on stable ground, both of us fully invested. I also miss him somehow more than I did then when I would get moody and depressed from not seeing him. Now I’m mopey. Mercedes keeps me busy, and modeling practice has moved up to three times a week in preparation for the show Friday. But I have a bigger project that hours of my day keep getting lost to: King’s logo. Summer has taken so many pictures of him, but I already know which image I’ll be using, and it isn’t in a photograph.

I reach for my phone to check the time. I’m supposed to be meeting Charleigh in five minutes at the restaurant. I’m excited to see her yet still slightly nervous because of the turbulence we experienced. Relationships have never been my forte, even friendships, so I like to think this is just natural progression, a required growth that will make us stronger like Allie has said.

The restaurant is warm and fairly sparse since it’s just after four. Mercedes is with Robert today, giving me hours I’ve rarely seen since summer.

“Lo!” Mia calls warmly as she winds around the small desk. “How are you?”

My smile is an instant reaction to her. I think regardless of how much time spans, I will always think fondly of this place and the people here.

“Your mural is unreal, Lo! I can’t believe how good it turned out! You wouldn’t believe how many people ask about it! Estella is absolutely in love with it! When we don’t see her for a while, we come out here and she’s just staring at it. I can’t believe you haven’t been around!”

“I’m really glad you guys like it.”

“Like is an understatement. I mean, we all knew you could draw, but girl, you can draw,” Mia says. “And paint too, apparently,” she adds with a small laugh.

“Don’t fill her head too high; she has to be able to walk back out of here.”

Mia and I both turn to see Charleigh, her hair in a large bun and her cheeks rosy from running in the rain.

“Hey, stranger!” Mia calls.

“Hi, Mia.”

“You guys here for an early dinner?”

“I’m starved,” Charleigh answers, following Mia to a booth near the back that sits against a window. They all know about my love to people-watch.

“Lauren,” Charleigh says after Mia walks away.

I slide my menu down and slowly move my gaze up to meet hers.

“You don’t hate me, do you?”

“No!” The word pops from my mouth. I’m shocked it was even a question.

“I know we both apologized, but I couldn’t stand for you to hate me. I know I said some things that were a little forward, and I didn’t mean to hurt you. Your relationship with your mum is something that I know is none of my business, but it really bothers me. She shouldn’t treat you the way she does, and it upsets me that you allow her to. And while I think you should have kicked Kenzie’s arse a couple of times this last year, I know that’s not you…”

Charleigh rubs a hand across her forehead. “Dammit, I’m doing it again. I’m shit with giving advice, especially here. You guys are all so sweet with your … what do you call them? Word sandwiches? The positives covering a negative thing you all do. It’s bollocks, really, because I think the negative can easily get lost, or more importantly, people don’t hear the positives at all, but whatever. I’m going to do this the British way and just tell you how it is. You need to stop worrying about your mum, and everyone else, and do what’s best for you right now.”

I watch her eyes that are wide and set on me. There’s an appreciation I’ve always had for Charleigh because she doesn’t feed anyone a line of bullshit. If she doesn’t like you or something you’re doing, she never has a problem stating so. Maybe she’s right—maybe we have gotten so lost in trying to be so nice and protect everyone’s feelings, that we’ve lost sight of how destructive it is to have negativity laced within a compliment. Like having someone insult you and then deliver a laugh so that you’re not positive they’ve really insulted you, or if they are merely joking.

“That means a lot to me.”

Charleigh smiles, but it’s reserved, hiding something that I can tell she’s prepared to affront me with, but Mia arrives with a large platter filled with appetizers—Charleigh’s and my favorite way to eat—and her attention is instantly averted.

“So what’s this mysterious boy of yours like? Are you ever going to introduce him?”

“He’s coming to the show on Friday with me.”

“Really?” My curiosity is piqued, and I can tell by her smile that she knows.

“You’re going to be surprised. He doesn’t look like other guys I’ve dated.” I’ve only met two guys that she dated, and neither left a big enough impression for me to create a class of guys that she likes. All I know is she liked pictures of guys with big biceps, licking them and claiming them like it meant something significant. “He’s perfect though, and he’s funny, and … he’s perfect”

“I’m glad. I know you wouldn’t settle for less, and you shouldn’t.”

Charleigh’s smile begins from my words and then transgresses into something personal, like she’s celebrating something only she’s fully aware of. I’m envious of it initially, and then I think of King and feel my own lips curling. I understand what those stolen kisses and soft touches, tucked pieces of hair, inside jokes, and shared knowing smiles equate to. They aren’t something that can be explained because like many things in life, words do not equate.

“So, I’ve told my mum and dad that I’m staying for another year. They went ballistic initially, but I think they understand now.”

“Does that change your immigration status?”

“I’ve applied for my F-1 Visa, which allows me to stay another year after graduating. In that time, I’m hoping I’ll be able to find a job or something that will allow me to stay longer. This one usually goes fairly fast because it’s specialized for students graduating. I’m hoping it comes quickly though. Otherwise, I have to go back, then apply. If they lapse, it gets a lot more complicated.”

“But you’ve got everything in?”

She nods, stabbing a large bit of taquito with her fork. “I think this is the right thing. I mean, I love fashion, and I’m hoping I can do something with it, but for now, I think just getting to enjoy life is what I’m supposed to do.”

“WE’RE late! We’re late! Let’s go!” Allie is barreling down the stairs, garment bags folded over her arms.

We aren’t late, but I know from previous dressings that on time equates to late to many of these people. I follow her to her car and help load things into the trunk.

“Where’s Charleigh?” I ask.

“Meeting us there. Where’s King?”

“Same.”

“Are you ready?” Allie asks, smoothing a loose hair back into her braid. For how stressed out she’s been and was just mere moments ago, she seems composed, relaxed—the complete opposite of me. I’m pretty certain if she pays attention long enough, she’ll see that I’m shaking, all of me, like I’m the epicenter of an earthquake. She nods once and opens the driver’s side door. “Let’s go.”

Once we arrive, we’re led to a large hall filled with stations, dresses, people, and more lights than I have ever seen before in my life.

“You’re fine,” Allie says. Taking my hand, she pulls me through the room until we reach a spot that has her name taped across a garment rack.

“What are these if the clothes are already here?” I ask, adding the garment bags we hauled through the crowds.

“Backups.” She doesn’t even look my way as she responds, straightening the additions and moving to plug in a steamer.

“What should I do?”

“Go get a cup of ice.”

“For what?”

“You need to start sucking on it.”

“Why?” My brows draw low in question.

“It will lower your body temperature and make you stop sweating.” I glance down, wondering if my nerves are visible under my arms. “You aren’t yet, but you will.” With that assurance, I head off in search of ice.

As I stand in front of the mirror—my hair and makeup completed by Charleigh—I realize Allie was never harnessing her talents; she was unleashing them, stepping outside of all comfort zones to create something that is beyond imaginable. I feel nervous to touch the first dress, let alone wear it. How will I move without possibly harming it? Even a crease seems tragic to this beautiful piece.

“You can’t sit or eat or drink, and please don’t sweat.”

I look to Allie and feel the temperature in the room rise by ten degrees.

“Here’s another ice cube,” Charleigh says, offering me a plastic spoon. They’ve been dropping them into my mouth to prevent me from ruining my lipstick.

“Don’t lock your knees. You want to remember to lean forward with your chest, chin up, and weight on your toes,” Allie instructs as her fingers trail the dress, seeking any slight imperfections that we all know don’t exist.

I recite the instructions twice more in my head while keeping my arms propped out like a doll, another measure to prevent sweating.

“Alright, Lo, you’ve got to get in line,” Allie says, grabbing the bottle of hair spray. She’s sprayed me down from head to toe already, and still she does it again.

We walk—me stiff, them relaxed—to where others are starting to get in order. People with headpieces that link from their ear to walkie talkies are checking sheets, instructing us on where to go.

“You’re going to do great. Take a couple of deep breaths and just look to the bottom right when you get out there. They’re all waiting for you.” Charleigh gently squeezes my hand, holding on until I feel my nerves start to subside.

The lights are bright, heating me like a dozen suns shining on me. They also make it nearly impossible to decipher anyone’s face. I’m fairly certain the crowd is loudest on the right, and I reckon it’s where King and the group are sitting, but I can’t pause long enough to confirm it. I recite the tips again in my head. My face is cool with my chin tilted up, my chest forward, my weight balanced on my toes in a pair of shoes that I will do a celebratory burial for once this is over, and my knees are slightly bent as I make a final pose at the end of the runway where a sea of cameras are pointed toward me.

I feel slightly guilty for feeling exhilarated by the energy that is pumping through me as I descend the back stairs and head to where my next dress is waiting for me along with Charleigh, Allie, and two girls I’ve never met that strip me like a doll. I’ve been saying looks don’t count, numbers are irrelevant, yet I’m parading around like they do. Still, this is such a huge step for Allie that I try to forget about the thoughts until later and ignore the fact that people are seeing me in nothing but a skimpy pair of underwear, and let them work their magic.

Five times I walk down the stage that thankfully seemed shorter with each pass. I was never able to pick out Mercedes, or even King from the crowd, but I don’t doubt for a second that they missed the show.

“You were amazing!” Allie cries, flinging her arms around me when I step backstage. “You rocked every single dress.”

“I should. You made them to fit me.”

Charleigh grins, but Allie is so lost in a blissful happiness that is preventing her from taking in much of anything at the moment.

They strip me once again and I dress in my own clothes that feel loose and light in contrast to the dresses. I roll my shoulders, appreciating the range of motion being restored, and my feet sigh as they slide into a pair of ballet flats. Allie has vanished, whisked away to go take a bow along with the other designers and their professor who managed to give me the tightest of smiles before my last trip down the runway.

“Loooooo!”

I look up and see Mercedes running at me with a bouquet of red roses fisted in her hand. She launches into my arms from a foot back and hugs me so tightly it catches my breath. Charleigh smiles, and it tells me how happy she is for me and the close relationship that Mercedes and I have built and will always share.

“You were so beautiful!” she cries as Summer steps up behind her with a matching smile. “They won’t let any boys back here,” Mercedes continues, then looks to her left. “But there’s already…”

“They’re with the design teams,” Charleigh quickly explains as two men brush past us. They had, I watched as they applied makeup like artists with a paintbrush.

Mercedes doesn’t care. She’s already peering around at the models and dresses, loving the commotion and energy that is still filling the room.

“Your mom thinks you’re going to be the next big thing,” Mercedes chirps. “I think she’s right.”

“My mom?” I don’t mean for the question to be verbal, but they all look at me, Charleigh sucking in a deep breath to confirm she knew she was out there. I’m glad she didn’t tell me; it would have made me obsess over everything, which is likely the reason she didn’t.

“She’s waiting with Kash and King,” Summer says, her voice even and her face careful, like she’s expecting a reaction.

Without asking her to, Charleigh takes my hand and leads us out to the hall that is filled with people. We don’t have to go far. A hand catches my arm and within seconds I smell King in the air, moving around me as he advances, and then I’m wrapping my arms around his shoulders.

He’s silent, or my thoughts and the crowd are too loud. I’m not sure. I don’t hold on to him for long. I need to see that she’s actually here, introducing herself to my friends as my mother.

It’s not just her; my brother, Josh, is standing on her other side, clearly uncomfortable and reproachful of the situation. I don’t know how to greet either of them because I don’t call her Mom, not to her face. “Hey.” My voice is quiet and strained, and I resent her being here more than I thought possible. I feel like they’re intruding on this moment and time with my friends.

“Lo, you looked like a natural up there!” Kash says, awkwardly wrapping an arm around my side that King isn’t still pressed against. “You seriously killed it! Summer has some awesome shots! I know you don’t draw yourself, but you have to do at least one.”

“Let’s go to dinner! We have to talk about things!” my mom says. I look over her once more. She looks heavier, but she’s trying to disguise it with a busily patterned skirt and black blouse that looks stark in contrast to her light skin that matches my own. Her hair is maintained at the same dark shade it always has been, nearly raven, and her eyes are too green, enhanced by contacts. I don’t look anything like my mother aside from our shared skin tone and shape of our hands, something few people would ever notice. I don’t look like my father either, nor my brother. They all have the dark hair and varying shades of green eyes. They’re also all slightly shorter than me, even my dad. It’s never bothered me. We are as different inside as we are physically. And because we’ve spent so little time together, I doubt we share even a single mannerism.

“You’re always sexy,” King whispers in my ear as we move to the exit. “Always.”

I’m glad so many people drove because it gives me three excuses not to ride with my mom and brother, and ultimately, I choose to ride with Charleigh and her boyfriend, Brandon, who does look surprisingly young.

“I’m sorry I didn’t mention it to you. I just thought—”

I wave a hand dismissively. “No, I’m glad you didn’t. It would have distracted me.”

“We don’t have to go.”

I’ve never told Charleigh much about my mom. The sordid details of our past are so meager and infrequent that I know what others’ thoughts are when I share them. Still, she seems to recognize my discomfort, and always has when it has anything to do with her.

“It’s okay. She never sticks around for long anyway.”

“You were awesome out there, Lauren. Focus on that. You were so beautiful and confident. Everyone was watching you out there.”

“I don’t want to model.”

Charleigh swings her head to look at me twice and then releases a deep breath. “That’s what she wants? Why you’re bothered? Just tell her no.”

“Watch how well that goes.”

She turns to look at me as she slides the key from the ignition, but I’m ready to get this over with. I slide out of the car and find King waiting for me. He wraps an arm around my shoulders, and with the tightness of his grip, I can tell he knows something is off.

“So, King, I was reading an article about you online that says you’re starting to compete just like your brother, Kash,” my mom says as soon as pleasantries are completed again, following another round of compliments from my friends. I wish Allie were here to accept some of them, but she had other plans with her family.

“I am,” he says, sitting back in his chair. He’s dressed in a pair of dark slacks and an olive-toned shirt that is once again rolled to his elbows. I think he feels suffocated in them, and the small gesture somehow makes him feel less restricted. The small gauge in his left ear catches the light, dancing across the starched tablecloth. I don’t stare at him long because my brother is on his other side, and he has been staring at me with a look of disdain that I refuse to acknowledge.

“What kind of span is one generally able to compete? I noticed many in the field are in their teens.”

My back bristles. She has always known how to take the upper hand in a conversation.

King’s hand tightens around mine and then tightens even more, bringing me to look at him. I’m expecting to see the fury I’m feeling in his expression, but he’s relaxed, his eyes looking lazy, his lips twitching with a grin. “That depends on so many variables; there really isn’t a clear answer.” He wets his lips with his tongue, and leans further against his chair, looking almost relaxed. “I plan to do it until I’m either tired of it or it’s not a safe risk.”

“Is it ever a safe risk?” she asks.

I can only see King’s profile, but I’m certain he’s sharing my favorite smile with her. It angers me even more. “Without risk, you will never find reward.”

“Death is a reward?” Josh asks.

King’s head turns slightly away, but his thumb strokes along mine, silently assuring me. “Only for some.”

I glance to Mercedes, seeing her eyebrows are raised over wide eyes that are volleying between King and Josh.

“I assume you travel a lot with the profession,” my mom continues.

King threads his fingers through mine, stretching and then clamping around my hand that continues to flex with irritation. “Some.”

Her response is a smile that’s tainted with malevolence.

“It’s really great to meet you guys. Lauren has become very dear to us all.” Apparently Charleigh senses the malice also.

My mother’s eyes flicker to her, calculating, measuring. “We’ve been waiting to come for graduation, and then I heard Lauren got accepted to a program that requires her to go to Europe for the summer, so I thought we’d come and see how things were going. This modeling certainly seems far more promising than painting. You guys all thought she was really great. I think it’s a very promising possibility.” Her eyes turn back to me. “You’ll need to start toning and drinking more water because your skin is visibly dry. Are you using a moisturizer? You aren’t wiping your makeup off with a towel or your hands, right? We’ll need to find an agent. Tomorrow we can start calling.”

“Mom, I’m glad you got to see the show, but only because it will be the only time I walk down a runway. I don’t want to model. I was uncomfortable and nervous, and feeding into an image that I don’t believe in.”

“Of course you were nervous! This was your first time. And the clothes weren’t professional grade. You haven’t been properly conditioned. Once you lose some weight and have some training—”

“I’m not modeling,” I say firmly, my eyes wide and fixed on hers.

A waiter appears looking clearly uncomfortable as he clears his throat and asks us if we’re ready to order. Fearing someone will ask for another minute, I confirm we are.

Nothing on the menu sounds good, though my stomach is growling from not eating all day. I order a salad without even thinking about it. This is the only meal my mother and I have ever ordered when out together since I turned ten.

Old habits die hard.

King orders manicotti, extra garlic bread, and two tiramisus that he requests to be delivered with dinner. His gesture is sweet, thoughtful, and manages to fracture the dread that’s been silencing the group since I heard my mom was here.

There’s an unavoidable silence that follows our waiter that has everyone reaching for their napkin or glass.