The Haunted - Jessica Verday [30]
We entered the dining room, and Mom was giggling at something Ben was saying. I sighed, and Dad threw me a helpless look before we sat down.
Mom had outdone herself with the decorations. The whole room looked like something out of a Martha Stewart magazine. Gleaming silverware, tall candelabras with red tapers, maroon wine goblets, and a black-and-white damask tablecloth were all part of the setting. Confetti was scattered across the table, and fancy deckle-edged place cards sat at each plate. A large crystal bowl filled with strawberries was the centerpiece, and my excitement grew when I saw the telltale long-handled forks sitting nearby.
I might be able to forgive Mom’s tipsiness for fondue. Maybe.
“Oh, by the way, I brought you a present,” Ben said. “But I left it in the living room.” Mom brought over a silver tray loaded with little white fluted paper cups. “Well, isn’t that nice of you?” she said. “That was very thoughtful.”
Ben was seated across from me, and he leaned forward conspiratorially. “It’s a Barbie.
Doctor Barbie. I looked, but they didn’t have Perfumer Barbie, or even Artist Barbie. I thought about getting you Hippie Barbie, but I didn’t want you to get the wrong idea. At least Doctor Barbie is a businesswoman.”
I laughed. “Thank you, Ben. That’s a great gift.”
Dad looked baffled by the whole thing. “Aren’t you kind of old for Barbies, Abbey?” he said.
“It’s an inside joke, Dad. Something Ben told me at the library when we were working on the science-fair project last year. It was about his sister and Barbies.”
“Ohhhhh, okay.”
He totally didn’t get it, but I did. It was sweet.
Mom passed the silver tray to me, and I reached for one of the paper cups. It had a round brown disc filled with something green inside of it. “What is it?” I asked.
“It’s spinach-stuffed portobello,” she said with a hopeful grin.
I put the blobby thing back down. “But… I don’t like mushrooms, Mom. You know that.” Her face fell, and she looked crushed. “You don’t? I could have sworn you liked them.” A moment of stunned silence filled the dining room, and everyone waited for me to make a move.
“Don’t worry about it.” I passed the tray on to Ben. “Leaves more room for…” I scanned the table and saw the edge of a garlic knot peeking out from a cloth-covered serving dish.
“Garlic knots! Mmmmm, I love garlic knots! Pass me those, please.” Ben took three of the stuffed mushrooms, and as soon as Dad passed me the garlic knots, I loaded my plate.
Within seconds we were all crunching and chewing and discreetly wiping our fingers on our napkins. Then we moved on to some chilled tomato basil soup (which I actually did like), and Mom poured herself a glass of wine.
I shot a worried glance over at Dad, but he didn’t seem to notice.
“So Ben, why don’t you tell my parents about your summer jobs?” I said. Anything to keep the conversation from turning to me and my naked baby pictures, or something equally embarrassing.
Ben gamely joined in. “I’m a busboy at the Horseman’s Haunt. Nothing important about that, but they do let me take home the special of the day after each shift. Great perks, there.” He stopped talking while Mom brought out the main course, lasagna, and dished out a piece to each of us.
“Go on,” she told him, spatula in hand, “I’m lishening.” She giggled. “Oops! I mean, I’m listening.”
I clutched a fistful of skirt under the table and sent up a prayer to the lasagna gods that she wouldn’t accidentally drop Ben’s dinner into his lap. Luckily, Dad sprang into action.
“Why don’t you have a seat, dear?” he said to her. “You’ve worked so hard on this dinner; let me help you.”
Mom beamed at him and patted his face. “Okay.”
Thank you, oh lasagna gods.
“So, the um, other job… ,” Ben said.
“Yes, yes, go on,” Mom urged, wine glass in hand.
Dear wine gods…
“I’m going to be helping my dad. He wants to plant some Christmas trees, and I’m going to work for him.”
A piece of lasagna landed on my plate, and I thanked Dad. It looked really good,