“I forgot all about that, honestly,” Valencia says, picking up the pot of boiling water and dumping it into a colander in the sink.
“How did she die?” I ask. The door to the garage opens and closes.
Valencia looks ashamed. “We shouldn’t be talking badly of the dead. She didn’t hate Easton, and Marcus didn’treallyhate her.”
“Hate who?” Marcus appears in the kitchen doorway.
“Yo, Mr. Bemo!”
“Ms. Lockwood,” Easton says once Marcus gives JT a begrudging fist bump.
Marcus sneers. “Speak for yourself. I absolutely hated her.”
“Enough!” Valencia’s voice has gone completely cold and the melting ice on my heart seizes once more. She stops working on dinner and turns to everyone. “Just because she was strict and didn’t like Easton doesn’t mean she deserved to choke to death.”
I wince. “Shechokedto death?”
“Anaphylaxis,” Easton says. “She ate something in the teachers’ lounge that had nuts in it and apparently didn’t have an EpiPen on her.”
Valencia says, “They didn’t have a full-time nurse on staff, so when one of the other teachers ran to the office, it was locked, and they couldn’t get the EpiPen in time. Marcus’s firm did get her family a nice payout from the school, though.”
Marcus pops a piece of green pepper into his mouth. “And we took a third of it, too.”
“Capitalism!” JT holds up his hand for a high five and Marcus actually gives it.
Easton frowns at them and looks over at Valencia, who shakes her head.
“Okay, that’s it, everyone out of the kitchen. Boys, go outside.” Easton gives JT a light shove toward the back door, and I move to follow, but Valencia stops me. “Hold on, Nate.”
She waits for the door to shut behind them, Easton giving me a better-you-than-me glance, then turns her attention to me.
“I made your first appointment with Dr. Zapata,” she says. “It’s next Tuesday afternoon. She has an office in Easton, so I’ll take you to work with me in the morning and you can hang out in my office. And I’ll give you a dental cleaning. I’m sure you need one.”
“Sorry, you said an office in Easton?” The phrasing doesn’t make sense to me because... well, Easton is a person. Valencia laughs and gives Marcus a knowing look; he returns it with a smirk like there’s some kind of inside joke.
“Easton, Maryland,” she says. “It’s a town about twenty minutes away. When you were learning how to read you would point out every sign with Easton on it and say, ‘Look, Easton, you live in two miles!’”
“And then we’d spend fifteen minutes trying to get the two of you to stop bickering,” Marcus says, taking another green pepper and popping it into his mouth—but not before Valencia playfully slaps his hand.
“I think you only did it because you knew it pissed him off,” Valencia says.
“Well, he should have gotten you to drive through Nathaniel, Maryland, more often,” I say. But immediately my cheeks burn with embarrassment. I didn’t mean to make the joke—the embarrassment isn’t from it being abadjoke, which it is, but more because I feel like I don’t have the right to joke with this family. I’m not their son. It feels disingenuous to be a part of their inside jokes.
But Valencia still guffaws and even Marcus snorts a laugh through his nose.
Their approval only makes me feel worse. Marcus tells Valencia he’s going to get changed, and he attempts to snatch another green pepper, but Valencia catches his wrist and pulls it away instead. Marcus wraps his arm around her waist and kisses her neck.
I look away, but at the same time I’m fascinated. I feel like I’mdoing an anthropological study on parental behavior. Is this how they’re supposed to act?
As Marcus walks past, he pats me on the shoulder. “Good joke, kiddo.”
Kiddo?Now there are two emotions at war in my chest. I still feel awkward for trying to joke with this family. But I can’t help but feel a sense of pride as Marcus tells me my stupid joke was good.
My mother’s voice sounds in my head:Proverbs 16:5.Her voice ends there because I know the verse by heart. Every June our pastor read it aloud as part of his condemnation of the gays.Everyone who is proud in heart is an abomination to the Lord.
Be assured, he will not go unpunished.
“Do you need help with anything?” I ask. If I find a way to be useful, maybe I can ignore these feelings. Shut off my brain.
