“My dad’s fresh out,” Henry says, pulling out a chair for me.
I sit, then help myself to a generous serving of fries. He does the same, then spoons a dollop of tartar sauce onto my plate.
“Really?” I ask.
“Just try it.”
I do, reluctantly.
It’s kind of good.
“I’ll refrain from saying I told you so,” he says, wearing the smuggest expression.
I laugh and throw back a few more—the stir-fry Tati served was less than delicious; in our home, nutrition trumps flavor—while taking stock of my surroundings. Table, chairs, buffet. Not one piece of artwork on the walls. No fresh flowers or knickknacks or personal touches. Henry’s dad could use some help in the home decor department. I try to picture Tati—smooth hair, flawless skin, signature red lips, courtesy of MAC’s Ruby Woo—in this space. She wouldn’t quite fit, a rose among daisies.
At the far end of the table sits a laptop, two thick SAT prepbooks, and clear pouch packed with pens and highlighters.
“Your dad’s gearing up for the test?” I say.
Henry smiles. “He’s not really the studious sort.”
“You seem to be.”
He shrugs. “I like knowing stuff.”
“Me too. But it’s summertime. Why not relax a little?”
“I can’t afford to relax. I’m applying to the U.S. Military Academy—West Point.”
“Is that different from applying to other schools?”
“Yeah, it’s more involved. Like, I had to write to my state’s congressional reps and senators to request a nomination. Applicants have to pass a medical exam and a Candidate Fitness Assessment. There are interviews. Plus, there’s the usual stuff like transcripts and SATs and a personal statement.”
“Whoa. Was your dad in the military?”
He snorts out a laugh. “My dad barely made it through high school, and he partied his way through college. My pop went to West Point—my mom’s dad. He was a colonel when he retired around the time I was born. He was a big part of my life when I was growing up. He passed a few years back.”
“It’s cool that you want to follow in his footsteps.”
His eyes flash with pride; it’s clear he has a lot of love for his grandfather. “For sure. West Point’s competitive, but the Army’s the only thing I’ve ever wanted to do.” He waves at the prep books. “That’s why I’ve got to spend this summer nerding out.”
“The Army.” I try to imagine having such a regimented, transient lifestyle. Tati would approve of the discipline, but shedefinitely wouldn’t be okay with me moving far away or stepping into dangerous situations. “What do your parents think about you joining the military?”
“They’re cool with it. My mom grew up an army brat, so she gets it more than most. My dad doesn’t give a shit what I do,” he says, rolling his eyes, “so long as I’m having fun.”
“Is it weird that I already like your parents?”
He laughs. “Nah. They’re likable people. What about you? Post–high school goals?”
I wipe my hands on a paper napkin. “Goalis such a serious word. Mine are more…dreams. And they’re not Tati-approved, so probably nothing will come of them.”
“She doesn’t really have a say, though.”
“Oh, but Henry, you haven’t met her.”
He muses on that, his brows knitting together. I wonder if he’s having second thoughts about setting my sister up with his dad. I’ve made Tati sound like an utter drag.
“What are they,” he asks, “these dreams of yours?”
