Lillian bent to peer up Chip’s nostrils, then said, “I don’t think it’s broken, but I don’t really know. In an hour if it’s stillbleeding, and you feel like you can’t breathe out of it, then it probably is.”
“Alright, thanks, I guess,” Chip said. “I’m gonna go put ice on it.”
Lillian nodded. Chip glanced up at Carver, then walked over to him. Carver tensed in anticipation, but Chip gripped him fraternally by the shoulder.
“Hell of a throw,” he said with a wry smile that resembled Doug’s. Blood was still trickling out of his nostrils, flowing down his upper lip. “Where was that in high school?”
Carver laughed in surprise as Chip walked away. Lillian turned to him and grinned.
“Itwasa good throw,” she said. “Shut him up, didn’t it?”
“Hon.”
“What, he can say it but I can’t?”
“He can say it ‘cause he’s the one who got hit in the face.”
Lillian rolled her eyes. “Says who?”
“Says the human social contract.” Carver noticed there was blood on her hands, then glanced at his shoulder and realized Chip had smeared some on his shirt as well. “Shit,” he said, unbuttoning it and looking at the white t-shirt underneath, which luckily remained pristine. “Now I have to do laundry.”
“By yourself?” Lillian said, as if appalled. “But there are so many knobs.”
“I remember how to use the knobs. Could you do me a favor and find me something to eat?” The adrenaline of smashing Chip’s face was dissipating, leaving him weak and wobbly.
“Yeah, sure. Like what?”
“I don’t know, there’s never any food in this house, but literally anything, please. I’m just realizing all I had to eat today was coffee and a fucking bell pepper slice.”
“Carver, you dumbshit,” Lillian said without animus. “Ijusttold you to stop acting anorexic.”
Okay, so there was something his wife had banned him from: anorexia. He was one of the guys after all. “I’m admitting it, aren’t I?” he said through gritted teeth. “And trying to do something about it?”
“I’d prefer you realize it sooner and get your own food, on a normal timetable,” Lillian said. “But it was really funny that you hit Chip in the face, so I’m happy to help.”
She leaned in to kiss him on the cheek, then pranced away toward the house. Carver exhaled and followed her.
CHAPTER SIX
Scott found himself quiet and distracted all throughout dinner. He was not in his element; this was a very wine-soaked Westchester affair. He and Sana had been commiserating earlier about their feeling of alienation, but Sana’s mom Maryam and her three bridesmaids had joined them for dinner, and he really was the odd man out now. He appreciated being included and having a seat at this giant, crammed table, but he was constantly fighting the urge to excuse himself and start walking aimlessly in a cardinal direction.
He always felt like that in these situations. He was an only child, his mom was too, and his father ran away from home at fifteen and barely spoke to his family of origin. If Scott was at a big family holiday or other special occasion like this, almost by default he had been shoehorned in by someone who actually belonged. He knew he was personable and charismatic, but these situations only called for little drips of charisma. “Hi, I’m Scott, nice to meet you.” “Thanks so much for having me.” No one was there to seehim— they were there to see each other. And he was not an each other. Least of all in Bitterfeld, despite it having produced him.
But Letty wanted him there. Letty had kept him tied to Westchester even after his parents had moved. She insisted he attend their ten and fifteen-year high school reunions with her,and kept him up to date on the people he would have otherwise forgotten about as well as the people he should forget about, namely Carver.
Carver was two seats down from him, quiet and seemingly also distracted. Between them sat Lillian, who Scott was mystified by, but she was easy on the eyes and had good enough manners to periodically try to engage Scott about himself as they made their way through three courses of catering from a place called Barley Quarter or something similar.
“What kind of music does your band play, again?” Lillian said to him while they were all waiting for Nora and Doug to finish plating entrees in the kitchen.
Scott took a sip of his wine. “I’m in two bands right now,” he said, “but one of them’s on hiatus. I’d say they’re both indie rock. Silk Tourniquet is more indie pop, more radio-friendly.” It was also far more successful, and the one he was less emotionally and creatively attached to, go figure. “The one that’s on hiatus, Say Again, is more straight rock… which these days is more like alt-rock, but we do release through an indie label, so in that sense we’re indie, but I don’t think our sound is what people think of as indie. But we get called an indie rock band.”
Lillian looked at him with zero comprehension, then nodded. Down the table, Chip was laughing hard at something his wife had said.
“Hiatus?” Letty said, glancing over during a break in her conversation. “I thought Say Again broke up.”
“No, I’m negotiating our way back,” Scott insisted.
“Mmm,” Lillian said, squinting at him.
