“Right.” Arden held out a hand to me, eyes shining with confidence. “And Mary will make sure they’re notrelationshipcriminals. It’s basically a foolproof plan.”
My stomach somersaulted, and not from eating too many scones.
Dear Diary,
There are a lot of things I wonder about food in books. What does ratafia taste like? Or blancmange? How about mutton, which I imagine being a little like corned beef? As for “white soup,” is there any way it isn’t gross? Because it sounds like a pot of flour and water to me.
Of course, if you try to discuss any of these things at the dinner table, Jasper just yells “spotted dick!” and cackles hysterically. Granted, that is a pretty unfortunate name for a dessert.
M.P.M.
Chapter 16
The October breeze carried a delicious crispnessthrough the still-open dining room windows. Mom must have sensed the incipient change in weather because she’d spent the afternoon butchering butternut squash. There would be leftovers for days, but tonight it felt like an occasion: the first squash soup of the fall, served with a loaf of seeded bread from the hippie bakery downtown and slices of sharp cheddar and Granny Smith apple.
I waited until everyone had filled their bowls and Dad was finished fulsomely complimenting the soup’s velvety texture before broaching the subject uppermost in my mind. Despite Arden’s assurances that a date for the dance needn’t be a soulmate, I was anxious not to repeat the Mall Guy debacle.
“So how do you know if someone is right for you?” I asked, stirring a dollop of Greek yogurt into my soup. “A good match.”
“Are we talking chess? Tennis? Swapping kidneys?” Jasper asked around a mouthful of bread.
“More like in a personal sense.”
There was a brief silence as my family looked back at me with varying degrees of consternation. “Does someone have an admirer?” Van asked archly. She turned to Addie, as if to share the joke. “I did not see this coming. Did you?”
“There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy,” her twin replied without looking up.
“But is there any way to tell from the beginning?” I persisted, before everyone could start quotingHamlet. “Whether it’s going to work out.”
“Some sort of test, you mean?” Dad said.
“They do those quizzes inCosmo,” Jasper suggested.
Addie dipped a piece of bread in her soup. “Send them on a quest. To test their devotion.”
“No, she should disguise herself as a boy.” Van’s face took on a faraway look, and I knew she was envisioning Shakespearean hijinks: mistaken identity, moonlit revels, a song or two. Apparently she’d forgotten that Millville High was a whimsy-free zone. “See if they like you for you, or just because your physical attributes fit some accepted gender norm.”
I shifted uncomfortably. “For the record, this isn’t about me. I’m asking for a friend.”
Jasper snorted.
“Does this friend have a loom?” my father inquired, brushing crumbs from the stubble on his chin. As a rule, he forwent shaving on days he didn’t teach, as well as the days he was supposed to teach but forgot until the department secretary called.
“Brilliant.” Mom beamed at Dad. “The faithful Penelope, weaving by day, only to unravel the cloth at night.”
“Odysseus’s wife,” Addie explained for Jasper’s benefit. He grunted, meaning eithereven I know thatorwho cares?
“When he didn’t come home from the war she told all the guys who wanted to marry her that she had to weave a burial shroud for her father-in-law first,” Van added, not to be outdone. “Only every night she undid all her work, so it was never finished.”
I felt my original question slipping further away, soon to be lost forever in the sands of my family’s rambling. “I’m not sure the burial shroud excuse will carry the same weight in this century.”
“Your friend should show strength and independence. That would scare anyone off.” Cam scowled as though the observation gave her no pleasure.
“If you want my opinion, that ship has sailed.” Mom leaned back in her chair. “If he hasn’t succumbed to her wiles by now, he never will.”
I paused with a glass halfway to my mouth. “Who’s not falling for which wiles?”
“Anjuli and Pittaya, of course.”
