Family dinners on Sundays are a weekly tradition, but it’s rare that both of my brothers can make it these days. They’re so busy with college and dating and who knows what else. But with Farmor still in a coma, life feels more precarious and the need to have Sunday dinner together more urgent. At first, conversation is stilted, Farmor’s absence a gaping hole at the table. But it doesn’t take long before my brothers fallinto their normal pattern of nonstop ribbing. This time because Cory’s girlfriend had to cancel last minute.
“So, Meredith doesn’t require food to stay alive?” Cameron comments.
Cory scowls at Cameron as he scoops up some mashed potatoes. “What is that even supposed to mean?”
“Well, since she had tosuddenlystudy for a big final and couldn’t even stop for one quick meal, she must not need food to survive like the rest of us college students who also have finals coming up.” Cameron pops an entire meatball into his mouth.
“Cameron, cut up your food. Use your manners,” my mom scolds. “But in all honesty, he has a point. I was looking forward to meeting her.”
I can’t help but smile; there’s something so soothing about being surrounded by my family and the familiarity of their teasing and bickering—even if we’re all missing Farmor.
“Fine, yes, she’s going to eat. Probably a sandwich or something fast. She’s freaking out about her anatomy final, and with good reason,” Cory insists. “I had it last year, and it’s ridiculously hard. She wanted to spend a couple more hours in the cadaver lab to study.”
“She picked spending time with a dead dude over you? Sorry, man. That sucks,” Cameron says.
“Cameron!” my mom exclaims.
“What?” He smirks. “I hope my girlfriend never picks a cadaver over me.”
Cory shakes his head and turns to me. “Speaking of girlfriends—or boyfriends, as the case may be—I hear you’re dating that guy I saw at the bakery the other day? The one with the scars?”
“Don’t say anything about his scars,” I snap.
Cory’s eyebrows rise. “I didn’t mean anything rude by it. Just an easy way to describe who I meant.”
“Well, he’s much more than his scars. So don’t use them to describe him, okay?”
Cory holds up his hands. “Okay. Sorry, sis.” He exchanges a look with Cameron, who is wisely holding his tongue. “I take it you actuallylikehim, then?”
“Yeah, I like him,” I admit, my cheeks growing hot.
“Guess this means Idoneed to grill him after all.” Cory rubs his hand together.
“Stop it.” I roll my eyes. “I’m twenty-five years old, and you’re myyoungerbrother. You don’t need to grill anyone.” I take a bite of the delicious meatballs. Talking about Hunter makes me miss him, even though we went for a walk today after church and watched a movie on Netflix. But I’m not quite ready to bring him to family dinner. Not when what we have is so new, too fragile to subject to allthis.
“I might be younger than you, but I’m an adult—and the man of this family. If I want to grill him to make sure he’s worthy of you, I will grill him.”
“Yeah, me too,” Cameron adds.
“Boys, leave your sister alone. They’ve only been on one or two dates. No need to grill anyone yet.” Mom shoots me a long-suffering look.
“Fine. But if he sticks around, itwillhappen.” Cory takes his fork, makes a show of cutting his meatball in half, holds it up to prove to Mom he’s “using his manners,” and then bites it off the fork. “Better?” he asks with his mouth full.
“I give up.” Mom groans.
After we finish eating, I head to the kitchen to clean up. A few minutes later, Cameron comes up beside me, grabs a dish towel, and starts drying the pots I’m washing.
“What’s up?” I ask when he doesn’t say anything.
“Are you really doing okay?” he asks with a sidelong glance. “Your heart and everything? I wanted to come see you at the hospital last week, but between my classes and work, I couldn’t get away, and Mom said it wasn’t serious, so I didn’t call in sick or anything, and now I feel bad.”
“I really am good, I promise.” I shake the soapy water off my hand and put my hand on his forearm. “It’s okay you couldn’t come. I was only there overnight. It was more of a precaution than anything.”
He won’t meet my gaze, staring down at the dish towel instead. “I still should have come.”
“Cameron, it’s really okay. I’m fine. If you’re going to use up the little bit of time you have, do it to visit Farmor.”
“But you mightnothave been fine. And then I wouldn’t have ...” He breaks off and picks up another wet pot, vigorously attacking it with the towel. I take his cue and grab the next dish to wash. “Ihatehospitals. I hate seeingyouin the hospital. It makes me think of ...”
