“Great, actually.” I say with a big smile brimming on my face, “I may need to stop at the grocery store as well, if that’s alright?” I ask, thinking about what to make tonight, knowing my kitchen skills areless than par.
“I can do that. Big plans then? I should tell you I have a couple meetings later, so I won’t make it over your way.” He says, as if expecting he would be the only reason for my plans.
“That’s alright. I have a friend coming over. Just met her. Cher.” At the sound of her name, Ry’s shoulders straighten, and the relaxed expression he was wearing morphs into something serious and grave.
“Oh, OK, I wasn’t aware Cher was back in town.” He is tight-lipped suddenly, but then continues, “Some people in this town are not always how they come across at first. Be careful Jade. I wouldn’t want you to be fooled, especially by her.” He says darkly.
I’m suddenly feeling oddly defensive of Cher, and annoyed that this man thinks he has any say in whom I converse with, especially if he can’t even acknowledge us in front of his friends.
“Well, let’s leave that up to me to decide, thank you. Do you two have a history or something?” I ask, genuinely curious.
“Only the kind that I’d rather not have anymore.” He says cryptically. What is he hiding? My walls go up. Warning bells I should have heard weeks ago are ringing clear.
“That’s a pretty immature response. Do you care to expand on that?” I ask now very irked by his lack of clarity. His shoulders relax as if giving in to whatever internal battle is raging within him.
“I know this sounds irrational, but she has too many opinions about…things in my life. People who are meant to bemine—I mean in my life.” He snarls in disgust, then adds, “Plus, she keeps the worst company. That’s really all I want to say on the matter.” He closes off then, red flags swirling all around me. Could he be referring to Que?
“Well, thank you for opening up,” I respond, realizing he really gave me nothing to go on. But I don’t push after that, because I really don’t care to hear him talk. Men and their egos. I look out the window for the rest of the trip. We drive to the grocery store and then home. Not one word is spoken until we pull up to my house.
“I’ll call you,” I say, and leave him lacking. If we’re playing games, I’ll hold my pride too.
18
DINNER PARTY
RACINE 1978
My mother was never one for hosting. She was a self-proclaimed hermit, and that trait seemed to pass along to me with ease. However, I find my excitement about having a friend come over is palpable. In preparation, I made all the things I hoped would make for an enjoyable meal. A cheese plate with olives. Spaghetti with meatballs and dark chocolate brownies for dessert, because if I know how to do one thing, it’s bake.
The oven goes off right as the doorbell rings and sounds through the thick walls of the relic estate that I now call a home. It must be an old Southern house quirk. The way sound reverberates through everything, but it still spooks me every time.
I hurry to the door after pulling the warm treats out of the oven so they have time to cool. The moment I open it, I am greeted by an overly bright smile from Cher. Her smile holds an ounce of apology, because behind her stands a very tall and very amused man. Que. And the smirk on his face tells me he is very pleased to have found his way in on our dinner date.
“We’re here!” Cher sings brightly.
“Ah, yes, we’re…” I say as I dart my eyes to Que, but look away instantly because his eyes were already on me.
“I found Que wandering the streets on my way here, and he just looked so pitiful. I hope you don’t mind my dragging him along. He could really use a dinner among friends instead of one of his late-night ladies for a change.” Que clears his throat at her bluntness, and I nearly trip over my next words.
“Oh,” I blush and speak again, “Uh, yes, that’s no problem. We should have plenty of food.”
Earning a sideways glance from Cher’s uninvited friend, I walk them to the library and hand them each a glass of red wine. Apart from the liquor, the wine was a little harder to come across at the estate. A couple of bottles sat undisturbed in the bottom cupboard of the pantry with a note most likely written by my uncle. The writing is neat and clear—unexpected from someone said to suffer from mental ailments.
It read, ‘must retrieve more,’ but retrieve from where is the question. My first guess would be the basement, but a resounding no is all I hear when I think of traveling down those cold, damp steps. I made a unanimous decision that the bottles up here would have to do for the night.
“The wine is quite good,” a nonchalant male voice breaks the silence. “I’m detecting notes of oak,” Que grins. Any other man saying that statement would make me cringe, but he says it rather mockingly, like a one-sided joke only he gets.
“Que knows his way around a wine cellar,” chimes Cher. “He actually traveled the world and brought back a bottle from each place he has visited. He let me tag along for a couple. Quite an adventure. We traveled all along the Balkan Mountains, France…oh, and Scotland.”
“Wow, that sounds like quite an adventure indeed. So, you two are a couple then?” I ask, hoping not to come off too nosy. Cher’s eyes widen in horror, and then her boisterous laughter rings through the room. Making my question sound like one of the funniest things she has heard in her life.
“OhGod,no!!” Cher voices through tears of laughter. Que is looking at Cher with a smirk of adoration and then to me, but I turn my eyes quickly toward Cher as she continues, “Que is just my oldest, dearest friend. We grew up together. We’ve been through a lot of life’s big events, so we have a bit of an unwritten pact of sorts. Like—siblings, I guess.” She ponders that for a moment before she continues,
“Although I think if we were siblings, we would’ve killed each other a long time ago.” And with that, she bursts out laughing again. Her laugh is infectious, and I find myself pulled into it, smiling along.
“So, what is your favorite part of this house so far, Jade?” Que pulls my attention away as he looks me dead on. “I hear this place makes quite an impression on people. Your uncle being one of them. Mad as a hatter, they would say.” Que says it as if it were a fact.
“I’m not sure about my uncle. To be honest, I didn’t know him.” I look to Que, trying to get a read on him. I would expect to take offense at his comment about the uncle I never knew, but he says it as if it were just a natural occurrence.
