Page 86 of Autumn on My Mind

So this is fine. The salad will probably be good, too. I don’t mind dried cranberries.

I stab a bite of lettuce onto my fork and pop it in my mouth, chewing determinedly and looking around the table. When my eyes find Dom, though, my chewing pauses; he’s staring at my plate with a look of disgust, his lips curled, his nose wrinkled.

I swallow my bite slowly and look down at my plate too, checking to see if there’s a bug. But there’s not—just the turkey and salad.

His eyes jump to mine, his shoulders slumping as he sighs. Then, shaking his head a little, he grabs his plate and slides it toward me.

I stare at him. Rosie and Emma stare at him, too, both of their hands stilling on their utensils.

But Dominic doesn’t pay attention; he just gestures impatiently for my plate, pushing his own further in my direction.

There’s a roll on that plate. Fried chicken. Some sort of casserole that looks delicious—and a slice of pumpkin roll.

What follows is a completely nonverbal conversation. I shake my head a bit—I’ll eat this and then go get more of what I want.

A more enthusiastic push of his plate toward me by Dom, accompanied by the tiniest eye roll—You don’t even like turkey, Berkeley, and you love pumpkin desserts. Come on. Take it.

A more significant shake of my head and a knot in my throat that Dom can’t see—I’m FINE.

Dom’s jaw twitches, his lips setting in a firm, determined line. Then he stands up, removes my plate from in front of me, and sets his own in its place.

Even Daryl and Alvina notice this; Alvina looks scandalized and Daryl confused. But Dom just spears his fork into one of the slabs of turkey and brings it to his mouth, taking a giant bite and staring me down as he chews.

“So,” Rosie says—beautiful, sweet, tactful Rosie—“there’s a great turnout, huh?”

The spell over our table breaks as Emma nods vigorously. “Everything looks great,” she says, tucking some of her short auburn hair behind her ears. Then she gestures to a bowl in front of her—butternut squash stew, I think. “This soup is delicious.”

My body slumps with relief as Dom’s sisters take over, and I think I’ll be sending them both giant gift baskets very soon. I dig into my food and take deep breaths, trying to figure out why I feel like crying; when I’ve finally calmed down, I shoot a glance at Dominic.

But his eyes are already on me. They soften so slightly I might be imagining it, and when I mouth Thank you to him, a little smile crosses his lips. Then he looks back down at his plate and continues eating.

I do too, for that matter. The roll is soft and fluffy. The fried chicken is crispy. The casserole turns out to be cheesy potato with green onions, and I’m seriously debating going up for seconds when the conversation at our table drifts into dangerous territory.

Alvina is the one who takes us there, of course, and she’s talking to Dom.

“Now you’re handsome like your father, Dominic,” she says. “Is there anyone special in your life?”

The activity room buzzes with chatter and laughter around us, but our little corner table goes uncomfortably silent for a moment. Rosie is looking back and forth between me and Dom, her eyes wide, while Dominic’s expression has gone blank.

Alvina doesn’t notice; she just goes on, her cutlery clinking as she speaks. “There’s no one in Reese’s life, of course,” she says.

Of course.

“But you know—now that I think about it—” she says, and her hands pause as she looks up at me. Her eyes widen like she’s remembered something. “Reese, darling, you did have a crush on Dominic when you were children!”

Kill me now. Stab me with a fork. Drown me in Emma’s butternut squash stew.

“In high school, I believe, or middle school?” Alvina chatters on, her voice perfectly pleasant as she reaches over and pats my hand in an almost affectionate manner. “Her eyes all aglow when you came into her father’s shop—and I do remember a notebook with the name Reese Harper drawn in a heart. As if the two of you would ever be together! But teenage girls are like that, you know.”

She laughs—not malicious, just painfully certain that someone like Dom would never have loved someone like me. My face is on fire, my body still, and the tension at our table is palpable. The only one who doesn’t seem to feel it is my mother, who plows on like she’s telling a merry story of sweet childhood mishaps.

“I faintly remember her crying when Dominic left for college. Oh, no need to be concerned”—she’s looking at Dom now, and vastly misinterpreting his look of utter shock—“it passed ages ago, I’m sure. Love doesn’t last that long, after all, does it? And then you just move on.” Another laugh, tinkling and tittering like a chirping bird.

But Daryl’s brows furrow, his lips pursing into a frown.

I’m too frozen to frown, my brows too stony to furrow. There’s a buzzing in my ears, and my vision blurs against my will as humiliation rises like bile in my throat.

Because I would rather let Dom think I didn’t take our relationship seriously than reveal that I was a pathetic teenager moping after him, watching starry-eyed when he didn’t even know I existed. Past dating faults can be righted; my adolescence cannot.