Love Out of Order (Indigo Love Spectrum) (15 page)

“Whatever.”

“So, is it go home with you or fast food for
Thanksgiving?”

“I guess home with me. I can’t let you be poisoned,” I said.

He laughed.

“I’m warning you. I don’t live in no mansion. And
you’re probably going to have to sleep on the futon in the
den because my uncle has the guest room.”

“Fine.” John shrugged, staring at me, smiling.

I stared back, narrowing my eyes. It was impossible to
figure him out. I didn’t know how I felt about that.
“What?”

“I just want to look at you. Is that okay? I haven’t seen
you look at me, smiling, in too long,” he said.

I rolled my eyes and picked up my coffee cup.

THANKSGIVING BREAK

John had Ral drop him off at my apartment
Wednesday afternoon. He walked up to me as I was
packing the last of my things to take home into my little
Sentra. Stuffing them in, actually. There were two
months worth of laundry, all my school stuff, an old
desktop a friend had given me for my mom because my
mom’s computer had blown up, and some other stuff.

He wrapped his arms around me and pressed his
cheek to my shoulder. I melted into him. I could get used
to that kind of thing.

“Hi,” I said.

He kissed my cheek. “Hi.”

“You ready?”

He picked his bag up off the asphalt. “Let’s go.”

We got in, and John had many jokes about my little
car. To be fair, he was pretty scrunched up in there even
after pushing the seat back as far as it would go. The
metal track that allowed the seat to move back and forth
was warped, so it wouldn’t even go back as far as Nissan
originally intended.

Conversation became more and more scant as we
neared Derring County. I think we were both nervous
about what would happen when we got there. I don’t
think we thought about it much until that point. We
hadn’t really had a lot of time to think about it. I kept
making up excuses to myself about why I hadn’t told my
parents John was coming home with me and ignoring the
real reason—fear of their reaction. John kept glancing at
me furtively. I noticed because I kept watching him out of the corner of my eye, not daring to turn and look at
him. Neither of us wanted to discuss how crazy we were
being.

“Okay, John, obviously they don’t know you’re
coming, so . . . this might be awkward,” I said, turning
to him with a sigh as I killed the engine.

He smiled and kissed my closed lips. “That’s cool. I’m
with you. That’s all I really want right now. I can deal
with a little awkwardness.”

I smiled back tensely. I’d mentioned John once, but I
hadn’t mentioned we were dating, or that he was white. I
didn’t think my parents cared about that stuff, but I
wasn’t sure.

“Okay. Let’s go,” I said, grabbing my purse and
opening my door. John got out as well. We headed for
the front door. He reached for my hand, but I pulled it away. I saw him give me a strange look out of the corner
of my eye. I didn’t turn to him.

I figured knocking would be less of a shock to my parents than me just barging in with John on my arm. So I knocked. My mother opened the door.

“Hi, Mom,” I said, wrapping my arms around her in a huge hug.

“
Hi, honey.” I could hear the confusion in her voice.
And see it in my father’s eyes over her shoulder.

“Hey, Dad. Mom, Dad, this is John,” I said. Time to
get it over with.

I stepped inside and John followed.

“Hi,” my mother said to John with a strained smile.
She then gave me a look that said, Who is that white boy
and why did he walk into my house with you?

“Mom, I told you about John. Remember?”

“Denise, dear, I want you to come to the kitchen with
me for a minute. We’ll be right back, boys,” she said, still
staring me down.

I followed her into the kitchen, making a point of
avoiding John’s eyes.

“You did not tell me about him. Who is that sitting
in my living room?” Mom hissed as soon as we were in
the kitchen.

“I did tell you,” I insisted, but I knew it wasn’t really
true. “I told you about John from my class—”

“You told me one time about John you study with.
Why would John you study with be in my house the day
before Thanksgiving? With you?” My mom would have
been screaming; I knew it. But thankfully she thought better of it with John on the other side of the door.

“It’s kind of a long story. But we just started dating
yesterday.”

“
Yesterday
?”

“It’s not as bad as it sounds. We’ve known each other
all semester. I told you it was a long story.”

“
I have time. Now to start this long story, go back to
you started dating yesterday and please explain to me
why you brought him home for Thanksgiving.”

“Mom—”

“Where is he going to sleep, Denise? You know your
uncle has the guest room. And I haven’t cleaned for com
pany. I was only expecting family. And you’ve only been
dating for a day. What has gotten into you?”

I stared at her. I didn’t know how to answer. What I’d
done didn’t make much sense, she was right. But I
couldn’t help thinking that at least she didn’t seem to
have a problem with the race thing. She hadn’t men
tioned it. At least not yet.

“Denise? You better answer me,” she said in that you
better-or-else tone.

“Well, he didn’t have anywhere else to go. He lives in
Connecticut and he didn’t want to go home for
Thanksgiving. I mean he just broke up with his girlfriend
and he—”

“What?”

“I keep telling you it’s a long story, Mom. I’ll explain
it all later. Just please don’t kick him out?”

My mom laughed. A little confused, but very
relieved, I said nothing.

“No, what kind of person would I be? Kicking him out? But you have a lot to explain. This isn’t like you,”
Mom said.

I silently agreed with her. I’d been doing a lot of
things that weren’t like me in the past few months.

“
We’re starting dinner in a few minutes. Yes, you’re going to help me cook, Denise. It’s the least you can do
after what you’ve pulled. And it’ll give you time to tell me
that long story of yours. But first, I’m going to go out
here and properly introduce myself to that poor boy. He
probably thinks I’m as crazy as you are.”

We went back out to the living room. I felt sorry for
poor John. He sat on the couch with my dad. The two of
them had obviously been making painfully slow small
talk about football. Some game was on the television.

“Hi, John. I’m sorry about that introduction earlier, but my daughter didn’t tell me we were having company.
I was caught off guard. I’m Lisa. Denise’s mother.” My
mom held out her hand.

John shook it. “That’s okay,” John said with his melty
grin as he took her hand. Hopefully it worked on parents as well as it worked on me. “I was just telling your husband what a nice place you two have. Thanks for having me on such short notice.”

“Oh, no problem. I’m just sorry we don’t have a room
for you.”

“Oh, I don’t mind. This couch seems very comfortable.”
“Oh, it is, John. I should know. I have spent many
nights right here myself,” my dad spoke up.

Everybody laughed. I felt a little more comfortable.
Like maybe my parents weren’t going to kill me. Or
maybe they at least wouldn’t kill John.

Back in the kitchen, once my mom had me chopping
and boiling away, she grilled me on everything I knew
about John and everything about us. She didn’t quite
b
elieve me when I insisted I hadn’t stolen him from any
body. But it was the truth. Mostly. I mean, he came to
me. I’d been leaving him alone . . . but only because he
made me? Ah, well. And of course I left out some choice
tidbits. Mom didn’t need to know all the raunchy details.

I told her that I hadn’t wanted to leave him alone with
no family and all his friends out of town. And that it’d
“slipped my mind” to call her and forewarn her. She
didn’t buy that, and neither did I. She told me she didn’t have a problem with “the race thing”. She did, however,
have a problem with the “my boyfriend of less than
twenty-four hours spending Thanksgiving weekend at
her house thing”. By the time dinner was cooked, she still
wasn’t happy with me, but at least she no longer wanted
to strangle me.

DINNER BY FIRE

By the time dinner was served, my parents had gotten
over the initial shock. My uncle was at work. He worked
the evening shift at a truck stop, so we weren’t going to
see him until Thanksgiving Day. My mom called him at
work so he wouldn’t have a fit when he came in and saw a stranger on the couch that night.

My mom spread her napkin over her lap and asked,
“John. What do your parents do?”

John stopped chewing. I knew he didn’t want to talk
about it. I didn’t know whether I was more pissed at myself or at him that I didn’t want him to talk about it
for the same reason. Obviously, the Riches were in no league remotely near the Archers.

“Oh, well, they work in the city. New York City. Man
hattan,” he said, pushing potatoes around on his plate.

I watched his fork, not daring to look up.

“Really. They commute? Denise. Your Aunt Hattie
lives in New York. You know. The Bronx,” Mom said.

I winced inside, but I just nodded, glad John was
beside me so I wouldn’t have to chance looking at him as
my eyes swept across the table.

“So, what do they do there?”

“They work on Wall Street. They’re lawyers,” he said.

Please don’t make him say his dad owns the majority
stake in the firm. Please don’t make him say his parents
went to, and met at, Harvard Law. Please don’t make him
say anything else about them. I tried to will my mom not to push him for more information.

Luckily, John changed the subject. “What do you two
do?”

“Oh, certainly nothing that impressive. Denise will
be the first lawyer in the family. She was the first to go to
college. Lots of firsts in our girl Denise,” my mother said,
stabbing her plate with her fork. She was working hard to
make things uncomfortable.

“I’m a custodian for the elementary school and Lisa’s
a supervisor at a factory in town,” my dad said, his nos
trils flaring a little.

John nodded. “That’s great.”

“Oh, I don’t know what’s so great about it,” my mom
said with an airy laugh; that laugh was deceptively dan
gerous. I knew it well.

“That’s enough,” my dad said. He obviously knew it
well also.

“Just trying to make conversation,” my mom said
with a shrug, shooting me a pointed glance as she took a
sip of water. Everyone stared down at their plates or off
into space. Conversation had definitely been killed. I was
so furious, I could barely keep the tears prickling my eyes
from spilling over.

I shoved baked chicken around on my plate. Hadn’t
she already told me off? That wasn’t enough? I glowered
a
t my fork. John was so tense next to me, I imagined all
the muscles in his body coiled into one central knot. He
wasn’t the only one.