that morning when all of this was going on?
Nancy Clements: I don’t think I’m supposed to talk about that.
Event: Family Dinner
Date: Oct. 10 (Tues.)
In the past week, I’d learned to appreciate dinners of the past. Those wonderful occasions when Father made healthy and delicious meals, and my family ate and conversed without awkwardness and tension.
It wasn’t that Mother never cooked. But she did it rarely enough that her meals always turned out…questionable. Especially when she added myTality™ protein powder to her recipes.
Gram had come over, so the table was crowded. Father sat with us but ate a TV dinner instead of Mother’s chili. Generally, I was opposed to TV dinners. They provided few nutrients, which was the entire point of eating. Food was fuel. I wouldn’t fill up a car with watered-down gas.
But considering the less-than-desirable chili, Father’s microwaved chicken-fried steak was almost appealing.
Gram frowned at her bowl. “It pains me that my daughter never learned to cook.”
Mother smiled tightly. “Well, Mom, I guess I was busy working.”
“I worked too and still managed to put dinner on the table.”
“You ran a poker game. That’s not the same as running a business.”
Gram snorted. “Business? You call that pyramid scheme a business?”
Maggie interrupted, and whether she was trying to put a stop to the conflict or just being rude, I didn’t know. “I’m never learning to cook.”
“What a practical life choice,” I said.
“It is practical. Why spend time cooking when you can find people to do it for you?”
I looked at my sister for a long moment. Did she mean she’d only eat in restaurants or that she planned to have…minions?
I waited for someone to scold Maggie for her cavalier attitude, but the table was silent.
“So, Gideon,” Gram said, changing the subject. “I heard you’re finally learning to drive.”
“Finally? It’s not like I’m thirty.”
“Being afraid to drive is nothing to be ashamed of. It’s wrong not to own it, though. Stop making excuses and let yourself be afraid.”
“Wow, you’re like a sentient self-help book,” I muttered.
“Don’t get sassy with me.” Gram pulled a cigarette from her purse and moved to light it.
Father came to life. “Miriam, I’ve asked you not to smoke in the house.”
“This was my house from the day I was born until the day I let you two take it over. I’ll do as I please.”
“I respect the time you lived here,” Father said, “but when you transferred the house out of your name, you lost your right to make the rules.”
Gram looked at Father for a long moment. “It’s always such a conundrum. I hate when you stand your ground, but I wouldn’t respect you if you didn’t.” She sighed and hoisted herself to her feet. “I’ll go outside.”
“You shouldn’t be smoking anyway,” Mother called after her.
With Gram gone, my family lapsed into awkward silence.
“So…” Mother said, clearly searching her mind, “homecoming is soon, isn’t it?”
“Yep,” Ishmael replied. “It’s going to be awesome. The theme was originally some boring Enchanted Forest thing, but now they changed it to be, like, space themed.”
“That should make you happy, Gideon,” Mother said.
“I’m not going.”
“Why not?”
“When has a dance ever made my list of fun things to do?”
Mother reached across the table and placed her hand on mine. “Maybe you’d feel differently if you had a date.”
“That has nothing to do with it.”
Maggie hid a smirk behind her napkin, and even Father began paying attention. How wonderful that my family could become reunified over my social preferences.
“Gideon,” Mother said, “you need to experience life.”
“We’ve had this conversation before,” I replied, tension forming in my jaw.
“But nothing changes. We want to know you’re ready to deal with the world when the time comes for you to leave here, and socializing is part of that. Maybe…” From the way Mother hesitated, I knew I wasn’t going to like whatever came next. “Maybe you’d be open to seeing a therapist?”
I was not at all open to it. (While I found psychology to be an important field, I was 90 percent sure I’d collapse from embarrassment if I had to discuss my feelings with a stranger.)
“Is there anything I can say to make you feel like I don’t need a therapist?” I asked, keeping my voice even so I didn’t betray my panic.
Mother and Father glanced at each other.
Before they came to a telepathic decision, I blurted, “What if I attempted to be more…social? I’ll go on that date you wanted me to.”
Mother’s face lit up. “I think that would be lovely.”
“Can we drop the therapist