Stray Fears - Gregory Ashe Page 0,71

plate in front of him. “Succotash—those are lima beans, sweetheart. And your famous cornbread.”

“He never said it was famous,” I said.

“Dagobert gets a little jealous because he likes to make the cornbread,” Mom said.

“I do not get jealous.”

“One time,” Dad said, “he threw Mrs. Dertoneau’s cornbread out the window because he was so mad that he didn’t get to make his own.”

“I knocked it off the counter. On accident. I didn’t throw it out the window.”

“Mrs. Dertoneau saw the whole thing,” Mom whispered to Elien.

“Elien doesn’t eat this kind of food,” I said, nudging his full plate toward Mom. “It’ll make him sick.”

“Oh,” Mom said.

That was it. Oh. But her eyes got all full and her lip got all trembly.

And Elien fucking Martel caved faster than any man in history.

“No, no, no,” he said, pulling the plate back. “I can eat it.”

“No,” Mom said, tugging on his plate. “I can make something else.”

“No,” Elien said, glancing at me in desperation, trying to get the plate back. “No, honestly. I think Dag just misunderstood. The other day I was—no, Mrs. LeBlanc, really, it looks delicious—”

“I won’t hear of it,” Mom said. “We’ll make you something you’ll like. I know food like this isn’t fancy enough for guests.”

“Elien did say something about how it wasn’t fancy enough,” I said.

“Liar!” Elien somehow managed to get the plate free, and he curled his arms around it. “Mrs. LeBlanc, this looks fantastic.”

“Well,” Mom said doubtfully. “I don’t want you to get sick. And I bought the most beautiful bread pudding for dessert.”

“Oh, I don’t know about dessert,” Elien began.

“Yeah, he’s being polite, Mom. This food is going to make him so sick he won’t be able to eat the dessert.”

Elien’s eyes were huge when he glared at me. “That’s. Not. True. I’m very excited to eat this food.”

“And dessert,” I said.

“And. Dessert.” He managed to say the words through gritted teeth.

“Well,” Dad said, “I don’t know what all the fuss is, but can we please say grace before I starve to death?”

So we said grace, with Dad’s hand in my right and Elien’s in my left. We ate. And, to my shock, Elien ate every bite: all the rice and beans, all the succotash, all the cornbread, and two servings of bread pudding. He drank a lot of wine. Mom and Dad told stories, which mostly involved me when I was a child, and which further confirmed my suspicions that both of my parents had gotten mentally stuck sometime around 1999. Elien laughed quietly at first. Then he laughed a little bit louder. Then he started asking questions.

“What about a picture of him when he was wearing your pantyhose?” Elien asked my mom through fits of giggles. “I want to see your photo album from that year.”

“Ok,” I said, “I think Elien and I are going to hang out in my room.”

“No, no, I want to see some pictures from when you were in that school play you told me about.”

“Door closed, Dagobert,” my dad said.

“We’re going to talk, Dad. That’s it. Talk.” Grabbing Elien’s collar, I yanked him out of the seat. “Come on.”

“No,” Elien said, “we’ll do the dishes.”

“Oh,” Mom said. “And I can tell you about Dagobert’s first date.”

“Goodnight,” I said, still dragging Elien down the hall.

When we were in my room with the door shut, everything suddenly switched: Elien twisted around, grabbing my arm, and he dragged me toward the bed. We fell onto the mattress together, and I grunted as pain flashed through my chest and arm. For a moment we were tangled together, and then I rolled onto my back, our shoulders touching. From the kitchen came the sound of running water and the clink of dishes. From Elien came soft, quiet breathing. I liked the way his breathing sounded. I could close my eyes and imagine it was the only sound in the universe.

“I broke up with Richard,” Elien said.

“I saw the backpack.”

“I should have done it a long time ago.”

Rolling my head to the side, I watched him. He wiped his eyes once. “Do you want to talk about it?” I asked.

“No, thanks.”

“Do you need a place to stay?”

“No. I’ll get a hotel.”

“You can stay.”

“No.”

“Elien, I’ll sleep on the couch. Just stay. You probably shouldn’t be on your own tonight.”

When he turned to look at me, his eyes were bleary. “I drank too much wine.”

“That’s ok.”

“I’m going to say yes.”

“Then say yes.”

“Yes,” he whispered.

“I’m going to tell my parents. They’ll probably spontaneously combust from excitement.”

“Dag,” he asked