Learning Curves - By Elyse Mady Page 0,27
casserole, mashed potatoes, homemade cookies and three bottles of wine.
“This looks delicious,” he said honestly, savoring the hearty aromas, and a tall man laughed.
“Wait ’til you try the eggplant parmigiana,” he promised, putting out his hand to shake Brandon’s. “Joe’s nonna makes it. I’m Russell, by the way. PhD candidate in earth sciences.”
Brandon smiled and took the offered hand. “Brandon. Fine arts. Nonna-made, huh? Sounds promising.”
“It promises and delivers.” Russell moved aside as Cassandra came into the dining room. Twelve people made for a tight fit but the good-natured jostling revealed the quarters were familiar to everyone gathered around the table.
“Let’s eat,” Cassandra said. Plates were quickly passed out and steady inroads made into the casual banquet. They trooped into the living room with their overladen plates. It was as cheerfully appointed as the kitchen. This time the walls were a deep, rich burgundy, with busy Middle Eastern hangings scattered across them. One held a battered TV and a large stereo system on an unpainted shelving unit. CDs and LPs were stacked in meticulous columns. Brandon recognized some of the cover art. Someone in the apartment was clearly a serious music fan, if the obscure titles were any indication.
The dining room chairs had been relocated and were already spoken for. Russell sat near the window next to a pretty brunette and a young man Brandon thought was Joe. Julia and Cassandra shared the loveseat. Leanne had claimed a spot on the sofa and as he turned around, he saw that the only space still available was the one next to her. He wondered if she’d saved the seat on purpose, but her expression was so neutral that he thought he ought not let his imagination run away with itself.
He walked over, balancing his plate and cutlery carefully.
“May I sit down?”
Leanne looked up and nodded. “If you like.”
The chesterfield was deceptively deep and he lurched backward as the cushions enveloped him, trying to maintain his equilibrium. A meatball rolled off his plate, leaving a red stain on his clean shirt.
“Damn,” he swore, retrieving it before it could get lost in the upholstery. He stretched out his shirt. Too late to do anything about the mess on his clothes.
Leanne giggled and set her plate on the coffee table. “Here, Fred Astaire,” she said, offering a napkin. “If you dab at it with this, maybe it won’t set in.”
“Fred?” he groused good-naturedly. “If I was channeling him, I’d be a little lighter on my feet. He could dance with a coatrack and make it look good.”
This time she chuckled outright and Brandon felt a spurt of victory at the sound. He didn’t like making a fool of himself but if the payoff was one of those delicious throaty laughs, he could hardly complain.
Balling up the soiled napkins, he settled into the sofa. He tried hard to ignore the beguiling scent of the woman beside him, grateful the plate of food on his lap hid the most egregious of his thoughts. Around them the conversation ebbed and flowed. Russell’s girlfriend, a girl named Emily, who was in political science, came round with the wine bottle, filling up everyone’s glass. The wine was dark and fruity and for once, Brandon found himself content to simply relax and let the evening unfold.
Over dinner, Russell and Mohammed, an engineering student, teased each other about their mutual geekiness, trying to best each other with esoteric words.
“Incunabulum.”
“Definition?”
“A book printed at an early date,” Russell said through a mouthful of lasagna. “Language of origin, Latin.”
“Geez, can’t you come up with something a little more challenging?” Mohammed scoffed. “Incunabulum. I-n-c-u-n-a-b-u-l-u-m. Incunabulum.” He grinned and caught Brandon’s incredulous eye. “Fourth in the Scripps spelling bee two years running. Sadly, Russ never made it higher than what, twelfth?”
“Ninth, as well you know, punk.” Russell laughed. “What about you, man? Ginny went to the Biology Olympiad in Seoul when she was a junior. Seth and Cassandra were both Rhodes scholars.”
Trying not to be intimidated, Brandon shook his head. “Nothing so illustrious, I’m afraid. Not a lot of extracurriculars around my house growing up.” A sudden recollection occurred to him and he smiled. “I did receive a perfect attendance certificate in grade four, if that counts. My grandmother framed it.” He’d forgotten all about the childhood award but now, a memory of standing proudly beside his grandma as she’d balanced on the stepladder and hung the frame on the wall rose up in his mind. She’d taken him out for ice cream at the local