When Dad was alive, we were all traditional and had dinner at the table, but now, especially with Mom's cancer, we started to have dinner in the living room. Mom's got this big coffee table with a marble top and it's just easier for the two of us to settle in and eat there.
I'm glad we chose to do that this time, because I know it made Eddie more comfortable. Mom shook his hand when he introduced himself, and asked, "How's your uncle doing? We haven't had anyone come into the ER from the plant in a while, so safety must be doing better."
"He's good," Eddie told her. "He's a floor supervisor now, not on the line, so, uh, it's a better deal for him."
"Good," Mom nodded. "Glad to hear it. So . . . how much Parmesan do you take on your pasta?"
Eddie smirked. "Gotta be tall enough to ski down."
"Pfft, lightweight," Mom teased him. "You have to coat the bottom of the plate, load the spaghetti with layers in-between, and THEN create the Everest peak on top."
I shook my head. "Why even bother with noodles at that point?"
"Stability," Eddie assured me. "Even the load distribution to hold the sauce and ya know, keep the integrity."
Mom did a chef's kiss. "Just for that, I'm making you an honorary Italian, Eddie. Parmigiano per sempre."
"Italian? Your mom speaks Italian?" Eddie looked from her to me, delighted.
"My side of the family is from Genoa. Rapallo to be exact. That is, my grandparents came from there," Mom told him. "They got kicked out by the fascists back in the Twenties.."
"If you've got this, like live-in tutor, why are you taking French?" he cocked his head at me.
"One, because Hawkins High doesn't offer Italian, and two, because the closest country TO that part of Italy is France. If I ever go, I'd like to be able to speak something other than English," I told him as I ladled out spaghetti and passed a plate to Mom.
He nodded. I couldn't get over how he watched me load up another plate and pass it to him, taking it with a little smile. Mom pushed the shredded parmesan towards him as I started to create my own plate.
"Is something burning?" Mom asked, and I looked up, sniffing.
"Shit, the garlic bread!" I yelped, and jumped off the sofa, dashing for the kitchen. The alarm went off as I pulled open the oven, and a faint roll of smoke rose out as I yanked the cookie sheet with the bread slices out.
Smooth as anything, Eddie climbed a chair and jabbed the alarm, cutting it off mid-squawk as I fanned the tray anxiously. Five pieces were in different shades of brown, and the upper corner one was completely charred.
"It's always the right side," I groused. "I forgot to push the bread to the left."
"Most of it is still good," Eddie assured me. "Shit happens."
"Yeah, but . . ." I trailed off as he carried the whole cookie sheet out into the living room. Mom looked at it and started snickering. "I see one of them didn't put on any sunscreen."
"Ick," I replied, settling in next to Mom. "Okay, so let's get this movie started."
"Need some background," Mom twirled her fork into her noodles. "Um, it's set in Morocco I think? And it was sort of neutral in World War Two. Humphrey Bogart runs this cafe and he's kind of a dick."
"Mom!" I shot her a look, but she shrugged even as Eddie grinned.
"Fi, he's heard it before. Both of you have. Hell, you probably use worse language than that when you're not around me. The point is, Bogart is this moody American who isn't going to do anybody any favors until his ex walks into the place."
"Awk-ward," Eddie mused, taking a piece of the garlic bread.
"Big-time, especially since she's got a new husband who is pretty much perfect. He's a big hero, blah blah blah and they need to be able to get out of town."
"And Bogart helps them?" I asked, interested despite myself. Eddie was nearly finished.
"Not gonna ruin it for you," Mom shook her head. "The scene with the singing in the cafe is about in the middle, and once we get there, we can vote if you want to see the rest of it. Eddie, your plate is empty. Fi, can you reload him?"
"Ah, you don't have to do that," he murmured, but his eyes were bright, and he wasn't protesting too hard.
Mom laughed. "No arguing-you're getting a second plate, Mr. Munson, and we'll pack some leftovers for you too. No point in letting perfectly good pasta go to waste. Okay, let's get this movie going."
Yeah it as slow, and old and in black and white, but after the first few scenes, I got into it. There was just something about the movie that kind of drew you in, and by the time the Nazis were in the cafe, I could feel the electricity in the scene. When the girl started playing the guitar, and it was just her voice all beautiful and defiant, and then when all the others joined in . . . I just got that rush of chills down my spine. I mean all the Nazis are getting this full blast of resistance in the face, and wow!
I looked over at Mom and Eddie. Mom was sniffling because she always gets really caught up in good movies. We're kind of the same about that. But I wasn't prepared to see Eddie wipe his cheekbone with one palm, his brown eyes wide.
"It always gets to me," Mom whispered. "Those people, just telling evil right to its face—like, NO. The line is right here and you're not going to cross it!"
"Totally," Eddie agreed, and his voice was a little shaky. "Power in music, man. They're making this shield nobody can get through!"
"Yeah," I nodded. "I mean you can talk to people and try to persuade them, but when you get them singing . . ."
"Powerful," Mom agreed, yawning. "So, do we finish it and see what happens with Rick, Ilsa, and Victor, or are you good?"
Eddie looked at me at the same time I looked at him, and we didn't even have to debate it. We both nodded.
"Oh we gotta see it through," Eddie told my mom. "damned straight."
So we did.
-oo00oo—
Mom was asleep by the time the credits rolled, and I carried the dishes into the kitchen, loading them into the dishwasher while Eddie helped. He leaned on the counter and for once, his expression was serious. I could see the uncertain set of his mouth.
"Fi? Your mom . . . she's . . ." he glanced towards the living room.
"Getting better," I told him in kind of a frosty tone. "She's just really tired. So, here's the rest of the spaghetti. It should be enough for a dinner for you and your uncle, or a really big midnight snack just for you . . ." he was still looking at me, and I sighed.
"She had cancer, okay? But she's clear now, and just needs to rest up, and take her meds and . . . eat." Both of us looked at my mom's plate, which was still half-full. "She is gonna be fine." I said that firmly because I had to convince both of us.
He cocked his head. "Yeah," he nodded. "She is. Gonna be fine, that is."
"Yeah," I agreed, and pushed the Tupperware towards him. He took it, ringed hands cupping it close.
"Me, I'm gonna sleep through the weekend after a feast like this," he blurted, looking up at me. "Go straight into a pasta-induced coma. Hybernate like a bear."
"Going to make a butt plug too?" I snickered, looking at his shocked face. "What? Bears who go into hybernation do that. They plug up their butts so ants don't crawl in over the winter."
Eddie lost it, laughing so hard he had to bend over the counter, and seeing him laugh made me lose it too, so I started laughing. Then I tried to keep it down so Mom wouldn't wake up, which meant a lot of snorting through my hands. Eddie had his face buried in the crook of his arm to smother the sound.
"Th-they plug their own ASSES? That is some fu-weird shit, right there!" he snickered. "Wait until I tell Henderson!"
"No, NO shit because it's plugged up!" I replied, and we went through a second round of stifled giggles. I was feeling giddy at this point, and it wasn't agreeing with the pasta in my stomach, so I waved to Eddie to follow me outside.
It was cooler, but I could see fireflies between our yard and the Benton's house. The sky was clear and the moon was close to full, but not quite. Eddie's old Plymoth Valiant was at the curb. We walked towards it.
"Thanks for coming over, and being nice to my mom," I said in a low voice. "She gets a little lonely sometimes and company helps."
"Yeah," Eddie replied. "I get it. And she's cool. You get it from her, I can tell."
"I wish," I laughed. "She knew she wanted to be a nurse since she was in second grade. Me, I have no clue what I want to do. Still."
"Yeah well you're not alone there. I'm nearly twenty, and there are only three things I truly know," Eddie opened the passenger door and set the Tupperware on the seat. "One, Hawkins is the butt plug of Indiana—"
That made me laugh, but he held up a hand to indicate he wasn't done. "Two, the minute I get that diploma I AM out of here. LA, New York . . . anyplace but here, baby."
That saddened me, but I leaned against the car door. "What's number three?"
"Metal is life!" he mock-chided me.
"Should have seen THAT coming," I sighed. "Okay, oh, wait—so . . . when do you want to like rehearse? I need to know because I have Lacrosse and I have to take mom to the pharmacy tomorrow."
"Sunday then," Eddie dug in his front pocket for his keys. "At the Junior high, round three? Mr. Clark will open the multipurpose room for us to use."
"He will?" I was surprised, but Eddie nodded.
"He'd always there doing his lesson plans. He's been letting me practice there on Sundays since sixth grade."
"Ah, okay then. Three. I'll bring the lyrics."
"I'll bring the thunder," Eddie promised. I gave him a quick hug, surprising both of us. He looked at me a moment longer, then darted around and climbed in, driving off as his car belched smoke.
I had to laugh, watching him go.
"You are . . . not what I thought you were, Edward Munson," I told the night sky.