Dinner Party
The days of summer following my birthday were lazy and long. I slept until whenever Mom or Dad would force me to wake up. If they didn't need me at the studio, I could—and very often would—sleep until well past 1PM. On one such Sunday afternoon, I was busy painting my toenails purple when Mom came into my room with a proposition.
All you ever do anymore is sit in front of that computer, she began.
Oh, here we go again…
What was she complaining about? My leisure activities were confined to the computer (talking to Nathaniel), the occasional walk through the nature preserve or the shopping district (when Nathaniel wan't online), and painting my nails (so that they would be pretty…just in case Nathaniel decided to ask me out again). I wasn't sneaking around doing anything dangerous. It was a definite one-eighty change from what I used to do back in Virginia. Wasn't that the whole point of moving?
I carefully held the nail polish cap in my fingers as I signed back. What do you need me to do for you? I asked her, trying not to look facetious.
J-A-C-K-I-E invited us over for dinner, she said. Why don't you come with us? It'd be nice to see you actually do something for once.
That depends… I had important plans for later that evening—plans which consisted exclusively of chatting with Nathaniel about everything and nothing until four in the morning, or whenever I decided I couldn't possibly stay awake any longer. (I was always the first to admit defeat and go to bed; he, on the other hand, could stay up all night if he wanted to.) Going to dinner at a stranger's house would cut into my Nathaniel time significantly. Who's J-A-C-K-I-E?
Nathaniel's mom, she elaborated. Haven't I introduced you yet?
I shook my head no.
Her face crinkled into a knowing smile. I must have started blushing as soon as she formed Nathaniel's name-sign. In that case, you should definitely come with us. They're grilling steaks! she added, as if that would make a difference.
I didn't care what was on the menu, as long Nathaniel would be there. Sure! I was already mentally scrolling through my inventory of clean outfits and deciding what to wear.
A few hours later, my nails dry and my clothes changed, I found myself gaping around the Weiss' foyer. Candace was right; it was truly bizarre, since their house was the same floor plan as ours, but with different wall colors and different furniture. It was refreshing to be in a house that felt lived-in. I graciously breathed in the waxy scent of vanilla candles mixed with savory cooking smells; the air in our own house was still heavy with settling dust and paint fumes.
Like most moms I knew, Jackie had built a photographic shrine to her children that took up an entire living room wall. Since my family opened the studio, I probably could have rationalized my interest in the pictures as purely professional. But I had to be honest with myself—I just liked catching glimpses of the younger Nathaniel I never knew. I smiled adoringly at a yearbook portrait of him from his freshman year of high school, or perhaps it was from a later year of middle school. His face was chubbier and dotted with acne, and around his neck he proudly wore one of those godawful silk ties.
There was one picture in particular that seemed out-of-place. Not framed like the others, it must have been taken out of an album and stuck into the corner of another picture's frame for safekeeping. In it, a six- or seven-year-old Nathaniel stood in the loose mulch of a playground, fiendishly yanking a helpless little Amber's blonde ponytail. I was taken aback at first, especially since he was smiling so wickedly at his sister's tearful wailing, but I reasoned that Amber probably deserved it. I knew I'd jump at the chance to rip out a handful of that brat's hair if I knew I could get away with it. … And anyway, who would take the time to snap a picture of this kind of sibling-on-sibling abuse before stepping between them and breaking it up?
On the opposite wall, the mantle was lined with sleek brushed nickel frames, each proudly displaying a recent picture. The one on the very end was my favorite: Nathaniel on the night of his high school's prom, wearing an elegant black tux, standing beside Candace in her short blue dress and Lysander in a peculiar green tailcoat. I wondered why their friend Castiel wasn't in the picture…or Dake, for that matter. I thought Dakota and Candace were attached at the hip.
I was surprised to see another familiar face on the mantle: Dajan Asad, looking sharp in a black tuxedo of his own. Admittedly, Nathaniel wore a tux better; it made Dajan look stuffy and very much out of his element. Maybe that was just because of the stiff smile he was forcing as he posed for the picture beside Amber, whose tight red prom dress was encrusted with so many sequins they cast a prismatic glare on the camera's lens.
This picture would be a lot prettier without her in it, I thought with an arrogant sneer. I would never pair the two together; how they even got 'together' in the first place still baffled me. According to Nathaniel (and probably Amber), she and Dajan were dating—but according to Dajan, they weren't. I wasn't sure which story I wanted to believe.
Speaking of Nathaniel…where is he? He does live here, doesn't he?
I dug my trusty phone out of my pocket. "I'm in your house," I wrote him in a text. "Guess who's coming to dinner?"
I hated how disappointed I was when he didn't text me right back—or come bounding down the stairs, or come crashing through the back door in a rush to greet me. Doesn't he know I'm here? Doesn't he want to see me?
Even though we talked for hours on end most nights, I couldn't help but feel as though he'd been avoiding me ever since we kissed on my birthday. He was reluctant to even turn on his webcam. But maybe that was for the best. Maybe he was trying to prepare us both for that inevitable last day of summer when he would have to leave. If that was his intention, it was smart of him…but also cruel. I missed him. I missed seeing him. I missed him more than I was willing to admit.
Bored and a little depressed, I meandered through the living room into the kitchen. The moms, mine and Nathaniel's, sat at the counter and nursed stemless glasses of red wine while they talked out loud—what about, I could only guess. The dads, meanwhile, were out on the back porch, tending to the steaks and skewered vegetable kebabs, which smelled mouthwateringly delicious. I craned my neck to see out the glass-paned door, but Nathaniel wasn't with them, either.
Mom, can I help do anything? I asked out of desperation. Does she need me to set the table?
No, Kiddo, everything's already been done, Mom said, but it's sweet of you to offer.
Jackie touched my shoulder to get my attention and ask me a question. I could tell she was a sweet, well-meaning woman, her brown eyes as soft and kind as her son's—but she didn't understand that I could read her lips pretty accurately if she would just talk normally. She exaggerated each of her syllables, stretching her lips to form unrecognizable shapes.
Luckily, Mom was able to interpret for me. She wants to know if you've met her daughter yet. Her name is A-M-B-E-R.
Ugh...
Oh, gees, I hope I didn't accidentally grimace just then. Poker face, Johanna. Poker face.
Kind of, I answered. We ran into each other at the carnival at the high school.
Mom relayed my answer back to Jackie, who seemed pleased. Mom signed Jackie's response, too: She says A-M-B-E-R has a friend over, if you want to go up to her room and say 'hi.'
Yeah, no. Any 'friend' of Amber's is probably as pleasant as she is.
Okay, I said, even though I had no intention of subjecting myself to Amber. Rather, I slumped onto the pillowy living room couch and stared at the swaying pendulum of a stately grandfather clock.
Seriously, where are you, Nathaniel?
I saw movement and color at the top of the stairs, and a pair of feet came into view on the landing. A tan girl's sandaled feet.
I huffed, blowing my bangs out of my eyes. It's just Amber.
Following behind her was another pair of feet—a boy's huge, socked feet. Feet that were too big to be Nathaniel's.
Then I realized which 'friend' Amber had been entertaining in her room.
Amber looked surprised to see me, to say the least, but Dajan made a beeline straight for me and sat right next to me on the couch. Hey, Jo!
Hey, D.J.! I smiled warmly, offering him a genial 'hello.' He wasn't Nathaniel, but at least I finally had someone to talk to. I didn't expect to see you here!
I glanced over at Amber—and she was glaring back, her glacial green eyes cutting me to pieces from under her stringy blonde fringe. I felt extremely underdressed compared to her. I went with a lightweight, spaghetti-strap tank top (purple to match my toenails) and grayish black shorts—and nothing else. I wasn't wearing makeup, since I almost never did. I didn't even bother to put on shoes before we left the house; I literally walked here barefoot. Amber, on the other hand, wore designer jeans and a painstakingly ironed silk top, which was cinched at her waist with a turquoise belt. (Who was she trying to impress?) There was a newly touched-up coat of makeup covering her oily skin, her sticky lips candy apple red as they blathered at Dajan.
She didn't join us on the couch. She preferred to stand over us, her hands planted on her hips.
I don't think you've ever officially introduced us, I said to Dajan.
Oh? Dajan's dark brows coiled mischievously and his golden eyes shifted to face Amber. Amber, you remember Johanna…? After that, he probably offered a few other details about me that she doubtlessly already knew: that I was deaf, that I lived nearby, and that I was very good friends with her brother.
Amber tittered, tilting her head to one side the way a small dog would.
Uh… Dajan hesitated. She says it's a pleasure to meet you…?
It was a blatant lie. Her lips weren't moving at all. I could tell she hated not knowing what Dajan and I were saying to each other, even if it was perfectly innocent.
No, I insisted, nodding at Amber, the pleasure is all mine.
Amber broke eye contact with me to look back up the stairs, and I followed her gaze.
Finally, there was Nathaniel. When he came into view on the landing, I couldn't stop my face from smiling or my throat from letting out a delighted gasp. This summer, I'd only ever seen him in t-shirts and shorts, but tonight he wore long jeans with a lightweight gray button-down, its sleeves rolled up to his elbows—and a blue argyle sweater vest over it. A sweater vest. Not everyone can pull off nerdy-chic, but he wore it well. His clothes fit so snugly it was easy to imagine the incredible body he hid underneath them.
I stood up and allowed him to wrap me in a warm, tight hug; I could detect a hint of woody cologne.
It was the first time he'd touched me since the night of the Fourth of July.
I definitely felt underdressed now that I saw the effort Nathaniel went through. I told Dajan about it as I sank back into the couch. I feel like I should go home and change into something nicer, I signed, motioning my own outfit.
But I like what you're wearing, he signed back. It matches your toes.
So my bare feet were obvious. I dug my toes into the carpet self-consciously, biting my lip to suppress an embarrassed smile.
Nathaniel lifted my chin with a gentle finger so that I could see his face as he talked to me. What's the matter?
I shook my head and smiled harder, scrunching my face into a little laugh.
As usual, Nathaniel was not convinced. He glowered at Dajan for the briefest of milliseconds before turning back to me.
I hoped he didn't think Dajan had said something to hurt my feelings. Since Nathaniel didn't understand sign language, all he had to go on was our reactions to each other. I had to be more careful.
Jackie came into the living room to collect us when dinner was ready. Nathaniel somehow already knew I wanted Sprite to drink; it fizzed in an icy-cold glass at the place setting beside his own. When the eight of us took our seats at the dining room table, I ended up more or less in the middle: Nathaniel to my right, his mom to my left, and Dajan right in front of me.
The dads sat across from each other in a contented silence while the moms gabbed on and on. Meanwhile, at the kids' end of the table, the conversation was equally exclusive. Amber and Nathaniel just stared as Dajan and I signed back and forth. I felt bad, but what could I do? Obviously Dajan wasn't receptive to interpreting for me so that Nathaniel could be included. His sign language wasn't up to speed, either, which made things more difficult.
The first course was the fussiest salad I'd ever seen: arugula and red oakleaf tossed in a fragrant vinaigrette.
The salad is purple, Dajan whined, and he didn't touch it at all, not even to poke it with his fork. It matches your toes, too.
I couldn't blame him. I got through about half of it before I gave up and put my fork down. It was like trying to chew through a bowl of potpourri. It's supposed to be purple, I teased. Didn't you know purple salad is better than regular salad?
Nathaniel looked lost in deep concentration as he picked all the dried cranberries out of his salad, but didn't eat much of the greens (or, as Dajan would say, 'purples') underneath.
Amber must not have been hungry either. She didn't even lift a hand out of her lap to sip her sweating water goblet. At least, I thought her hands were in her own lap…
Suddenly, Dajan filched conspicuously, his knees banging into the underside of the table, shaking everyone's drink glasses.
Damn! I said, flailing my arms. What was that about?
In answer, he frowned daggers at Amber.
Was she…? No, she couldn't be! Was she really groping Dajan under the table with her whole family sitting around her? Her own brother was sitting right across from her! Even so, she didn't seem to give the close proximity of her family members a second thought. Her steely green eyes were dead set on me, the smile on her face smug, as if to ask: What are you gonna do about it?
It was so obvious she was trying to dangle Dajan in front of me like a cat toy. I found her insecurity not only pathetic, but hilarious. I wasn't going to do anything about it, except shamelessly laugh at her—which made Dajan lose it and crack up, too. Nathaniel refused to sink to our level of childishness; he pinched the bridge of his nose, his face fading from a rosy pink to a mortified blue-gray.
Once us kids settled back down, we moved onto the second course.
Dajan complained about his steak, too. I think mine is still alive, he signed, glancing at it suspiciously.
It's rare, I corrected him. He acted like he'd never seen a properly-cooked steak before. I knew he wouldn't criticize the meal this way if Mr. and Mrs. Weiss could understand what he was saying. A little pink in the center won't kill you—
Before I knew what was happening, he grabbed my left hand mid-sign. His arms were so long he didn't even have to sit up to reach me from the other side of the table.
Nathaniel dropped his flatware, completely aghast. He looked at me as if to ask, What the hell is going on?
I had no answer for him, since I didn't know myself. I couldn't tell him even if I did know, since Dajan held my wrist firmly with his long fingers. He loosened his grip to cradle my hand in his, inspecting my class ring, turning it so that the ruby shimmered in the light from the chandelier hanging above us.
Sorry, he apologized, releasing my hand when he saw the confused look on my face. I was just—
Nathaniel cut him off. Dajan's eyes shifted from mine to his, and he took a moment to listen to whatever Nathaniel was saying. In response, he laughed jovially. Her ring, said his lips as he indicated the ring he wore on his own left hand. It was silver, like mine, but clunkier and more masculine, and with a clear, whitish stone. I wondered if it was supposed to be the April birthstone.
Dajan noticed me staring and smiled. I was looking at yours, too. It's from your old school, isn't it? You did gymnastics?
'Gymnastics' an oddly specific sign for him to know. I nodded yes, astonished. Yeah, I did. For seven years.
He glanced at my mom, who sat next to him to his left—but she was still engrossed in a conversation with Jackie and paid him no attention. …You must be really flexible, he said, turning back to me, tilting his pierced brow as if to add, if you know what I mean.
Oh, I know what you mean, alright.
He was toying with me to see how far he could take it—and I would beat him at his own game.
I'm double-jointed almost everywhere, I bragged. You should see what I can do with my tongue! I could prove it, too; I could tie cherry stems into knots using only my tongue, and I could fold it four times to look like the petals of a flower—but somehow it seemed inappropriate to demonstrate these specific talents in the middle of a dinner party at Nathaniel's parents' house.
He didn't expect me to say that at all. He clamped down on his bottom lip with a row of perfect white teeth. You'll have to show me sometime, he signed—but he really meant, You win this round.
Next to me, Jackie tapped my elbow, meaning to bring me into the conversation she and Mom were having. She started to ask a question—then slapped a hand over her own mouth, suddenly mortified.
I looked to Mom, who was listening in. What is it? Did I do something wrong?
No, she just called you the wrong name by accident. She waved it off one-handed, holding her wine glass tightly in her other hand. Her eyes shifted to Nathaniel's dad, who had something to add to the conversation.
I had no way of reading what he said; Nathaniel's mom's head was in the way, and I couldn't see his face. But whatever it was, it must have been horrible; it made Nathaniel's pre-existing annoyance erupt into full-blown rage.
All at once, Nathaniel sprang up, yelled something at his father, and stormed out of the room.
I stood up too. What did he say to him? I demanded—from Mom, Dad, from Dajan, from anyone who would tell me.
Johanna, sit down, Mom said, ignoring my question completely. He'll be fine.
I guessed Mom wanted to make the best possible impression on the Weiss family, but obviously something was up. I looked to Dajan, who was staring back at me with a slight frown. If you won't tell me, I'll just get it from Nathaniel. He would tell me. He knew he could tell me anything.
Jo, sit down— Mom tried to repeat the command, but I was already hot on Nathaniel's trail. I saw a blue-and-gray blur move at the top of the stairs and disappear behind a door. I followed, taking the stairs two at a time just like I did in my own house.
Nathaniel's bedroom was in the same place as mine. I figured that was why he was able to navigate his way to my bedroom window so easily that night after the carnival. I didn't bother knocking, since I wouldn't be able to hear if he answered from within the room. I turned the knob and barged in.
The interior of the room was cool, still, motionless—a welcome relief from the bright lights and the movement and the clatter downstairs in the dining room. The stark white walls were crisp and uncluttered, except for the bookshelves I already knew as the backdrop for our webcam chats. His bed was neatly made, its navy blue and white plaid quilt pulled taught over the mattress. A telescope was pointed out the window, though the blinds in front of it were closed at the moment. He had an extensive collection of ties displayed on the wall next to his sliding closet doors; every color and every pattern I could imagine, he had a tie to match. The only part of his room that looked lived-in at all was his computer desk, around which he'd made a nest of scribbled-on papers, open books, strewn pens and pencils, and empty energy drink cans.
When I stepped through the doorway, it seemed I'd caught him changing clothes. He undid the last button of his shirt and slipped it off, letting it fall to the floor.
Hey, I signaled, moving around to make sure he knew I was there.
Hey, he said back. He must have heard the door opening and knew to expect me there when he turned his head. I… I'm sorry.
Why? I signed, screwing my face into a frown.
He slumped into the chair in front of his desk and opened his laptop. In a blank word-processor document, he began to type: "I don't think you could tell, but Mom called you the wrong name."
I stood beside him and bent over the keyboard, twisting my back into an odd angle. "That's what my mom told me. I'm not worried about it, really. Your mom just met me. People get names confused all the time."
Nathaniel hid his face in his hands and breathed out, trying to collect himself before he returned his fingers to the keyboard to type a response. I watched his bare chest contract and found myself taking a deep breath of my own. "She called you Melody," he wrote.
Oh.
…Oh.
Nathaniel's mom knew I wasn't Melody. She wasn't an idiot. But maybe she called me Melody by accident because in her mind, I was Melody's replacement. For all I knew, Melody might have had dinner with them sitting in the exact same place I sat.
I sighed and forced a smile. "I think I understand what's so wrong about that now," I typed, glancing to gauge his reaction. "Melody might be the worst possible name for a deaf girl."
His frown was ruptured when his lips curled into an embarrassed little smile.
"I honestly don't think it's that big a deal," I continued, trying to reassure him further.
"Dad didn't think it was a big deal, either," he shot back, his smile disappearing, "and he made a point to let everyone know about it. He said, 'Call the deaf girl anything you want. She won't correct you. It's not like she can hear you.'"
Wow. It really was brash of Nathaniel's dad to say that in front of my mom—and Dajan, who had a 'deaf girl' for a little sister.
Nathaniel gaped at me, his eyes heavy with humiliation. It hurt to see him so upset.
"Calling me deaf is one thing, because I am deaf, and I can't help what I am," I wrote, "but I don't want to be 'the deaf girl.' My deafness isn't all of who I am. You understand that."
…And Dajan understands, too, I thought, remembering his indignant frown.
Nathaniel took the keyboard back and poured his heart into an apology. "I'm so ashamed… I can't believe my father actually said that. And Amber laughed at you. I'm so sorry, for both of them."
"They're not your responsibility," I asserted. "For what it's worth, I think the two of you are nothing alike, you and your sister."
His smile tugged at the corners of his mouth again. "Really? You don't think so? People say we look alike all the time. We both look like our mom."
"She might look like you in some ways, but she's nothing like you on the inside. You're kind, and…" Compassionate? Charming? Clever? Adorable in every way? I could have ended the sentence any number of ways, but I went with "…and you make me feel at home. But Amber? It's obvious she'd rather not have me around. I cramp her style."
Nathaniel nodded in agreement. "She's used to getting her way. She's Daddy's Little Girl, through and through. She'll ask him, 'Daddy, can I have twenty dollars?' And he'll say, 'Take a hundred! I don't have any small bills.'"
"That's not fair," I responded. Nathaniel had to mow lawns and clean gutters for his money, but all Amber had to do was bat her eyelashes and pout? Why? Because he was born with a Y chromosome and she wasn't?
"My father is not a fair man," Nathaniel agreed somberly.
I thought I could cheer him up, but his mood plummeted once more.
Then, something in an untouched, shadowy corner of the room caught my eye when I looked away from Nathaniel's sad face.
Is that…?
A drum set?
I crossed the room to inspect them further. Sure enough, Nathaniel had a complete drum set tucked into the corner of his room. It looked like it was in perfect condition, but the brass cymbals were collecting dust.
I didn't know he played the drums!
That's… That's… Oh my God, that's so sexy!
I rushed back to the keyboard and bent over it to type, "Do you still play?"
"Not really. I used to play in a band, but not anymore."
"So you won't give me a little demonstration?"
He smiled, his eyes wavering briefly at my chest, which was only inches from his face as I stooped over him. "I'd love to, but I can't. Dad hates the noise. I can only play when no one is home, which is almost never."
Percussion was pretty much the only way I could experience music, so the drums were always my favorite. The other girls at the School for the Deaf would be majorly jealous if they knew my super-cute neighbor boy was also a drummer.
It hurt my back to bend over the keyboard so awkwardly. I stood up straight and stretched, massaging my lower back with my hands and grimacing.
Nathaniel caught onto my body language. He stood, unplugging his laptop, and moved the conversation to his bed, where we could both sit comfortably. I rolled over onto my stomach, kicking my bare feet in the air, hugging one of his pillows to my chest. The pillowcase smelled just like his hair.
He wore an odd expression as I nuzzled his pillows and rolled around on his quilt—like he couldn't decide if he should be reluctant or overjoyed. I guess the latter won out, and he finally relented and smiled. "I'm sorry again for losing my temper. I really am glad you came tonight. I wasn't expecting you to come."
I mashed the pillow under me to free up my forearms and type a response. "I certainly didn't expect Dajan to be here, either," I wrote before I could stop myself. I wasn't used to writing my thoughts to him without the luxury of deleting them or changing them before I hit 'send.'
For maybe the hundredth time that night, Nathaniel's smile faded when he read Dajan's name. "I wasn't expecting him, either. I don't understand what he's even doing in Sweet Amoris," he began. "The school he came from is a well-known magnet school for athletes. You'd think he'd be better off there, since the S.A. basketball program is so small. When his academic file came to the school before his transfer, I flipped through it, and most of it was blacked out. If I had to guess, I'd say he was kicked out for fighting and he doesn't want anyone to know because he's trying to get a college scholarship. I'd be careful around him if I were you."
"That's a pretty serious accusation." I couldn't imagine someone like Dajan in a fight. If he had any involvement in a fight, I imagined it was because the girls at his old school constantly fought over him; I couldn't help but smile at the mental image.
Nathaniel's frown intensified in response to my dreamy smile. "The parts of his file that weren't blacked out mentioned hospital stays. That's a red flag, if you ask me. I don't know what else that could possibly mean besides fighting."
Something didn't quite add up. "Wait, what were you doing 'flipping through' kids' academic files, anyway?"
"I was the student body president," he reasoned. "It was one of my responsibilities to help new students. I'd show them around and make sure they had all the right paperwork on file."
I rolled my eyes. I had a feeling Nathaniel just liked knowing things—things no one else knew.
…It's a good thing I'm not going to his old high school, or else he might have read my confidential academic file, too…and he would have found out about what I did—the mistake I made that was so horrible, my whole family packed up and moved just to save me from the pain and embarrassment of having to go back to the School for the Deaf and face the rumors.
My rolling eyes caught sight of Dajan waving at me as he materialized in the doorway, as if he knew we were talking about him.
Seriously, Dajan?
Did he not notice the fact that I was sitting on Nathaniel's bed, next to Nathaniel, who wasn't wearing a shirt?
He was not at all oblivious to what he could be potentially interrupting, but clearly not concerned, either. Jo, he signed, do you want to come with me if I go get something to eat? I'm starving, he whined, since he didn't eat what was actually served for dinner.
Maybe some other time, I emphasized, my eyes darting to Nathaniel in a hint, hint motion.
Okay. He didn't interpret that as a 'no'. Are you busy next Saturday?
I shook my head. No, why?
Just asking. Don't make any plans. See you later! He turned away without even pretending to care about telling Nathaniel goodbye, too.
"Alright, what did he say?" Nathaniel typed moodily.
"He wanted to tell me goodbye," I said truthfully—but left out the part about him asking me out.
Did he just ask me out? Right in front of Nathaniel? After he came to dinner at his girlfriend's house?
Love him or hate him, Dajan Asad had moxie, and he was definitely growing on me.