"You did what?"
"I invited him over for dinner tomorrow. It's not that big of a deal, Dar—"
"Not that big of a deal? I told you I didn't want you talking to him so you decided to invite him to our house for a meal."
"And I told you that I think he deserves a chance. Geez, it's one dinner, not an invitation to live here."
"You should've asked me first."
"And gotten lectured for an hour about it? I knew you'd say no, so what's the point?"
"The point is that I don't want him near us, let alone in our house!"
"He's coming at 7:00 tomorrow whether you like it or not, it's up to you whether you'll be joining us."
"Alright, now why don't you walk down the hall and tell your little brother the same thing, considering that you probably didn't ask for his input either."
Ponyboy suddenly appeared in the doorway of the kitchen. "Tell me what?"
I winced at the thought of this morning's conversation. I should've known something was up last night when Soda stayed up later than Pony and I, insisting he wasn't tired. We all usually went to bed at the same time, Ponyboy was generally able to fall asleep faster when Soda was with him. He must've been waiting until I was asleep to make the call. I don't even know how he got Michael's phone number, let alone what made him think this was a good idea.
Ponyboy, as usual, said little to nothing. It might have come off as indifference to someone who didn't know him well, but contrary to his belief I knew him and his tells. The way he was constantly chewing on his nails or biting the inside of his cheek, the dark circles under his eyes from sleepless nights; he was stressed. He was never prone to opening up to me so I usually relied on Sodapop in moments like this, but after this morning we weren't exactly on speaking terms. I'd been furious enough to know that I was going to regret anything else I would say, so I stayed silent for the remainder of the morning. Now I had the workday to decide whether I would be spending tonight at the kitchen table with someone my parents hated or at Buck's, knocking them back one by one until the night got away from me.
By the end of the day, I had decided to suffer through dinner. It may not have been what Mom and Dad wanted, but I at least owed it to them to not let my brothers go through it by themselves. I didn't like the idea of leaving them alone with this guy, and as their guardian, I needed to be there. Even if I detested it.
The brakes of my truck, of course, announced my presence as I parked at the curb. I could see Sodapop running around the kitchen cheerily, probably trying to make something edible. We'd be lucky if it wasn't blue.
The gang was noticeably absent, probably told to stay away for the night by Sodapop. I couldn't see Ponyboy, either, but figured he was just hiding out in his room.
Sodapop's demeanor changed as I stepped through the front door. "You decide if you're staying for dinner?"
"Yes, I'm staying for dinner. Might as well have some sort of say as to what goes on around here."
Soda smiled at that, practically skipping toward the cupboard where we kept our food coloring. My little brother never was able to hold a grudge.
"Where's Pony?" I called out, making my way to the bathroom, stripping off my work shirt on the way.
"His room!" Soda called back.
I detoured my way there, looking in through his wide-open door. He was sitting on his and Soda's bed, books spread out all around him. He chewed on a pencil as he studied the worksheet in front of him, squinting to read the words. I rapped on his open door.
"You gonna eat with us tonight?" I asked.
He shrugged. "Do I have a choice?"
I moved to sit on the edge of his bed and put my hand on his shoulder. "Yes, you have a choice, it's very important to me that you know that. You don't have to eat with us if you don't want to, I'll call Two-Bit and have him take you out for burgers if you'd like."
"That's okay, I'll eat here. Unless you don't want me to…"
"Don't worry about what I want, Pony."
He nodded and returned to staring intently at his homework. I patted his shoulder once before leaving to take a quick shower. I found my thoughts wandering as I massaged the shampoo through my hair, trying to wash away the grime and sweat from the day. I've always been a planner, and have always liked to have things thought out ahead of time. I couldn't even begin to imagine how tonight was going to go, and couldn't prepare for the endless possibilities. It scared the hell out of me.
"It's 6:45, Darry!" Soda yelled, pulling me from my thoughts. I took the hint, shutting the water off and hurrying to get ready. And here I thought I was the punctual one.
I had just finished combing my hair back when I heard three brisk knocks at the door. The sound sent a wave of anxiety through me; nobody knocked at our door. Nobody but social workers and the police, that is. At our house, knocking meant trouble.
I moved to answer it, wanting to lay down the law with this Michael guy and let him know I meant business. Sodapop beat me to it, though, answering the door with a smile as though he was meeting up with an old friend he'd known for years.
Michael, on the other hand, stood on our front porch awkwardly, staring. He wore a blue button-down with khakis and brown loafers, nicer and probably more expensive than anything we'd ever hope to own. His hair was combed neatly to the side, and he wore a pair of glasses I hadn't seen on him before. He held a pink casserole dish covered in flowers with both hands to top off the look.
"Come on in!" invited Soda, gesturing him inside.
"Thank you," said Michael as he stepped through the threshold. He moved to shake Soda's hand before realizing that both of his were full, prompting Soda to take the dish from his hands.
"I'll put this in the oven to warm it up," said Soda, winking at me as he left.
I resisted the urge to glare at him. I knew exactly what he was doing.
"We didn't get a chance to properly meet before. Michael Price," he said, sticking his hand out.
I shook it back, firmly. "Darrel Curtis."
"And that's Darrel Curtis Jr., I suppose?"
"Yes, it is," I said, pressing my lips into a tight line. Hearing him refer to my father, even in an indirect way, nearly made my blood boil.
I turned around and made my way to the kitchen, hoping he wasn't too oblivious to not take the hint and follow me.
Michael stood out of the way, against the fridge, hands at his side, as Soda and I set the table. A good hostess would perhaps make conversation, or invite him to sit. But I wasn't a good hostess.
"Ponyboy, dinner!" I called, noticing that my youngest brother had yet to make an appearance.
He sauntered into the kitchen slowly, in a true teenager-like fashion. I noticed he was still limping slightly and made a mental note to get him checked out soon. I still couldn't seem to figure him out: he insists he wants to eat dinner with us but then is reluctant to come to the table? Maybe he was conflicted himself.
Michael stuck his hand out in a similar fashion to Ponyboy. "Michael Price."
"Ponyboy," was all my brother said, shaking his hand and sitting at the table. At least we were all here now, sparing me from witnessing any more forced handshakes tonight.
Soda placed the last of the dishes on the table and we all sat down; the three of us in our usual spots, Michael, coincidentally, in my mom's seat. At least, what used to be her seat. My dad's seat remained empty, just as it had at family dinners for almost two years.
My brothers and I began dishing up quickly, having grown up fighting with each other for food and the rest of the gang for food. You could end up staring at an empty plate for dinner if you weren't careful in this house. Michael hesitated, seemingly conflicted.
"Do you think," he began, "do you think we could bless the food first?"
We all stared at him, plates frozen mid-air. We hadn't said a prayer at the kitchen table in years. Hell, the last time we did Ponyboy was probably still in a high chair.
As bad of a host as I was, though, Soda was determined to make up for it.
"Of course!" he exclaimed, setting his plate down. Pony and I followed his lead and did the same. I didn't know if we were supposed to fold our arms or hold hands and sing kumbayah or some shit, so I just followed Michael's lead. He held out his hands and we all reluctantly followed, Soda and Pony grabbing his, me grabbing theirs. The last time I held my brother's hands had been to help them cross the street when they were little. Now look at us, praying over Soda's blue spaghetti and Michael's mysterious pink casserole dish. If only our parents could see us now.
"Dear God, please bless this food, as well as the hands that prepared it. Amen."
"Amen," we all mumbled, awkwardly letting go of each other's hands and moving to dish up. I didn't see how one sentence was going to make this meal infinitely better, but I guess that was what religion was all about. Believing in what many don't consider possible.
The kitchen gradually became filled with the sound of silverware clinking and people chewing, Michael staring intently at the three of us, and the three of us avoiding eye contact with him. Soda, of course, was the first to break the silence.
"This casserole's great, Michael. What's in it?"
Michael laughed. "I honestly wouldn't know, my coworker, Rebecca, was nice enough to make it for me when she heard I was having dinner with y'all."
"Well, you'll have to tell her it's great. You said she's your coworker? Where do you work?"
Debt collector, used car salesman, DMV worker, I thought, smirking to myself.
"I'm usually an emergency room physician,"
Oh.
"but I'm working at a local clinic right now. They were looking for physicians to help them get started up and when I saw it was located in Tulsa I took the opportunity."
"So you don't live here?" asked Sodapop.
"No, I'm from Kentucky," explained Michael.
"Kentucky's where you and mom grew up, right?" asked Soda.
All sounds of silverware and chewing ceased. Strange, the one person bringing us all together also happened to be the biggest elephant in the room.
Michael cleared his throat. "Yes, that's right. We grew up in a more rural area, though, I live closer to the city now."
"And do your parents still live there?"
Another bomb dropped. I shot Soda a look, wondering why he just kept dropping them. Michael looked noticeably uncomfortable.
"Yeah, they do. Same house, even. We don't really…I haven't seen them in a while."
Soda nodded at that, glancing at me before becoming overly interested in his plate. I knew what he was saying. Your turn.
"How come it took you so long to reach out?"
I said I'd stay for dinner. I never said it would be pleasant.
"I was young, stupid, manipulated. I could go on. I don't—I'd rather focus on the present than the past. I'm here now, aren't I?"
"Too little too late, don'tcha think?" I murmured.
"Well I'm glad you're here," countered Soda.
"How'd you know you wanted to be a doctor?" asked Ponyboy, his voice barely a whisper.
All eyes turned to him as he spoke his first full sentence of the night. I didn't know if the off-topic question was asked as a desperate attempt to change the subject or if he had been trying to work up the courage to ask it since learning about Michael's job.
"Well, I always knew I wanted to help people. After taking a few anatomy courses in high school I decided to go into medicine and was lucky enough that my parents could put me through med school. Many, many, years of school later, I started working in the ER and have been there ever since."
Ponyboy's eyes lit up as Michael spoke. I'll admit, it was nice to have someone Ponyboy could talk to about college. Soda and I were hoping to get him there, but we didn't know anyone with any experience with the process. It didn't make up for everything that had happened, but I guess it was a win for him. I kept a tally in my head. Tolerate Michael: 1. Hate Michael: 1,000.
"So how long do you think you'll be in Tulsa?" asked Sodapop.
"At least a few more weeks, maybe a month or two at the most? Working at the clinic has been great but I can't stay here forever."
"Got a lady back home that's waiting on you?" Soda teased, waggling his eyebrows.
Michael laughed. "Yes, actually, hard as it is to believe. I've got a wife, Elizabeth, and a daughter, Clara. She's four," he explained.
My mind instantly went back to the innocent question of my youth. "How come we don't got any cousins?"
Sodapop and Ponyboy seemed to be taking a second to process this information, too.
"Something wrong?" asked Michael, noticing the blank stares on our faces.
"No, no," I answered, "we've just never had any cousins before, much less any girls in the family. It's always been all boys for us."
"Darrel didn't have any siblings?"
"One, but he died in the war. It's always just been us," explained Sodapop.
"Then what did you do when…" Michael started, trailing off as his eyes landed on me. "You took them in."
I cleared my throat. "I took custody of my brothers when my parents died, yes."
"How old were you?"
"Just turned twenty."
Michael's fork clattered against his plate has he dropped it and put his head in his hands. I was taken aback by his reaction. Sure, I knew taking custody of two children at twenty years old wasn't the most conventional way to spend the "best years of my life," but I guess everyone around me was just used to it by now. I hadn't told anybody new since the accident first happened, and I had forgotten about the looks of pity people always gave me. I hated it.
"Can I ask how it happened?"
"Car accident," blurted out Soda. "The roads were slick, they lost control. Just like that, they were gone," he whispered.
"I wish I had…no, I should've been there. I'm so sorry Darrel, I could've helped y'all."
"We got by just fine," I countered, hoping he didn't miss the hostility in my voice.
"Well I'm here now. If you ever need anything, anything at all, you boys let me know, alright?"
We all nodded, though I made a mental note to not take him up on his offer. We'd done just fine without him before, we'd do just fine without him in the future. Though I could confess…it might be nice to have someone in our corner for once. We'd always been on our own, I wouldn't even know what to do with another family member that was willing to help. Tolerate Michael: 2. Hate Michael: 1,000.
"I could even give y'all some money if you need it…" started Michael.
Just when I was starting to warm up to this guy, he had to go and say something stupid.
"You can keep your damn charity because we don't need it," I said, trying to keep my voice even.
"He's just trying to help, Darry," defended Sodapop.
"Yeah, by coming into our house and offering us money after barely being here 30 minutes. Must've shocked him to see how poor we are, to see how the 'other half' lives. Very helpful."
Tolerate Michael: 2. Hate Michael: 1,000,000.
"Darrel I wasn't trying to—"
"What makes you think I even want your money? We're fine, thank you very much. Not everyone needs a brand new Chevrolet to feel satisfied in life."
Things got pretty quiet after that, which I suppose was my fault. Soda must've thought so too, considering the looks he was giving me. I tuned out the rest of their pointless small talk, too infuriated by Michael's actions. He took one look at the place and decided that there must be no way someone could live this poor, figures.
I waited until the meal was finished and Sodapop and Ponyboy were clearing the plates and starting on the dishes to make my move.
"Want a smoke?" I asked Michael, gesturing toward the front porch.
He hesitated for a moment before nodding and following me out. I held out the cigarette to him once we were outside, but he declined.
"I'm a doctor, I don't smoke."
"Yeah, well, I don't either."
We stood silently for a few moments, taking a smoke break that was absent of any smoking.
"I think it would be best if you don't come around here anymore," I started.
"Darrel, I didn't mean anything by my offer, really. My parents…they were really well off, I'm just not used to any other type of lifestyle. I didn't want to offend you, I'm sorry."
"The fact that you see being poor as a 'type of lifestyle' tells me everything I need to know about you," I scoffed.
"I think it's admirable what you did for your brothers. What you gave up."
"Yeah, well some of us don't abandon our siblings."
He opened his mouth to retort but clamped it shut as the screen door slammed and Ponyboy and Sodapop joined us out on the porch. Sodapop clapped Michael on the shoulder while Pony lit up a cigarette.
"Thanks for coming by," said Sodapop.
"Anytime," replied Michael. Not if I can help it, I thought.
"So we'll see you soon?" asked Soda.
Michael nodded, slowly making his way toward his car. He eventually got in and waved goodbye. Soda waved back, Pony nodded, and I gave him what I hoped came across as the look of death.
We all stood on the porch and watched his Chevy disappear in the distance. Soda was the first to speak.
"Well I'd say that went well."
A/N: Thoughts, questions, theories? Let me know!