Jake being protective of me? Now, that was a change.
“We didn’t bring enough chairs, I’m afraid—”
“That’s fine, because Kevin was going—” I said, trying to close the door.
“Edie! Why didn’t you ever tell us about him?” my mother pressed, unashamed to interrogate me in front of witnesses.
“We just started dating,” Asher began, taking a step inside. “It was an office romance.”
My mother’s bearing straightened. “Are you a doctor?”
Asher laughed. “No. I do computer work for County. Someone downloaded a virus onto a computer on Edie’s floor, and the rest was history.”
“A very short history.” I sighed and let him in. “Come in.”
Asher grinned at me. “I thought you’d never ask.”
* * *
What followed was fairly painless, as these things go. An extra folding chair was hauled from my hall closet. My mother’s cooking was excellent, as always, Peter pontificated on random topics, and Jake kept his head down. Jake was off the drugs—one look at him and you could see it—but while he’d been using, he’d developed an almost vampire-like ability to deflect attention from himself. No one wanted to know anything about my job—and if they did, as a nurse, losing their interest was easy. Most people didn’t want to talk about piss, blood, or shit. And besides, my mother was more interested in my nascent “relationship” with Kevin and the currently vacant status of my womb.
“She’s always been concerned with her career, Kevin,” my mother began, apologizing for me. “But I’m sure if she met a good man, she’d settle down. She could work a normal job—there are nursing jobs during the daytime, my friend Frances has one, and her hospital even provides day care, she told me a few months ago at church. Do you attend church, Kevin?”
Asher did a much better job of answering to a strange name than I would have—I wondered if the forms he took came complete with names imprinted, like those written on the back of T-shirts for summer camp—but it was nice to see that my mother’s stream-of-consciousness way of speaking could derail even him. He swallowed slowly, looking a little pained, like the piece of mashed potatoes in his throat had corners. I grinned maliciously across the table at him.
“Well, Mrs. Spence,” he began.
“Grinder,” Peter corrected, not because he was mad, but because he couldn’t help himself.
“Mrs. Grinder,” Asher continued. “I haven’t been to church in a long time. But I was raised—and this will sound odd, I admit—half Catholic, half Pentecostal.”
“Really?”
“Really. I spent summers with my Catholic grandmother, but my father’s family are foursquare all the way.”
Somehow I doubted that was the case. Sure, someone who’d imprinted on him had probably gone to church once upon a time, but—my mother squinted at him, taking his measure, then she glanced at two-hours-of sleep me. “Well. As long as you practice some sort of religion…” At this late stage in the baby game, as I crested twenty-five and slid down toward thirty, she apparently couldn’t afford to be too picky.
Jake’s phone rang, and he excused himself to take the call.
The whole table held their breath—at least the part of the table directly related to me. Who called someone else on Christmas Day? Family—though I knew both Jake and I would make our calls to Real Dad later—or junkies, who knew no boundaries when it came to the necessity of getting high.
My mother glared at me. If it were up to her, I’d inspect Jake’s phone bill each month, tracing calls back to their sources, making sure that each and every one was church-approved. Unfortunately for her, I didn’t have that much free time, or any inclination. Despite things I’d done in the past, I was not my brother’s keeper. As long as his minutes were under the limit, he could be calling the Dalai Lama. Then again, my Evangelical mother’d hate that even more.
“No, you should come by. Really. There’s already other people here,” we heard Jake say from inside my bedroom.
Asher looked from person to person, wondering what the rest of us were cuing on. Oh, dear God—what if he touched Jake, and after this would be able to rearrange his features to look like him? Or my mother? Whom had he passed a plate to tonight? Just when things were feeling normal—I should have known not to let my guard relax. Then again, after only two hours of sleep, what guard did I have left? I felt the blood drain from my face.
“Edie?” Asher asked.
“It’s okay,” my mother said, putting her hand out toward Asher’s to pat it, an attempt to dissipate the tension we all felt in the room.