Off to one side, beside the fireplace, Trey and his father sip amber liquor out of stout glasses. They both stop talking as Charisma and I join them. When we sit down to eat, I find myself between Trey and Charisma. Trey’s dad raises a toast. We all settle in to eat.
I listen mutely to the banter as it flows around the table. Wayra tells stories about the first time he was at their estate in Thistle. Vanderline relates a story about how inseparable Trey, Victus, and Charisma were growing up. He calls them the tonic triad, because they managed to keep a constant tempo going without ever a lag in the action. I smile, because they were troublemakers.
“That was mostly Trey,” Charisma says, smiling at Victus. “We were just trying to keep up.”
Victus chimes in and relates some escapades from their youth. Throughout it all I listen, laughing with them, gleaning new information about these close-knit people.
From the other end of the table, Trey’s mamon smiles at her husband, Vanderline. “All this talk of childhood and we haven’t heard a thing from Kricket.”
I smile and look down at my plate. “I’m enjoying hearing about life on Ethar. It’s much more interesting.”
She laughs. “Oh, we’ve heard all these stories before. Tell us something new. What was it like on Earth?”
“It was nice,” I reply.
Wayra snorts and Jax winces a little.
“You must’ve played some games there, surely?” Trey’s mom persists, trying really hard to draw me into the conversation.
I wrinkle my nose and shrug. “I played stickball a few times in my neighborhood—on the south side of Chicago—that’s a game where you use a stick to hit a ball and then you run around three bases then try to run to the home plate before someone tags you with the ball.”
“Were you good at it?” Vessey asks, happy that she’s succeeding in having a conversation with me.
“No. Not really. I had to stop playing when I lost. As losers, my team had to give up our shoes. It took me a couple of weeks to earn enough money to get some new ones, so I didn’t play it after that.”
Vessey looks startled. “Surely there were games that you weren’t expected to give up your shoes if you lost?” she asks in an unsure tone of voice.
“Where I’m from, most games are only played if there’s a bet involved, or else why play them?”
“So no one plays games for fun?”
“No, they do. I just wasn’t one of them.” I can see that she’s confused, so I sigh and explain, “One of my fathers was a hustler, so he taught me to play games that not many of the other kids’ parents let them play like: find-the-patsy”—I tick that one off on my finger—“kick-the-bum’s-can-and-steal-his-stash”—I add another finger—“pick-a-pocket-hide-and-seek”—a third finger joins them—“and convenience-store-boogeyman-candyland. That’s when you shoplift as much candy as you can, and then sell it door-to-door pretending it’s for charity. I got tired of playing boogeyman-candyland, so I just started stealing forties of malt liquor for Dan. It was more efficient and cut out a couple of steps.”
I stop talking when Vessey abruptly rises from her chair. Picking up her own dinner plate and Victus’s next to her, she doesn’t seem to notice that he’s not finished with his meal, or that his fork is halfway to his mouth. “That sounds very labor-saving, Kricket. Would anyone like anything else from the keuken?” she asks, but her voice is raspy like she has something stuck in her throat. Her eyes skim over the table and she patently ignores Wayra as he lifts his plate, about to ask for more of something. Before he can comment, however, Vessey clears out, practically running from the room to the kitchen.
I set my fork down, knowing I’ve said too much. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I know that I should’ve softened that. I could’ve made something up or omitted parts and made it a nicer version of the truth, but I didn’t want to; I want her to know me for who I am. I don’t want her pity. I just want acceptance. This is my truth. I have entrusted her with it. Now I want to see what she does with it.
Trey reaches under the table and squeezes my knee. He pushes his chair back from the table. “Please excuse me, everyone, I believe my mamon needs help in the keuken.” He nods and then follows his mom into the kitchen.
Wayra calls to me from across the table, “Kricket, I want you with us when we raid the enemy ammo sites. With your size and speed we can fit you between the beam spotters. You can blow the signal seekers and install the scanner jammers without them ever detecting you.”