Tall stands up and loads his plate with another helping of ravioli. "I should ask for my favorite dishes more often; this is excellent. Did you help Ben make it, Amélie?"

Was that a compliment? To me?

"Or do you only like eating the food?" says Tall.

Not a compliment. Back to assessment, aren't we? Good that I've swallowed the latest piece of ravioli, or I'd need a Heimlich maneuver.

"Amélie cooked most of it." Ben answers the tame words of Tall's question, but misses the drops of venom the older man injected into them with his intonation.

"Ben is a surprisingly gifted teacher," I say. I want to bite back and show Tall that my teeth aren't just straight but also sharp, but I shouldn't. Maybe I'm overreacting. "It was my first time making pasta from scratch." I bring out the polite Amélie. "He encouraged me to do most of the work and guided me through the steps. It was worth it." I share a confident look with Ben. I'm hella proud of myself. I did an excellent job with the food. Let's hope I can enjoy eating it as much as I did making it.

"That's not surprising to us." Nope. Tall's not going to let me dig back into my plate of deliciousness. His hostility can no longer be explained by my overactive imagination. I put my fork down and prepare for his assault. "Our Ben is gifted in many areas. Which makes me wonder how well you know him." Tall and I stare at each other across the table. "When did Ben meet you?"

Starting with a tricky question, I see. I began working at the grocery store in April, but when did I first notice Ben? I'm not that sure.

"Must be about five months ago, when I got the job as a cashier." I hesitate. My instinct to snark at Tall is getting hard to suppress, but I'm supposed to be an adult. It's Ben's family. Let's try extending an olive branch. "But we started talking only a couple of months ago. So, you are right—I don't know him nearly as well as you do."

"I thought he met you over a year ago." Tall tilts his head and looks at Ben in an expectant way. What's he asking about hinting at? I frown. A year ago Dad was alive, I didn't need the extra money and wouldn't have considered a job at a grocery store.

"Don't go there, Tall." Eyes on his plate, Ben sounds menacing.

What's going on between these two? I lean back in my chair, cross my arms on my chest, and wait to see how this develops. An irritated Ben is something I haven't encountered much of.

"I'm glad you joined us here today." Marguerite takes the reins of the conversation back into her hands. "We are lucky to see Ben most every week. Is your family here in Chicago as well?"

Chicago and family. Marguerite has no clue she stepped into an even bigger pile of shit than whatever Ben is trying to avoid talking about.

"My Dad died in April." That makes the room go quiet. No more chewing, scraping the plates or shifting in the chairs. People rarely know what to say or do when death is brought up in a conversation. "And my mom lives in France. I haven't seen her in eight years."

I turn my head and look straight into Marguerite's eyes. "I don't have family to spend time with." Ben's mom doesn't look away. She puts a hand on my shoulder. She doesn't say anything but her gaze sinks deep inside me. Her face is kind, full of empathy and understanding. Why can't she be my mom? Marguerite makes me want a mom. Where's mine when I need her? Across the ocean?

Ben's so lucky to have a Mom who cares about him. One who stood by him and sacrificed her job to make sure he's OK. Not everyone gets that kind of Mom. My tears are not far away, but I'm not breaking down like a pathetic little kid in front of these strangers.

"My condolences." Tall's voice loses its original sharpness. "It must've been hard on you. May I ask what happened to him?"

"Colon cancer." Marguerite tightens her grip on my shoulder. I perform my shove-your-feelings-in-the-closet-and-shut-the door maneuver. My chest is empty, my mind is devoid of emotion. This is my standard response to life's difficulties, not the cryfest after Xavier's breakup. "He died three months after his diagnosis." I lean forward and let Marguerite's hand slide off me. I put a forkful of salad into my mouth and go on to chewing it.

"You've never mentioned this." Ben's the first to speak up. "I didn't know. I mean, I wish I knew." After all, we don't know each other that well, Ben and I. He puts his fork down and covers my hand with his; his fingers extra careful as if I'm fragile.

"So, you are the only child?" Tall continues his questioning. His steel eyes assess my every reaction.

"Actually, I have two half-brothers. Sebastian is five, and Michel is seven.: Dozens of photos of their blond heads on the beach or in the backyard sit on my phone thanks to Mom's daily texts. "They live with my mother and her new husband in France." I meet his eyes and raise my chin in a silent dare, the olive branch forgotten.

"I didn't know that either." Ben's quiet concerned voice says to my right. "I didn't think that you were alone here." He squeezes my hand a little harder.

All the squeezing in their family is getting to be too much. The walls of the large kitchen close in: pity, judgment and confusion in their eyes leave imprints on my skin.

"I'm not...alone." I need to breathe, and they are not letting me. The heaviness in the air is stifling. I push their emotions away from me. "I have school, and work, and Angie, and Ben."

"Ben?" Tall hurls the name at me. "So, when you need help, you notice Ben. But when he needed it you conveniently forgot about him? Where were you when he was at the hospital?"

Hospital? My eyebrows hurt from frowning. The time Ben didn't show up at the store? But I didn't have his number then. I couldn't have known about it. I look at Ben, then at Tall, then at Ben again. What is he accusing me of? Something's not adding up. What the hell is he talking about?

"I have already asked you to drop it," says Ben. A muscle ticks in his jaw and his hand abandons mine to start up the rhythmic open and close pattern I'm familiar with. Ben's stressed and I'm there with him.

Tall pretends not to hear Ben. "Or should we talk about why he ended up at the hospital?" He throws questions my way and I have no response. I don't know what he's talking about. "Or do you have explanations for the reasons behind his stupid fight?" The words out of Tall's mouth are making less sense. I search the faces around the table for a potential clue and find none.

"What fight, Tall?" I'm back looking at him.

"This isn't the time or the place," Marguerite puts her manicured hand on Tall's forearm. "You are making this into a much bigger deal than it is." Her stern schoolteacher voice doesn't affect Tall in the slightest.

He points his knife at me, brown butter sauce drips on the snow-white linen of the placemat as he shakes it. "You're either not very bright or pathologically selfish. Like you don't know Ben is into you?" Tall shakes his head like he's seen a puppy make a mess on the white rug. "I thought he would stop following you like a lovesick puppy, but no, you go and start paying attention to him after the fight with Xavier. Kept stringing him along. Messed up his perfectly good chance with Linda."

Xavier? How does Tall know that name? Did I hallucinate hearing my ex's name? Is there a different Xavier Tall's talking about? What a weird coincidence. I didn't think it's such a popular name. It can't be my ex.

"What are you talking about?" I stare wide-eyed at Tall. His face slackens. He blinks a couple of times and searches my face to make sure I'm not lying. He narrows his eyes and turns to Marguerite. "Do you know what he's talking about?" I pivot toward her as well.

"How could she not know about the fight?" Tall asks Marguerite.

Nice one, Tall. Talking about me in the third person as if I'm not across the table from you.

"All those injuries, bruises on his face, she must've known." He lowers his head, puts a hand on his chest, and rubs it, as if it hurts.

I turn to the all-too-silent Ben and address my question to him. "Would somebody tell me what the heck is going on? What fight?"