Chapter Eleven and a Half: The Dinner of Doom

I lied in my bed, my hands resting on my stomach as I gazed up at the white ceiling, because I was a terribly boring person with nothing better to do. The impetus to do anything constructive or anything at all, really, had been extracted from my long list of desires. I was hungry, but too lazy to go downstairs and interact with my parents, so settled for the discontent of not eating. The verge of sleep was upon me, but I knew that dinner would be soon, so didn’t allow my eyelids to droop.

      Suddenly, the reverberation of the loud doorbell echoed throughout the house, followed by a short dispute between my parents of who would go to open the door. Using the fact that she was the one preparing the food and that she was a professional arguer to her advantage, my mother won, sending my dad to go greet whoever had announced their presence. In anticipation, I mentally counted down in my head, murmurs of voices coming from where I assumed to be the main entrance of the house in earshot. Then, I heard it.

      “Olivia Ross!” my dad bellowed, jolting me from my internal boredom and bed.

      “What?” I called back, already making my way out of my room and down the hallway of the family portrait graveyard.

      “There’s someone at the door for you!” he said as I could practically feel the frustration in his tone.

      “Be right there!” I returned in a smugly cheerful way. I reached the never-ending staircase, and my hand glided across the bannister as I jogged down it. When I reached the bottom, two individuals of the male gender were waiting for me, one looking calm and casual, while the other looked as though he was about to combust at any moment. Plastering on the most fake and jovial smile I could, I addressed my father first. “Hi, Daddy!”

      “Olivia,” he used my given name instead of a shorted variation to show that he was being serious, “as much as I love the fact that you’re expanding your limited friend pool by one, do you think that maybe you could give some notice before anyone shows up?”

      “Sure,” I said dismissively, acting as if I found nothing wrong in my behavior.

      “You do know we’re about to have dinner, right?” my dad questioned.

      “Yeah, I know,” I said, my stomach quietly grumbling to provide evidence.

      “So then why is he here?”

      “I invited him to dinner,” I shared innocently, “I hope that’s okay.”

      My dad let out a low sigh, and because he never wanted anyone—even a teenage boy dressed like a thug who he barely knew—to think that he was anything less than the perfect father, restrained acceptance started to make its way to his face. “Well, welcome to our home,” my father said to the boy.

      “Thanks,” Luke said, our eyes connecting for a split second.

      “Olivia, I’m going to, uh, inform your mother of our guest, but you two should head to the dining room,” my dad gulped.

      “Sounds good, Nick!” I said as he left the front area in a slightly frazzled state. A grin took my face as I watched him leave, and then I turned to Luke.

      “So, they didn’t know I was coming?” he assessed, his arms crossed.

      “Nope,” I shook my head.

      “I’m here to cause them stress, aren’t I?”

      “Yup.”

      He bit on the edge of his lip, as if he was deep in thought, processing everything that was occurring. “So you’re exploiting our newfound friendship?”

      “Whoever said we were friends?” I laughed.

      “Harry did, earlier today,” he reminded me, “and your dad just did.”

      “Huh,” I nodded. “So, I guess we’re friends.”

      “I guess so,” he agreed. “Is the reason I’m here due to a recent fight with your parents?”

      “Luke, I’ve been in a fight with my parents since the day I was born,” I told him honestly. “Now, are you ready to wreak some havoc or what?”

      “I suppose some havoc could be wreaked,” he shrugged casually as I turned from him, beginning my journey to the room elected for eating meals in unison.

      Knowing that Luke wasn’t far behind, I made my way into the dining room that was organized as usual. There was a large glass table in the center of the room, surrounded by six metal chairs with a hideous shade of red cushions—two chairs on two sides, and one chair each at either end. Place settings of silver and china were set at both ends and one in the middle, for there were only three of us, originally. Food was on the table, but my mom would actually murder anyone who dared to touch it before everyone was at the table. Regardless, I could still smell a savory and almost smoky scent that I would most likely enjoy consuming.

      I walked over to my given seat, and sat down. Luke glanced at me warily, probably feeling out of place. “I would say that you can sit next to me, but they’re probably going to make you sit across, because of the symmetry thing.”

      “Oh,” was what he said, ambling over to the seat directly parallel from mine, and sitting down. Neither of us talked after that, maybe because “oh” was a term prone to end discussions, or because I was a sucky conversationalist to begin with. Nonetheless, we remained silent for a good minute—I lost in my thoughts, Luke probably doing the same, only as he surveyed the overly ornate room.

      “Olivia,” my mom’s voice suddenly verbalized quite loudly and sharply.

      I twisted my head to the door behind the seat where she usually sat that led into the kitchen, offering up an angelic smile, as I had with my father. “Hey, Elle,” I said casually.

      “Would you like to introduce me to your guest?” she probed, though it wasn’t really a question. What she was really saying was rhetorical, and it was a command: “Introduce me to the boy you randomly decided to invite over.” That was how my mother operated—she dressed her speech up in so much B.S. and expected me to decode it, which I was fully capable of doing, I just didn’t like to. If she wanted me to introduce her to Luke, why not just say that instead of giving me the opportunity to say no, as I intended to do right now.

      I looked quizzically at the woman in her early forties, still dressed in her clothes designated for work: pumps, a fitted skirt of charcoal that came just below her knees, a flowing lavender blouse, and a jacket that matched her skirt. Her hair was tied back into a tight ponytail, not a single strand of her dark mane out of place. A light layer of makeup was applied to her face, aiding in the professional look she was trying to achieve. Well, she definitely looked put together—no surprise there.

      “Not really,” I finally elected to answer her question that wasn’t actually a question.

      I heard Luke let out a low sigh, and then witnessed him stand from where he once previously was, and walk over to my mother. “I’m Luke Daniels,” he said, sticking out his hand for her to shake, “it’s a pleasure to meet you once again, Mrs. Ross.”

      My mom glanced at the boy’s hand, and warily accepted it. “I’m sorry, but remind me again when we last met?”

      “It doesn’t matter,” he dismissed the incident, something of which I wasn’t completely favorable. If he had chosen to tell her that the first time that they met was when he was sent to meet Harry, I would’ve had no issue with that. My selfish goal of asking him over was to cause a slight case of chaos. Neglecting to mention a time when disciplinary actions were inflicted on him that coincided with mine wasn’t exactly beneficial to my plot. Nonetheless, he had still come dressed as normal, so that was a plus. I couldn’t really imagine my mother taking well to a boy who possessed a style sense like Luke Daniels.

      “Well, welcome to our home,” she gulped, her eyes visibly judging him as she looked him over.

      “Thank you,” he said, offering up a warm grin.

      “So,” Elle began, “how do you two know each other?”

      “School,” I bluntly said, not wanting to fabricate an overly elaborate story, or tell her the truth that he was pretty much stalking me.

      “I’ll take that as a cue that I’ll be receiving the real story later,” she said sternly. “Dinner should be ready shortly. Do you want to take off your jacket or anything?” She was referring to Luke’s signature article of leather apparel by the somewhat hospitable offer.

      “No, I’m fine,” Luke denied, “thank you, though.”

      My mother merely nodded, exiting from the room in a rush to probably conspire with my dad about their game plan for the evening. As the door shut with a light slam, I glanced at Luke, who appeared to be rather calm and unfazed about the past interaction that had just ensued with my mom. Normally, people either looked confused or drained after conversing with Elle Ross—unless they were Preston Kent.

      Preston and my mom were practically better friends than Preston and me. She had dubbed him her honorary son, and he thought she was cool—something unfathomable to me. They got along well, and were always talking. Whenever both Preston and Elle were in the same building, they always seemed to find each other and engage in the longest most boring and strange discussions known to mankind. It was “weird.”

      “So, that was Elle,” I said to Luke.

      “She seemed intense,” he assessed.

      “That’s because she is,” I confirmed his suspicion that my mother happened to be a rather extreme individual.

      “Is dinner going to be scarier than a police interrogation?” he questioned.

      “Much scarier.”

      “Sounds fun,” he remarked sarcastically.

      I didn’t say anything after that, for I had nothing to say, so watched as he sat back in his seat across from mine, still mesmerized by the room, which I didn’t fully understand. It wasn’t that interesting of a room, in my opinion. The floors were a deep wood, and the walls a neutral shade of muted royal blue. Aside from the dining room table and chairs that were stationed in the center, there wasn’t much other furniture. In the corner there was a glass and wood cabinet for fancy dishware worth more than a moderately priced car, and some wine turned on its side so that it looked ecstatically nice. Hanging overheard was a reasonably sized chandelier with crystals and glass that painted different patterns of light around the room. Overall, it was a pretty simple room.

      After a few minutes, both my parents shuffled in, my mom with a plate and silverware, while my dad remained bereft. Elle went over to where Luke was sitting, and set the objects down in front of him, a polite “thank you” being uttered by the teen. Then both Elle and Nick took their respective places, placing napkins in their laps, something I had yet to do.

      “Luke, welcome to our home, and I’m so glad that you could join us for this meal,” was how my mom commenced the Dinner of Doom.

      “Now she’s going to burst out into a prayer about thanking G-d and all that crap,” I joked, earning me a stern look from my dad that basically said, “Shut. Up.” Elle merely shook her head, and Luke looked confused.

      “We’re not actually religious,” Elle informed our guest.

      “Oh,” Luke said, probably not comprehending the height to which the statement held true.

      When it came to religion and beliefs, my parents had a very minimal outlook, as did I. We were neither Christian, Jewish, Muslim, Mormon, Buddhist, nor affiliated with any other faith-based group. Growing up, a rather apathetic approach was taken when I came home one day and asked the wonderful question of “What are we?” in regards to our religious orientation. My parents had answered something along the lines of “Nothing,” and that had been the end of the discussion. We didn’t do holidays like Christmas or Hanukah, and simply didn’t talk about it. Elle and Nick had been brought up relatively secular, so just pursued that even more when “raising” me. In summary, we didn’t “do” religion.

      “So, Luke, you two go to school together. I’m assuming that you’re a junior, too?” Elle said as I began to serve myself from the nutrients made by the speaker. Her husband also began to shovel food onto his plate, and I recognized that she had created salad, pasta, and a chicken dish of sorts for our ingestion.

      “No,” Luke said, taking a helping of the mixture of greens, “a senior, actually.”

      “Oh?” That seemed to pique her interest. “What colleges are you looking into? Nick and I both went to Harvard.”

      I had to cover my mouth to keep the food I had just stuffed into it from flying out as I stifled my laughing. Legitimately, she would bring Harvard up every chance she got. It was a bit ridiculous, so much so that every time she mentioned the “H Word” I would make an effort to point it out. Harvard. Sure, it was a great school, but it wasn’t the type of thing one needed to reference at every moment of every day. Total bull.

      Ignoring my subdued outburst, Luke returned her question in a way more perfect than I could have even imagined. “I’m not going to college.” I wanted to jump out of my chair and pump my fist in the air the response was so amazing. Alas, I wasn’t an overly tan cast member of the Jersey Shore, so I restricted myself as Luke went on to try and turn what he had said around, marginally. “I’m taking a gap year to maybe work a little and take a break from school. I’ve applied to places, but I don’t really want to go right now.”

      “Right,” my mother nodded diplomatically, but I could see the disapproval engraved into her face. “You’re from Boston?”

      “Yeah,” he nodded.

      “Sports fan?” Nick spoke for the first time, for he had already met Luke once and actually recalled the encounter.

      “Yeah, I guess,” Luke shrugged lightly.

      “Do you play anything?” was my father’s variation of my mom’s Harvard question. Though he went to the same elite institution to obtain his form of higher education like Elle, Nick wasn’t as showy about his degrees that had the words “Harvard University” printed on them. He went to the Harvard medical school, also, so he had two diplomas, like my mom, only she went to Harvard Law.

      Anyways, my dad did sports. He lived for anything athletic. To put it in simple terms, I didn’t. Sports weren’t my thing, and I despised them with a burning passion. Nick Ross was the type of guy who played football, tennis, lacrosse, baseball, basketball, and just about every other sport imaginable, and excelled to heights unimaginable to most humans. His preferred activity, however, was skiing.

      I had heard stories of his glory days when my dad—who wasn’t nearly in as good shape now—had been on a fast track to the Olympics. His skiing was just at such an advanced level. Now, when he was in his early forties or whatever, he still skied, but only on the weekends. Ski season started in late September if he was lucky, and ended in early April if the weather was permitting—only that was for those who were categorized as “ski enthusiasts,” like my dear father. For the “average” and occasional skier, late November to February was when the sport took place. Thankfully, at about age three my parents had both discovered that I was about as agile as a crippled sloth.

      Like my mother, whenever he could, he attempted to link events and people to sports. Though skiing was his favorite, football came in a close second, and then followed by baseball and basketball. He usually jumped straight to asking about the exercise that took place primarily in the winter and involved almost frozen precipitation referred to as snow, but sometimes he switched it up. Currently, I had a strong hunch that the word “skiing” was about to come up in the conversation/interrogation.

      “I used to be really into, like, hockey when I was younger, but I don’t play anymore,” Luke said slowly as I knew exactly what Nick’s response would be to do that.

      “Fake sport,” the mature adult father figure coughed into his elbow, but loud enough for me to hear, while neither Luke nor Elle probably had a clue as to what he had said.

      On Nick Ross’ roster of legitimate sports, hockey and a slew of others didn’t quite make the cutoff. Hockey, soccer, badminton, and a few more were stuck on Nick Ross’ Illegitimate Sports List. How those particular sports made it to the classification considered “fake” was beyond me, but my dad was persistent on believing them to be just “pretend.”

      “Ever been skiing?” Nick’s standard query surfaced as he tried to salvage a soul with it.

      “No,” Luke answered incorrectly, yet again.

      “Oh,” my dad said stoically.

      Everyone then became seriously interested in their meal, and didn’t speak for a while. Elle and Nick hadn’t obtained the responses that they had wanted, and I wasn’t entirely pleased that everyone was still acting so cautiously. I knew that I would be receiving a “stern” talking to once Luke’s presence was absent, but wasn’t fearful in the least. Chances were high that all that would occur would be me losing my phone (a device I rarely used) for a few days or something. While Elle and Nick were wonderful at the professions they did during the day, one thing that they sucked at was disciplining. I wasn’t affected by anything, thus leading them to be the worst chastisers of all time.

      After I had finished half of my food and Luke had completed his entire plate, so he was “awkwardly” sitting stiffly, I deemed it time to change tactics and locations. Abruptly, I stood from my seat and glanced around at all the eyes in the room that were now on me. Yeah, it was definitely time to get out.

      “Luke and I are going to go hang out in my room,” I declared, informing the other party involved, in addition to the two individuals who would soon be without us.

      “I know it’s a dumb question because you’re my daughter and I know you,” my mom began, and I wanted to correct her that no, she didn’t “know” me, but refrained from doing so, “but you two aren’t dating, are you?”

      Nick, who just at that moment decided to take a sip of his water, practically choked as I was about to answer, but Luke beat me to it. Standing up, he said in a voice that was almost charmingly complacent, “Not yet.”

      “We’re not dating, and never will,” I snapped firmly, shooting a glare at the bad boy wannabe.

      Considering that I was Olivia Ross, the “weird” girl who happened to be antisocial, my history of relationships was rather limited. It didn’t exceed the glorious number of two, and even then the “two” didn’t exactly qualify as “real” affiliations. In preschool, a boy—whose name I wanted to say started with an “R” but was probably something with an “F” or “G,” instead—had kissed me on the cheek randomly, sending me into a spiral of deep confusion and a brief stage of Mysophobia (or a fear of germs). Then, in kindergarten, my lips had lost their chastity and were kissed by Ben Something, who I went to school with for nine years, and then he moved away to Michigan, so didn’t have to suffer at THE Academy with the rest of us. In short, I didn’t date, wasn’t asked on dates, and certainly didn’t do the asking on dates. Relationships and dating weren’t my things.

      Luke just smirked at my little surge as I left the room in a huff. I had been planning on having a perfectly expressive and differential conversation with him, but if he was going to act like an ass, then that idea could be thrown out the window. As I huffed through my house, my mind wasn’t even focused on whether or not Luke Daniels was following behind me or not. Currently, I was either in the mood to not talk to anyone or take a nap. Thus, I intended to do just that.