21⎜The Lunch

           “We’re going back home.”

           “I thought we were stayin’ here, babe?”

           “No, we’re going home. I am not missin’ a holiday this substantial!”

           “What about you, Scotty? What’re your plans?”

           “Eh. Probably stay out here.”

           “Do you want to come over my house? You’re family and Eli loves you.”

           “Uh, who’s Eli?” I finally elected to speak, breaking the dialogue of the four intertwined friends with a question that must’ve seemed trivial to them.

           “My dad,” Ari answered with a soft smile, prodding her food with a metal fork. Scott’s eyes were glued to her plate, for he had already devoured all that he had ordered. In one swift motion, he snatched the fork from her fingers and then stabbed the remainder of Ari’s chicken breast, bringing it up to his mouth and taking a large bite.

           “Scott! Where’re your table manners?” Kay Rodgers gasped, covering her mouth with her hands for added effect.

           “Sorry,” he mumbled, in the midst of digesting a mouthful of poultry. “Oh, and you’re right, Ira—Eli does love me. I’m his favorite. Hell, I’m everyone’s favorite!”

           A small smirk played at Ari’s lips as she said a quiet yet audible, “That’s debatable,” to the Pennsylvania native.

           “Yeah, you’re sure as hell not my favorite!” Houston laughed, slapping his best friend on the back with a gleeful grin and too much force.

           “That hurts,” Scott pouted, pointing to his chest as he went on to say, “right in the heart…and on the back.”

           Completely ignoring Scott’s antics, Kay turned to me and gave me one of her best monogrammed smiles. “So, Eric,” she began in that sugar-drenched tone of hers, “where are you going for Thanksgiving?”

           I processed the question for a moment, though it had been the topic of discussion for the past few minutes at the table. As it turned out, Thanksgiving was actually considered a “real” holiday around here, unlike Halloween. Unlike back home, everything didn’t get decorated to the max with orange and black and green and purple and pumpkins and spiders and ghosts when the thirty-first of October hit. It was just a minimal time on the Stanford campus, and I had basically just slept through it, even if I had been invited to party at the frat. As for the current inquiry at hand regarding the nationally acknowledged day about turkey and pilgrims, well, everyone else had a perfectly legitimate answer, and then there was me. Boring, average, and lame. “Well, I was either going to stay on campus or Seth asked if I wanted to spend the weekend at his house…”

           “Seth? Sweetie, no. You are not spending Thanksgiving at Seth Newman’s house,” Kay retorted, frantically shaking her head in a way so that her blonde waves moved concurrently.

           “My parents are going to be out of town, so I don’t really feel like going back to New York,” I said. It was the truth, though an abridged version. Technically, my parents were actually going out of town, and in the next town over to my grandparents’ house, and technically I didn’t really feel like going back home, though that was because New York didn’t feel like home to me anymore. My friends were away and not speaking to me. I felt like a stranger in the town in which I had grown up. My life wasn’t there anymore. I couldn’t go back.

           “I would ask if you wanted to come with Houston and me, but I feel like we’d scare you away if you met our families, and I can’t possibly ask you to buy a plane ticket so late,” she articulated in a remorseful tone, and knowing Kay, the offer spouted from a place of sincerity. It wasn’t just a throwaway thing that she had said, but she was genuinely regretful about not being able to invite me to her southern home for Thanksgiving.

           “It’s fine, Kay,” I tried to assure her.

           “No, it’s not!” she protested. “No one should be alone on Thanksgiving, or worse—stuck with Seth Newman!”

           “Really, Kay, I’ll be fine,” I reiterated the concept that I would be all-good, once again. I was a big boy—I was Eric Wilson. Handling a bit of solitude was something that not only I could handle, but also relished.

           “Ari!” Kay suddenly exclaimed, her blue eyes connecting with those dark chocolate ones filled with obscurity that happened to belong to her female counterpart. The two had a silent conversation just through the slight variations of their facial expressions and irises. Ari appeared to look perturbed, while Kay wasn’t giving up on whatever notion she was now forcing upon her best friend. The noiseless disagreement concluded with a peeved sigh from Ari and a triumphant grin from Kay. With a single word in the form of a command, it was over, and Ari had lost: “Ask.”

           The losing party then glanced over to me and gulped. I caught her eyes with mine for a brief glimmer of a second, but then she looked away. “Uh, Eric,” she began, clearly saying the words against her will, “do you, um, want to come with Scott and me to my dad’s place for Thanksgiving?”

           With shocked eyes and a gaped mouth, all I could do was shake my head slowly. “I couldn’t impose on a family affair,” I said as politely as I could. It wasn’t that I necessarily didn’t want to meet Ari’s dad and learn more about her than the little that I knew, but more a case of infringement. Initially, it hadn’t been Ari’s idea for me to spend Thanksgiving with her family—it had been Kay’s. Besides, if it was going to be just Scott, Ari, and me, then I didn’t really feel like being a third wheel. That was never fun.

           “You wouldn’t be,” Kay quickly said. “Eric, you’ll have fun! Eli is great and Scott’ll be there!”

           I shifted my vision over to Houston, hoping that he could dissuade his girlfriend in a way and make her potent attitude evaporate. He shot me a weak grin and shrugged. “Eli is awesome,” were the words of wisdom that he gave me.

           “He’ll like you, Eric,” Ari then said, showing the first sign that she wasn’t completely opposed to the idea of me crashing her Thanksgiving. “You were the varsity quarterback and then quit on your own for a real reason before an injury could make you quit. He’ll respect that, and I can’t possibly imagine that any parent would ever dislike you.”

           “You’d be surprised,” I said, keeping a straight face. Kay shot me a look of sheer astonishment, and I laughed. “I’m kidding.”

           “Sometimes you can be pretty cocky, you know that, kid?” Houston joined in on my display of amusement.

           “Yeah, I know,” I grinned. “But have you seen my face? It makes up for the cockiness.” Obviously, I was joking. Kind of. My face was pretty great. Well, more than great. It was as if G-d had chiseled it out of marble and then added a touch of perfection to the mix. But actually, my face was freaking perfect.

           “That it does,” Ari mumbled with a small smirk. I smirked back. She smiled.

           “So, are you joining us for Thanksgiving with Eli or what?” Scott sighed, averting the conversation in his immediate direction.

           I looked over to Ari, wondering what she wanted. She gazed down, her contemplation fixed on a white napkin on the tip of Houston’s plate. Not bothering to look up, she uttered a simple, “Yeah, he is,” and that was that. Apparently, I was now going over to Ari Remon’s for Thanksgiving. Well, that had definitely been an interesting turn of events.

           “Speakin’ of Eric,” Houston said with a wide smile on his face, staring directly at me, “what’s the frat verdict?”

           “Yeah, Eric, are you joining or what?” Scott prompted.

           Kay was next to continue the train of asking. “It’s a great opportunity. You should really join. Are you, Eric?”

           Ari was the only one not to speak. She was still concentrating on the napkin, while simultaneously tracing the edge of Houston’s hands. He seemed to be unfazed by the action with the rest of the table, excluding myself. It seemed like such an intimate act. To trace one’s hand. With Ari, though, it was just casual—like a greeting or smile. It was an odd habit of hers that I had watched many times, though had never been the victim of the actual tracing.

           After a pregnant pause was added to the air, I finally gave my much-anticipated answer, though I had known it deep inside since the second I had been asked to join. “No,” I uttered in resolute, “sorry.” I then proceeded to give the most BS explanation that had probably ever come out of my mouth: “There’s just a lot going on with freshman year, and I just don’t think it’s the right time for me. I still think you two are chill, I’m just not interested in joining any frat or student-run organizations right now.”

           In reality, there was so much more to it. There was the conformity of it all. I liked being Eric, not “Eric Wilson—quarterback linked to a team.” If I were to join the frat then I would be “Eric Wilson—frat guy linked to a fraternity.” I wasn’t ready to return to that type of life, and was fine living as just Eric. No Wilson attached. Though Ari held the mentality that I would always be a first name and last name type of guy, I didn’t. I liked being Eric minus the Wilson. It was nice.

           Also, the whole incident with Grant didn’t exactly help me sleep better at night. I didn’t like the looming fear of walking into the frat house and having my nostrils being bombarded with the smell of weed. An environment where drugs were accepted wasn’t a place that I wanted to be. Relapsing wasn’t exactly in my plan, so eliminating the plausible threat of the frat and having interactions with drugs would be vital in achieving that.

           And then there was the whole aspect of the category entitled “What Eric Wilson Actually Wanted,” in which joining the frat was a nonexistent notion. I just didn’t want to join. Sure, I was being antisocial and acting as the loner that I internally always thought that I was throughout high school (despite always seeming to be surrounded by supposed friends), but I didn’t care. For probably the fourth or fifth monumental-esc time in my life, I was actually taking a stand and saying no. I had said no when it came to drugs, and soon after football. Now, I was saying no to the frat, because I just didn’t want to be a part of it.

           “It’s because of Grant, isn’t it?” Scott declared with a shake of his head.

           “Don’t just assume that it’s because of Grant! What did that poor boy ever do to you?” Kay interjected with a lash of chastisement.

           “Firstly, he is definitely not poor, and he makes damn sure that everyone knows it,” Scott began in a tone that sounded as though he had more to say, not just the simple sentence. “Secondly, it doesn’t matter what he did or didn’t do to me—he’s a douche bag and I hate him!”

           “He’s so sweet, though!” the blonde objected.

           “I wouldn’t go that far, babe,” Houston said with a snort.

           “Ari, tell them that Grant is just wonderful, so that we can resolve this once and for all!” Kay commanded, turning to her best friend for support. Unfortunately for Kay, she had already used up her metaphorical persuasion points when it came to Ari. I had a strong suspicion that Ari wasn’t exactly going to be the most encouraging BFF at the immediate moment.

           “Why lie?” was all Ari said, though her words spoke volumes. Ari had a general reputation for being truthful and didn’t get caught up with cattiness. She was real. Her words meant something.

           “So it’s settled!” Scott proclaimed. “Grant is a tool bag!”

           “We already knew that,” Ari whispered, sounding as though rain was merely pitter-pattering on a hard surface.

           “Up top, Ira!” the lacrosse player laughed, holding his hand out to the dark-haired girl. She complied with his request, performing the high-five with grace and a flicker of a smile on her face.

           “Whatever,” Kay muttered, irritated that she hadn’t been proven right, “it wasn’t Grant’s fault. Isn’t that right, Eric?”

           “Uh, well, it was kind of his fault,” I said in a quick breath. Kay blinked. And then blinked again, refocusing her vision on Houston. She then let out a stream of air, and pursed her lips.

           “New subject!” Houston helpfully suggested, sensing that things weren’t going his girlfriend’s way and that that was an issue.

           “So, Ari, how are we getting to Eli’s condo?” Scott questioned, shifting the conversation drastically.

           “We’re walking,” the addressed party answered dryly. Scott didn’t laugh. I, on the other hand, cracked a small smirk.

           “No, but seriously,” he said with a roll of his eyes.

           “Y’all can take Elle, if y’all want,” Houston offered, though I wasn’t really sure who “Elle” was, and why we would need to take her—assuming Elle was of the female gender and all.

           “Who the frick is Elle?” Scott asked just what I had been thinking. Apparently, I wasn’t the only one who didn’t know who Elle was.

           “My truck,” Houston answered proudly, earning himself a long sigh from one Kay Rodgers. Vaguely, I could just barely recollect a time when Houston had introduced me to his car, Elle. It was when we went to the green to go golfing. That had been an interesting adventure.

           “Oh! Y’all can go on a road trip!” Kay suddenly cried in excitement. “Y’all would have so much fun!”

           “Kay, we’re driving about an hour away. It’s not a road trip. It’s an hour-long drive, which just happens to take place on the road and be a trip,” Ari expressed her personal opinion on the matter. “Houston, that’d be awesome if we could borrow, uh, Elle. Thanks.”

           “Course,” the southerner said with a goofy smile, “but just remember: hurt her, and I’ll hurt y’all.”

           “Sounds good, bro,” Scott muttered dismissively.

           “We’ll leave Tuesday?” Ari determined, looking from me to Scott for affirmation of her proposal.

           “Sounds good, bro,” Scott reiterated in the same indifferent manner.

           “Apathy doesn’t suit you,” Ari said to Scott in the simplest ways imaginable, but the words sounded so much more than they had probably been intended. She then looked over to me. “Does Tuesday work for you, Eric Wilson?”

           I nodded. “Indeed it does, Ari Pomegranate.”

           “Tuesday,” she mumbled.

           “Yeah, Ira. We get it. Tuesday. I’ll mark it on my calendar later,” Scott said with yet another revolution of his eyeballs.

           “Hi, uh, are you all, um, done, or should I come back?” a new individual was brought into the range of distinct voices. This particular person, however, wouldn’t remain a temporary constant in my life. She was just but a fleeting member, cast to play an extra in the masterpiece that was my life. Today, her sole role had been to serve the five of us food. Overall, she had done a pretty adequate job. She was clearly intimidated by a table with faces as gorgeous as mine…and Ari’s…and Kay’s, but tried desperately not to show it (unfortunately for her, she didn’t succeed).

           Like most waitresses, she had come over about two minutes following our deployment by the host. After taking a few minutes to process how attractive we (mostly me) were, she finally mustered up the correct words, asking what we’d like to drink. Scott said a beer. She didn’t bother carding him, though she probably should’ve, considering he was underage and it was pretty illegal to sell to a minor and all.

           Anyways, once she had brought us our drinks and then managed to only spill one (it was on Houston, so he didn’t make a big deal) and apologize profusely, she took our orders. It was an average place, so none of us ordered anything exceptionally fancy…except for Houston. Of all the things to get, he decided upon a steak. Long story shorter, it came out raw and he wasn’t exactly thrilled. The waitress had apparently written “raw” on her notepad when Houston specifically said “well-done” about five times, but otherwise, she had been pretty okay. Houston wasn’t happy with her, but the rest of us were just fine.

           The lunch was a pretty spontaneous thing. I was exiting a class when I ran into Kay, who said that she was probably meeting up with Houston later, and then we bumped into Scott who was with Ari, and somehow we ended up at some on-campus restaurant. Scott had picked the place, and within about three minutes into the meal, Kay informed him that he was never allowed to pick places to eat ever again (she had gotten a salad and didn’t particularly like it). Everyone except for Scott seconded her motion, and that was that.

           And now here we were. The waitress was returning to collect our cleared dishware, looking as frazzled as ever. I was pretty sure that she was a Stanford student, so we had to go easy on her, not completely slamming her blatantly awful service. Anyways, she was back and as Houston asked for the check between clenched teeth and his thick drawl, she just nodded, stacking some plates onto her arms as she disappeared once more.

           Scott and Kay had engaged in a conversation of some sort, and Houston had pulled out his phone, intently looking at something. Then I glanced over to Ari’s seat. She was mutely standing up, not saying a word as she placed a twenty on her section of the table. Before she left, our eyes briefly connected, but I couldn’t read a single emotion within them. She was blank and impassive. Then, she broke away from the eye contact and just walked away, as she had done so many times before. No one mentioned it when she didn’t bother to say a quick “bye,” they merely continued on with their lives, accepting that that was just Ari. Well, everyone except for me.

           I didn’t like that Ari just walked away without a parting greeting or even a wave. It confused me and just didn’t seem right. If she was doing it for the theatrics that was one thing, but I was pretty sure that she was just leaving because…well, I wasn’t actually sure why she was leaving. It was one of the many mysteries that encompassed the enigma that was Ari Remon. She didn’t do goodbyes, but I did.

           With a sigh as I thought back to Ari, I pulled out my wallet from my back pocket, extracting the same amount that Ari had left and put it in front of me on the table. The lunch had been an interesting one, but with the cast of people I had somehow befriended, that was to be expected. Though I had encountered new conversation and established with whom I would be spending Thanksgiving, the most intriguing thing to me was still the lack of goodbyes uttered by one Ari Remon.