Twenty Two

                                    

                                          
The day of the debutante ball rolls closer with dread, until I remember the arcade plans I made with Jeremiah. I'm excited, really. Now, whenever Jere isn't working, we hang out together. I attempt to verse him in his video games (he always beats me), we surf and swim, and Mom and Laurel even gave us the duty of making dinner together tonight.
I'm dicing a watermelon to add to my skewers of strawberries and kiwi while Jeremiah grills hotdogs outside. Once half the melon is chopped, I scrape it into my bowl of fruit. I grab a fist full of kabob sticks and head outside to join him. From a lawn chair I begin my pattern of stabbing first kiwi, watermelon, strawberry, and repeat.
"Dinner is gonna be mouthwatering," Jere sings, holding up an uncooked hotdog in a pair of tongs. His other hand is on his hip. He's wearing one of Mom's white and baby-blue striped aprons over his bare chest and swim trunks.
I laugh. "Like we've never eaten this before. Actually, didn't we eat hotdogs like four days—"
"Shh-"Jere puts a finger over his lips and lines a hotdog up on the grate. "Does it matter?"
"Nope," I answer, because I know that's what he wants to hear and because I know it's true. Only I would remember our supper schedules anyway. 
Mom and Laurel have been so busy doing their own things—talking upstairs in their bedrooms, going to bookstores for Laur's sake, and shopping for Mom's.
Conrad has still been just as distant, but things seem to have gotten slightly less awkward between him and Belly. The debutante meetings have gotten longer due to the approaching ball, and Conrad has been driving her there now instead of Jere. Partly because Jere doesn't want to bring her anymore, but also because he decided he wanted to work less hours for the rest of the summer.
When we go in to set the table, Conrad is sitting at the counter drinking a glass of water. "Need help?" he asks us.
"Why?" Jere asks back. His eyebrows bunch up a little and I know he's genuinely confused by Conrad's offer. 
I hand Conrad my bowl of fruit kabobs. "Sure!" I tell him, then worry I sounded too enthusiastic. Before I can add anything else, Jeremiah moves past us into the dining room.
"You don't get to share our credit for dinner, though," he says. 
Our dinner is just as good as Jeremiah and I anticipated. He winks at me and we high-five underneath the table. Laurel calls us talented chefs, but I notice Mom picking at her food uninterested.
"What do you think of it, Momma?" I question. I suddenly realize that she's my main critic and that my opinion of the meal solely depends on hers.
Mom grabs her napkin and dabs her lips, then bites a piece of strawberry before responding. "I taught you two well." She flashes Jere and I one of her famous grins, but I can tell it's tired. Forced. 
I smile weakly back and look at Jere, who's stabbing his hotdog with a fork. Even though it's already in a bun. He must sense me staring, because he drops his fork, lifts his head, and takes a bite.
"Thanks, Mom," he says. "We only learned from the best."
~
We're alone in the kitchen later, standing in front of a sink full of shiny, clean dishes.
"Do you think Mom really liked it?"
"Of course," Jere says, tossing the dish towel and cheering when it hangs over the facet like he intended. 
"What about Belly?"
"She probably didn't eat much because of the ball tomorrow."
"She's so skinny, she could eat and still fit in her dress perfectly. Me on the other hand..."
"Kris," Jere looks at me. "Stop, okay? Everyone liked it, didn't you hear Laurel? We're excellent chefs. And don't call yourself fat."
"I didn't," I respond quickly. I mean, I did, kinda, but who cares. I'm not dressing up tomorrow anyway. A tee shirt and shorts will be fine. And I'm embarrassed for bringing it up anyway. Especially after how quickly Jere seemed to dismiss it.
"Good." Jere straightens the towel and heads out of the kitchen. He looks over his shoulder at me. "I have to work tomorrow morning and I gotta make sure I'm rested for our arcade tourney tomorrow. 'Night Kristy."
"Good night, partner." He's facing away from me, already heading upstairs, but I picture him smiling at my joke anyway. 
I lean against the kitchen island, suddenly exhausted. Is it really that easy for one person to be off, and then suddenly everyone is? It used to always be Conrad, but it concerns me now that I often notice it to be my mom.
My mom who's always cheery, always funny,  always strong.
Nothing's ever forced. Nothing's ever wrong. Even when Dad's around, nothing's ever wrong enough to change my mom.
My heart skips a beat and my breath catches as I realize, there must be something really wrong with Mom.