Chapter 35

I set a glass pitcher on the dining room table and double-checked the place settings. We’d moved a few chairs around to make space, and Dad had insisted we use the “nice” tablecloth, the one my mother usually saved for Easter. I was surprised he didn’t pull out the good plates, but I think there were limits to what Mom would allow.

The tablecloth looked odd next to the chipped everyday plates, but I wasn’t complaining. It wasn’t like Eduardo was going to really notice. At exactly six, the doorbell rang.

It was so exact I had to wonder if he’d been standing outside the door, waiting. I could hear my father coming down the hall, so I hurried from the kitchen to get there first.

Eduardo was in pressed slacks and a buttoned-down shirt, way overdressed considering my ratty blue jeans and t-shirt. He was holding some kind of plate with something covered by plastic wrap.

The poor guy looked nervous. Not ‘talking to Sarah for the first time’ nervous, but definitely uneasy.

“Hey man,” I said.

“Hey. Thanks for inviting me.”

I stepped aside so he could come in. “No problem. What’s that?”

“Mom made a flan for me to bring.”

“Ohh, that was really nice of her,” I said and led him toward the kitchen.

Dad was already in there, checking on the pot roast, the one thing he knew how to make.

“All done?”

“Yep, it’s looking good,” he said.

“Here, Eduardo’s mom sent this over for dessert,” I said, handing the plate over to him.

“Ohh, nice,” he said, taking it from me and sticking it in the fridge, then he turned to Eduardo and extended his hand. “And I assume you’re Eduardo.”

“Yes, Sir,” he said, shaking it.

It looked like a firm handshake. Good. Dad was always one of those ‘you can tell a lot about a person by their handshake’ kind of people.

“Good to have you here. I appreciate your family giving Blake so much of your time these last few months.”

“My parents are thrilled to have him. He’s done so much work around the house, I swear they would marry him if you’d allow it.”

“Really? Like, what has he been fixing?”

“All kinds of things. Fixed the back fence door, replaced the rotted eaves on the back of the house, even fixed the leaky faucet that’s been driving Mom crazy for forever. She was really impressed, although it’s got her on me ‘cause I never wanted to learn this stuff from my dad like he did from you.”

“Me?” Dad said, surprised. “Trust me, I’ve never been very handy and didn’t teach him any of that. Actually, where did you learn all of it?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. I read a few DIY books and the rest just ... made sense.”

That was as good of an explanation as I was going to be able to give him. It wasn’t like I was going to explain that I had almost thirty years of construction work under my belt, or at least the knowledge of it from my dream world.

I think Dad was getting suspicious though, putting this together with the gambling thing and starting to really wonder where I was coming up with all of this stuff.

At some point, I was going to have to come up with a better story than ‘trust me.’

“Well, that’s something,” he said after another beat. “Let’s sit down for dinner. I’m gonna get your mom. You get the pot roast out of the oven.”

“Sure,” I said and grabbed some oven mitts to pull it out. “Mom’s not feeling great, so Dad cooked and this is pretty much the only thing Dad can make. It’s not bad, though.”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

“Come on, don’t get all modest. I’ve had your mom’s cooking. Trust me, this is not going to live up to your mom’s cooking.”

“Hey, I resent that,” Dad said with a smile as he and Mom walked back into the kitchen.

“You haven’t had her cooking yet,” I said, spooning some of the food onto a plate and handing it to Eduardo to set on the table. “Wait till you try her flan. She is amazing.”

Mom gave me a look, but she’d never been much of a home cook either. We tended to eat boxed meals even before she got sick. Other than the occasional pot of spaghetti or Dad’s pot roast, I’m not sure we ever ate anything that could be considered ‘homemade.’

Although, to be fair, Dad’s pot roast was good. He’d also made some dehydrated mashed potatoes which would be okay after being mixed with the gravy from the pot roast.

“We’ll see,” he said as I prepared two more plates. “I’ll take over here. You go get your brother.”

It was all I could do to keep from rolling my eyes. The last thing I wanted to do was go and deal with that little psycho. Thankfully I was saved when he came thundering down the stairs all on his own.

He dropped into his normal chair, which didn’t have a plate in front of it, and then reached across and grabbed the one in front of my seat, the little shit.

As soon as it was in front of him, he dug his fork in and got a big scoop full, ready to shovel it into his mouth.

“Joshua! We haven’t said grace yet,” Mom said.

Josh frowned but dropped his fork on his plate and crossed his arms, making it very clear he wasn’t happy about it. I motioned for Eduardo to take the extra chair we’d put out and grabbed a new plate for myself.