Page 90 of One Night

Owen bursts out laughing. "Wasn't me!" he yells.

"Dad," my dad says to his father. "Maybe you should excuse yourself."

"Why?" He smiles at Owen. "I can't help it if your damn chairs make noise."

Looking over at Amber, I can tell she's doing all she can to keep from laughing.

I lean over and whisper in her ear, "Sorry. My family's nuts."

"Well," my mother stands up, "would anyone like more coffee?"

"I'll have some," my dad says.

"I'm fine," Amber says. "By the way, I love your centerpiece. Did you make it?"

"Yes, I made it last weekend."

"It's really beautiful. I like how you mixed the leaves with the mini pumpkins."

My mom's beaming. Her centerpiece, the crowning glory of her meal, has been recognized and appreciated by an outsider. This will make her day.

I can tell my mom likes Amber. My dad does too. They were smiling at her all through dinner and kept asking her questions. Then they'd smile at me, as if letting me know they approve. I don't need their approval but it's good to know they like her. Because I more than like her. I could see a real future with her.

Chapter Nineteen

Amber

This is how Thanksgiving should be. No parents screaming at each other. Just a family sitting around a table having a normal conversation. I haven't had a Thanksgiving like that since I was twelve. After that, my parents started bickering which eventually became what is now full blown fights, not just at Thanksgiving, but all the time.

All week I worried about coming to Dylan's house but it turned out to be good. I got a real turkey dinner, didn't have to sit in my apartment all alone, and was able to see a different side of Dylan. Unlike me, who would be a nervous wreck if he were around my family, Dylan's been completely relaxed, even when his brother made fart noises, which was hilarious, not just the noises themselves but the fact that no one reacted. And then when Gramps let one rip? They still didn't react. But I had tears in my eyes trying to hold back my laughter. Dylan's grandpa is too old to care about what anyone thinks so he just does whatever he wants.

"So, Amber, do you have any activities outside of class?" Dylan's dad asks as his mom refills his coffee.

Dylan chuckles. "We'll be here all day."

I explain. "I belong to a lot of clubs and organizations on campus. I also work at a restaurant, usually just one day a week. And I volunteer to read to kids. Well, just one. Her name is Emily. I go to her school every Monday."

Dylan's mom sets the coffee pot down. "Does she have trouble reading? Is that why she's part of this program?"

"Yes. She's in second grade but has trouble reading even simple words."

"Has she been tested for a learning disability?"

"I assume she has but I don't really know."

"If she hasn't, they need to test her. Her mother needs to tell them to. When Dylan was struggling, I had to push the school system to test him."

I look at Dylan. "You had problems reading?"

"I'm dyslexic," he says casually. "I thought I told you that."

"No. I didn't know."

"When he was first learning to read," his mom explains, "he used to get so frustrated that I knew something was wrong. Once he was diagnosed, his teachers were able to adapt their teaching methods, and things went a lot better after that. He had to work harder than the other children at school, but he did, and ended up getting mostly A's."

"Wow, that's great," I say to Dylan.

"Where's my pie?" Gramps barks from the end of the table, wiping his face with the napkin.

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