Page 44 of Absorbed

“I’m glad you like it. Cooking became a hobby of mine after…my wife died.”

Stacey’s eyes grew wide. “I’m so sorry,” she said, covering her full mouth.

Greg made a small wave with his hand in a practiced way. “It’s been… a few years now. MS. I’m glad her suffering is over.”

Stacey’s mom flared her nostrils like this was exactly the topic she hoped wouldn’t come up over dinner. She washed down her bite with a sip of wine.

They sat chewing through what felt like the longest smooth jazz clarinet riff in the history of music. Finally, Greg said, “You know, Stacey, I have two daughters of my own. They also went to Mesa Valley High. Melody and Melissa.”

Stacey froze mid-chew.No, no, no, no, no.

“They’re older than you, though,” he said.

Staring at Greg out of the corner of her eye, Stacey willed him to supply more details quickly, before she choked. She took in his dark hair. His chiseled features. It definitely could be a match.

“Melody recently graduated from Oregon State. And Melissa…,” Greg said. Stacey held her breath as he stopped to take a bite. “Melissa is in her third year of college in Colorado.”

Thank God.Stacey swallowed her bite without finishing chewing and the large lump slid slowly down her throat. She exhaled her relief, then gulped her water.

“Melody’s a cool name,” Stacey said, feigning interest. “You must like music.”

Greg shrugged. “I play a little bass. Used to pick up gigs here and there before…” He let his words trail off.

Stacey assumed Greg was trying to avoid broaching the off-limits topic for a second time, and she let it drop, avoiding anything more complicated.

He smiled and looked up at her. “Do you play an instrument?”

“No. But I like to go to ska shows.” Stacey put the last bite of food in her mouth and set her fork upside down on her plate.

“Stacey’s an artist,” her mom said.

“I’m really not, Mom.” Stacey wiped her mouth and shook her head.

“I saw the aurora borealis on the fridge,” Greg said. He wiped his mouth and nodded in the direction of the refrigerator. “Your mom said you painted that a couple of weeks ago?”

Stacey was embarrassed her mom had put her work on the fridge with magnets, as if she was in kindergarten. Before tonight, she felt certain no one would see it. She eyed the opposite corner of the ceiling. “It was a lesson with my old art teacher. No big deal.”

“You won first place in that art show,” her mom said.

“That was a fluke.” Stacey tucked the napkin beneath her plate.

Greg raised his eyebrows and grinned, watching the volley of words pass between them.

“It’s beautiful, Greg. She’s hiding it in the back of the coat closet.” She set her fork and knife on the placemat on either side of her plate and thumbed over her shoulder in a half-hearted attempt to offer. “I can grab it.”

“Don’t you dare.” Stacey’s warning came out too harsh. She added a gentle, “Please,” to soften the blow, pleading with her mom, widening her eyes.

“Okayyy.” Her mom put both hands up in surrender.

Stacey pushed her chair back. “I think I’m gonna finish getting ready, if that’s okay?”

Her mom nodded, refilling her glass.

“Thank you for dinner, Greg,” Stacey said. “It really was delicious. And nice to meet you.”

“You too, Stacey,” he said, setting his fork upside down on his plate the same way Stacey had. He looked her in the eyes. “I hope we can do this again soon. You can help clean up next time, but if you don’t mind taking those to the sink, I’d appreciate it.”

She nodded and set her dishes and silverware in a small pile beside the sink. She was curious how long her mom had dated Greg. He felt both familiar and authoritative in their home already. It was disarming.

---