Page 80 of Under the Ink

Looking at Naomi, he said, “You don’t like wine, right?”

Wow. Had she told him that? Had he actually remembered or just guessed, based on her weird tastes? “Not a fan. I mean…it can do the job, but…”

“Yeah, not my thing, either.” As he started walking toward the kitchen, he said, “What else you got to drink?”

Left alone in the dining room, Naomi felt awkward again—but relieved at the same time. Any possible flair she might have possessed for family dynamics had died on the vine long ago. And it wasn’t just relating to her own family. She’d had the same painful experiences with Ginny’s clan when she’d spend the night or hang out in high school, even worse during the small stint when she’d crashed there.

It was hard to be in an environment that purported to embrace belonging when you were clearly an outsider.

So, rather than gaze upon the beautiful table, Naomi moved over to the big picture window looking out over an expansive redwood deck, followed by a green and flowery backyard. In one corner there was a humongous bush that looked like it could be lilacs, but she couldn’t be certain and there in the other corner stood a giant tree shading a fair amount of the lawn. All along the tall wooden fence were various flowers in a rainbow of colors and, even though Naomi felt a little out of her element here, she could appreciate the beauty of nature—even if it was manicured. Beyond the fence, beyond the treetops she knew the mountainside nestling this small town stood proudly, still bathed in summer light that would be fading to dark in the next hour or so. But she couldn’t see it here. She’d been looking at it from her bedroom window upstairs and so she could still view it in her mind’s eye.

Sage’s dad reentered the dining room with a big platter of fried chicken, followed by his mom with a large bowl of mashed potatoes. Already there was so much food that Naomi doubted they could eat it all. Before they headed back to the kitchen, Sage appeared with a bottle of white wine that he set on one end of the table. To Naomi, he said, “There’s beer. I know you’re not a fan, but there’s also sweet tea and lemonade and…I think that’s it? There might be a couple of cans of Coke in the fridge, too. I didn’t do a lot of digging.”

“What are you going to have?”

“Not sure.”

Meaning she had to give him answer. “Um…lemonade, I guess. Do you need me to come get it?”

“Nope.” The wink he gave her was adorable, helping ease her nerves a bit. “Be right back.”

As soon as he left, his parents were right back in the room with lots more food: gravy, a beautiful salad as colorful as their backyard, a bowlful of rolls that looked like they were homemade, and buttery mixed vegetables.

“What else?” his dad asked.

“I think that’s it. Naomi, we’ve got ranch and a balsamic vinaigrette on the table. We have other dressings in the kitchen if you’d prefer.”

“No. That’s fine. Thank you.”

“Sit wherever you’d like.”

Another awkward moment, not knowing where people’s usual spots were. Relying on the memory of her own family’s dining habits when she’d been a kid, she moved toward the seat in front of the picture window—immediately regretting it after putting her hands on the chair. Because, had she satacrossfrom there, she could have at least gotten lost in the view of the backyard.

Now she would have to engage.

But she didn’t want the awkwardness of changing her mind.

Soon, Sage came back into the room with two glasses of lemonade and his mom said, “Let’s eat.”

One thing Naomi felt better about was that she’d chosen an acceptable spot—because, just like her family, Sage’s father sat at one end and his mother at the other. Naomi expected Sage to sit across from her, taking the side she thoughtsheshould have, but he instead chose the chair next to her and placed both glasses of lemonade above the placemats. Reaching across the table, he grabbed the plate and utensils and set them by his glass.

He had no idea how his presence calmed her quivery insides, but she was so glad he was there.

When his parents sat down, Naomi felt another slight shock but realized that they might do a meal prayer seated instead of standing.

Or, as she discovered moments later, not at all.

Well, to be fair, Sage had said they weren’t totally religious, but she’d gotten the impression that they might be just a little. And something ugly, rooted in childhood, reared its repulsive head for just a second, that old judgmental holiness that had been in the atmosphere of her church, the notion that only the people who did things right were the ones who would be saved. Praying constantly, going to worship services faithfully, and other rules that made people in that congregation feel superior. After all, they believed they were the only ones who’d be saved come Judgment Day.

Naomi couldn’t care less if his family prayed before eating. In fact, she actually appreciated that they didn’t—but that shit was bubbling inside of her and she couldn’t figure out why.

Soon, all the various dishes were making their way around the table in a counterclockwise fashion, and Naomi took a little of everything and put it on her plate. Although Sage had said his mother was a good cook, she couldn’t be sure if she’d like it until she tried it—and she didn’t want to leave a lot of food untouched.

“Sure you two don’t want any wine?”

“Yeah,” Sage said for both of them—and Naomi was okay with his speaking for her.

When she started looking around the table for the salad dressing—and thought some of getting up and grabbing it from the far end where his mother sat—she knew it would be rude. When his dad said, “Pass me the butter, please,” she knew that would be the easiest, best way to do it.

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