Page 124 of College Town

“Not for the reunion. Andnot,” he stresses, turning to give her a serious look, “for me. This is all just…happenstance.”And a whole lot of illegal shit I can’t tell you about.

Mom sighs again. “I wish you wouldn’t sabotage your own happiness, Lawson.”

“And I wish you’d pass me the garlic, Mother Dear,” he says in a saccharine voice, and she elbows him when she hands over the bowl.

~*~

While Lawson was at work, Mom apparently tidied the dining room up for the occasion, which makes him realize that Tommy called ahead to tell her he was coming over. He didn’t callLawson. Not that itmatters…

They sit around the long, cherry wood table that hosted all of Lawson’s childhood Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners. Mom gets out the good china, and the crystal glasses, and moves the flowers Tommy brought to serve as centerpiece beneath the old brass chandelier, which is freshly dusted and polished. Lawson sends Mom a look, judging the unnecessary effort she went to, and she lifts her chin.I don’t know what you’re talking about.

For his part, Lawson quits thinking about it when Tommy takes his first bite of food and moans like he’s in a porno.

“Oh myGod.” His eyes roll back and everything.

Lawson pours himself an overlarge glass of wine and gives his libido a stern, silent talking to.

“I forgot how amazing these are,” Tommy continues. “Oh my God.”

Don’t say it, Lawson thinks, twirling spaghetti onto his fork.Do not say it.

“Thank you, sweetie,” Mom says, very pleased with herself, and her meal. “I remembered you always liked to spend the night when I made meatballs.”

Don’t say it, don’t say it, don’t…

Tommy heaps his fork with a fresh bite, a big chunk of meatball and trailing noodles. “Everything you make is delicious,” he says, the littleasskiss, “but, yeah, this is my favorite.”

Lawson can’t help it. He tried, okay?

“You always did love a good ball, huh?”

Tommy chokes.

Dad lets out one of his rusty, slow chuckles, his lopsided grin as wide as Lawson’s seen it in recent memory.

Mom says, “Boys.” Her brows are set at a stern slant, but her lips are twitching.

Tommy gets his breath back and takes a slug of wine. “Notboys,” he protests, “that was all him.”

“Pffft. ‘Oh my God, these meatballs,’” Lawson moans in an exaggerated mimicry.

Tommy kicks his foot under the table, but not hard. When he glances over, he sees that Tommy’s losing the battle to withhold a smile.

“Yeah, well,” he says, huffily. “They’regood.”

“Lawson did most of the work,” Mom says, and shoots Lawson a wink when Tommy’s not looking. Ugh.

“I know,” Tommy says, simply, and digs back in.

Lawson asks Mom about book club in a pointed change of subject, and she thankfully goes along with it. He worries, for a minute, that talk of books will get Tommy all fired up in cheerleader mode, but instead the conversation ebbs naturally to Dad, and to the stack of books he’s been wanting to share with someone so he can have a discussion buddy.

“Mom doesssssn’t. Like. Myssssster. Ies.” Dad’s mouth tweaks in annoyance at his own struggle, but no one jumps in to help him, something Mom and Lawson learned long ago frustrates him worse, and which Tommy seems to know innately not to do.

Tommy nods. “I’ve been looking for some new suspense novels. I don’t talk to many readers,” he laments, “and there’s so many on the market, I don’t ever know which ones to pick.”

Dad nods his understanding. “I have jussssst the onessss.”

“That’d be great.”

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