Page 78 of How to Hide in Plain Sight
“How noble of you. Dad?”
“Oldest never goes first.”
She sighed. “Fine. Youngest first, then. Boose?”
The fillets bobbed about in the oil.
“Um.”
Caleb stepped in, as usual. Always the leader. “I’ll go first.”
The circle shifted.
“Taron Beck,” began our patriarch. “Taron Samuel Augustus Caesar Tasmanian Devil Beck.”
“Whoop,whoop!” cheered Wendy.
“He hasn’t even said anything yet,” said Karma.
I hadn’t considered the possibility that I might need to give a toast. I thought back to Karma’s wedding, tried to remember the rehearsal dinner, whether I’d spoken. Mostly I remembered sending ugly selfies to Manuel under the table. If Ihadspoken, surely it was no big deal. Surely I’d gone in with a memory or two on hand, gassed up, needy as always for the approval of everyone at the table.
Not this year. This year I had nothing.
“You okay?” whispered Manuel, laying one hand on my knee to keep it from bouncing. I looked down. I hadn’t noticed it start.
“Yeah,” I said, unable to take my eyes off his hand resting on my leg. “Yeah, fine.” I stood abruptly. “Gonna get some more champagne.”
I walked over to the cooler and fished out an unopened bottle. Propped it up on my hip and tried to twist off the cork. In the fryer, the trout crisped to a perfect gold. Clarence dipped in his slotted spoon and scooped out a few strips. Hot oil dripped to the ground. I started to refill my glass but stopped. Thought for a moment. Decided to take the entire bottle.
Caleb finished his toast, and Mom went next. Or tried to—before speaking even a word, she burst into tears.
Karma looked at me and rolled her eyes.
As we listened, freshly fried fish made its way around the circle. We each took a fillet. Mine was small and chubby, like a chicken nugget. Manuel’s looked like a lopsided map of Florida. We clinked them together like goblets. Our prizes. Deep-fried evidence of something wonderful. We both took hearty bites.
The toasts moved clockwise, just like the stories at birthday dinners. I knew I should think of what to say, but instead, Manuel and I pretended to make our fish fight like swords. It was ridiculous how wonderful it felt. How completely natural.
“So,” Karma asked Helene after she’d had enough champagne, “have we scared you off yet?”
Helene glanced at Taz and smiled. “Not at all.”
“Tell us,” Mom said, leaning forward. “What’s one thing we don’t know about you?”
“Oh. That’s easy,” she replied. “I can see spirits.”
The way she said it—there was no showmanship or embarrassment. No theatrics of revelation. She spoke as if she were reciting a trait as obvious and uninteresting as the color of her hair.
I perked up. “You do?”
“Sure,” she said.
Something fluttered in my stomach. “How long have you been able to see them?”
“For as long as I’ve had eyes, I guess.”
“What do they look like? Do they talk to you?”
“No, no. It’s not like that.”
