Page 80 of The Second Kiss
“Oh. No. No thank you.” She literally covers the plate with her arms, as if Dad was going to try to sneak a rib onto it. She turns to Jacob. “Sweetheart, did you forget to tell them about my specific diet?” Her voice is still mock-sweet, but I catch the undercurrent of superiority and irritation in the way she says it.
Jacob flushes, “I’m sorry, I forgot. Laini doesn’t eat red meat.”
“Or white potatoes,” Laini picks up where he left off, her gaze moving across the table, taking in the mashed potatoes, Mom’s homemade rolls, corn on the cob, and the brownies I made for dessert, “or corn or gluten, any grains really, or sugar.” She’s basically eliminated everything on the table except for the herby, lemony salad she brought.
“It must be difficult to live with so many food allergies.” I can tell Mom is annoyed, but she's working to keep Laini from seeing it.
“No allergies. I’m just very particular about what I put in my body,” Laini says. She straightens her back and lifts her chin as if to show off the perfect body any normal food might defile.
“We can’t let you go hungry.” Dad has recovered enough to set the rib back on the platter.
She laughs, “Don’t worry about me. I don’t eat much. I don’t have space to put it away like some people do.” Her gaze lands on me. I fight to control the rising flush of anger and embarrassment that colors my cheeks. She turns her gaze back to Jacob. “I’m sure you’ve all seen how Jake eats. Yet somehow he manages to convert it all to muscle.” She sets her hand on his bicep possessively.
“Do you eat fish? I have salmon. It would just take a few minutes to cook it for you,” Dad says
She looks at Dad demurely. “I don’t want to be a bother. But I do love salmon. You said it was wild caught, right?”
“Caught it myself,” Dad is falling for her charms.
“That sounds absolutely heavenly. I’ll come out with you and I can show you how I like it cooked.” Laini slides herself back from the table and goes with Dad to retrieve the fish. Like the lapdog he’s become, Jacob follows her out. The rest of us sit around the table while the ribs, the potatoes, and everything else gets cold.
“Do we really have to wait?” Tyler says as he eyes the ribs hungrily.
“It wouldn’t be polite to eat without our guests,” Mom says.
“As if she’s been anything that resembles polite,” I say, not quite under my breath.
Mom gives me a look. “We can put the ribs in the oven to stay warm.”
“I’ll do it.” I stand and pick up the platter. I have to get out of the dining room and away from the open window and the sight and sound of Laini openly flirting with both my dad and Jacob.
I turn the oven on warm and shove the ribs inside. They’re perfect now, but I’m sure they’ll be bone dry by the time we actually get to eat them. I imagine eating the ribs—my fingers and lips coated in barbecue sauce–while Laini daintily picks at her salmon. I’m sure she’ll come up with some off-hand and yet biting comment about the way I eat.
“Perfect,” Laini finally declare after what seems like an eternity. She walks back in from the grill laughing at something my dad said. Jacob follows them, carrying her custom-made plate of salmon to the table.
I slip on a pair of oven mitts and pull the ribs out to carry them to the dining table. I’m being careful. I’m only distracted for a minute when Laini leans into Jacob’s neck as I pass by with the platter. Maybe that’s why I don’t notice that Tyler’s chair is pulled out a couple of extra inches or that the leg is just at the right angle for me to smack my shin into it.
I lose my balance. The platter tilts, just a fraction of a degree, just enough to drizzle hot, oily red barbecue sauce onto the leg of Laini’s stark white pants.
She screams and stands, nearly knocking the tray completely out of my hands. I manage to keep it steady.
“You little–” She faces me with pale, white-hot anger, holding the stained part of her pants away from her as if the barbecue sauce were acid, “They’re completely ruined! How could you be so clumsy, so absolutely, incredibly–"
“I’m so, so sorry,” I say, and I really am, mostly, even if it looks like I spilled the sauce on purpose. I set the platter down and reach for a napkin, attempting to sponge off some of the stain.
“Don’t touch me!” Laini jumps back. “Do you have any idea what these slacks cost?”
Jacob looks mortified at what I've done. My face is the same red as the barbecue sauce. “I’ll pay for them, I’ll–”
Mom stands up, desperate to get control of the situation. “Maybe if we get them soaking right now we can save them. Jess, go get Laini a pair of your pants to put on. Laini you can change in—”
“No. Her clothes would never fit me.” Laini’s words are clipped, angry, and insulting. She’s livid. “We’ll just go. I’ll see if I can salvage them when I get home.”
“I can replace the pants,” I’m trying not to cry. I’m embarrassed, frustrated, and furious at Laini for being the person she is; furious at Jacob for bringing her here and making me feel stupid and fat and clumsy and worthless in my own home. It's like this whole dinner has been orchestrated to humiliate me.
“No.” She takes a deep breath, slipping back into her mock-kind condescending tone. “You couldn’t possibly afford to replace them. And I wouldn't dream of asking you to. Jacob told me you’re trying to save money. For college right?” She smiles at me like she’s a queen pardoning the village idiot. “I’ve been meaning to treat myself to some new clothes anyway. Really, you’ve done me a favor.”
She turns back to the table. “Thank you so much for inviting me and for the extra time you took to cook the salmon, but under the circumstances, I think it would be better if we left.”
