Page 94 of Ice Ice Maybe
“Nolan,” she whispered urgently, “we need a game plan. I can’t keep this up. My napkin’s about to apply for statehood.”
I patted her shoulder. “You’ve got this, champ. I believe in you.”
Zena’s eyes widened in disbelief. “You’re not going to help me? They’re your parents. I beg you to spare me of this torture. I won’t make it alone, I swear.”
“Sorry,” I grimaced, “every man for himself.”
“You’re going to be the only man for your lonely self if you continue to abandon me in my hour of need,” she said. “This is not good sportsmanship.”
“Go! Save yourself!” I whispered urgently.
Back at the table, both of us eyed our plates with dread. Suddenly, Zena piped up, “Oh, Mrs. Reid, could I trouble you for some water?”
She was up to something.
I could feel it.
“Of course, dear!” Mom said, getting up from her seat. “And no need to be so formal. Call me Vivian.”
The moment Mom’s back was turned, Zena sprang into action with the speed of a ninja. In one fluid motion, she scooped up two Spam rolls from her plate and deposited them onto my plate. I sat there, mouth agape, unable to believe the betrayal I’d witnessed.
There was no way I was going to let her get away with that. Launching my counterattack, I grabbed the two rolls Zena had so graciously “gifted” me and returned them to the main platter. But I wasn’t done yet. In one smooth motion, I plucked not two, but four more of my rolls, and landed them squarely on Zena’s plate.
Her eyes widened with shock, but without missing a beat, she grabbed six rolls and, with the dexterity of a Vegas card dealer, slid them onto my plate.
But the games were just getting started …
Our hands moved with the frenzied energy of caffeinated monkeys, rolls flying back and forth between our plates in a dizzying dance. It was as if we were playing speed chess with atimer, but instead of knights and pawns, our pieces were fake-meat rolls oozing with sauerkraut, and the stakes were our digestive systems. This was a matter of life and death.
Dad, clearly entertained by our food-shuffling circus, suddenly launched into an exaggerated coughing fit as Mom turned back to the table. Having swapped Zena’s plate with mine, I was caught with my hands hovering mid-air like a poorly coordinated mime.
Mom set a glass of water in front of Zena, then beamed at our plates. “My goodness, you two sure have healthy appetites! Let me get you some more.”
“No!” I yelped. “I mean, I’m full.”
Zena nodded vigorously. “Me too. They are surprisingly filling and I want to have room for dessert.”
Fortunately, Mom seemed to accept our answer with no suspicion, and our conversation shifted to hockey. Zena and I had survived the culinary disaster, our relationship stronger for having faced this trial together.
“Thank you so much for taking the time to prepare all this,” Zena said.
“It was my pleasure, sweetie,” Mom beamed, clearly pleased as she cleared the plates, then brought out the frozen custard for dessert.
I could see the glint in Dad’s eye and knew what was coming. His infamous twenty-question routine was about to begin, something he always did when he met someone for the first time. Considering his lips had been sealed earlier, there was no way I could stop him now.
“So, Zena—I have a few questions for you, if you don’t mind,” Dad said, spoon poised over his custard.
Here we go …
“Go for it,” she enthusiastically said, sitting forward in her seat.
“What is the most embarrassing thing that has happened to you?” Dad asked.
Zena looked surprised by the question, but after a few seconds, she offered him a grimace. “That’s easy. It happened last week when Nolan and I walked in on my parents as they were, well, let’s just say they were engaged in a physical activity sans their clothes.”
Mom chuckled. “Oh, honey, nudity is completely natural. Nothing to be embarrassed about, no matter what age.”
I smirked. “Trust me, Mom, there was nothing natural about the position they were in. I’m surprised Mr. Dalton is so flexible for being such a big man.”
