He praised my roast chicken. He asked about Diane’s bracelet. He remembered Thomas served in the Army because Emily had mentioned it once.
He made everyone feel heard.
Everyone except Emily.
“Emily, how’s the hospital application going?” I asked.
Caleb answered for her.
“She’s putting that on hold. She was burning herself out.”
I looked at my daughter.
“What do you think?”
Emily stared at her potatoes.
“He’s probably right.”
Probably.
My daughter once argued with a professor for forty minutes over one exam question. Probably was not an Emily word.
Then I asked about her best friend Madison.
“Madison’s chaotic,” Caleb said, still chewing. “Always pulling Emily into drama.”
Emily whispered, “She doesn’t.”
The table went quiet.
“What?” Caleb said, turning to her.
Emily swallowed.
“I said she doesn’t call much anymore.”
He smiled.
“That’s because you finally stopped letting everyone use you.”
Her hands disappeared under the table.
The first fork fell at 7:23.
Caleb laughed. “Apparently I’ve forgotten how silverware works.”
The second fell at 7:29.
His shoulder bumped her knee when he bent to get it.
She flinched so hard her water glass shook.
“Emily?” Diane asked.
“I’m fine.”
Too fast.
