Page 5 of Under the Boardwalk

“Oh shit. That sucks,” Beck says.

“What happened?” Harper gasps.

“Bastard just knocked into her, then left. Didn't even apologize. Dick move,” Charli replies.

“Hope Al’s okay,” Kas says, his face showing his worry.

“Al?” I ask, confused. I’ve heard him mention Al and the diner multiple times, but I could have sworn the person who went down was a woman.

“I can go back there and check on her,” Charli says and stands.

“Barb got her Fairy. I’m sure she's just embarrassed,” Kas says before whispering something in Charli’s ear that takes the worry off her face, and she giggles. I’m just about to question who this Al person is when Beck leans over and speaks low.

“Hey, what color van did you say your girl got into?” That question brings me back to the topic and person I’ve been trying so hard to get away from.

“Yellow,” I say shortly, wanting to get off the subject. The girl disappeared without a trace. I won't lie to myself and say I didn't feel a connection that night, but I’m trying hard not to think about it. The main reason? Because it's not something I can control. It's not feasible. There should be no scientific way I should feel this pull toward someone I met for ten minutes at most.

If you think I’m copping out because of science… well, you might be right. It certainly has nothing to do with having no way of even knowing if she's in the same state as me. I shake my head and decide it's time to get the hell out of here. I have a very exciting (not) family dinner to get to.

It's two hours later, and now I’m beating my head against my family's dining room table, wishing I had stuck it out with my friends, my thoughts, and the busy diner. Instead, I have to listen to another droll from my brother Nathan about his research, whiny, nasal complaints about classes from my stuffy older sister Nicole, and my professor father's very dull and dry humor. My mother sits there silently, assessing the table as if something might be missing even though it's set to her perfect standards every night. The same as the night before, and the night before that, all the way back as far as I can remember.

“What's the matter, Riley? I’m sure we can find a solution, whatever it is. Get it, solution?” my father tries to joke. Since he's a biology professor, he always tries to use puns. Ones you wouldn't get if you didn't know his career.

“Let me guess. Your mother's cooking planted a seed of doubt.” He almost snorts his laughter this time, and I have to hold in the eye roll. My mother is a botanist.

“How are your studies going, Theodore? I would like to think well since you didn't feel the need to take on more studies on your summer break.” My mother tries to get the conversation back on a serious note. She wouldn't know what to do with a joke if it flew at her like a honeybee to pollen. See, I’ve got jokes too. Guess that's one thing that comes from my father. And does she have to keep using my first name? No matter how many times I tell her I go by my middle name, Riley, it's like she refuses to accept it as fact.

It may seem like I don't like my family, but that isn't the case. I love my family, I guess, as much as we are capable of love. I just don't really know where I fit into the family. Or where love really factors into it. Don't get me wrong, my parents aren't bad. We just don't have any affection, like, at all. I swear the first time Grayson tried to hug me, I almost jumped out of my skin because I didn't know what he was doing. There are no words of love thrown around in our household. Though we get the occasional ‘proud of you’ and awkward pat on the back.

My brother and sister seem to fit almost seamlessly into this mold, not craving more love, time, or attention from our parents than they now receive. They are like robots continuing through life at the pace set for them by our parents. No questioning it, just graduate high school, then a prestigious college, followed by a practical and miles-high above-average career until you one day decide to retire. Then what do you do? Maybe travel, pick up a hobby like birdwatching, or just sit around the house and relax for the rest of your days? Nope, not in this family. You are to document your life's work that shall live on for future generations.

See, no love or emotion. Which makes these feelings even more confusing. I’ve never had a problem with this system before. I might not have agreed with everything, but I understood it. Now, I’m left wondering if there is more to it than what I’ve been taught. A picture of Harper and Grayson cuddled up and smiling wide flashes in my mind, followed quickly by Kas’s laughter and Charli’s loving smirk aimed his way.

I look at my parents as they take a single bite of their green spinach. My mother was probably wondering what strand this could be used in connection with another experiment, while my father nodded as if it was acceptable to his taste buds. I can never remember a time they even looked at each other with more than just familiarity. They’ve never looked at each other with the love my friends seem to find so easy to show their woman.

“Mom, Dad, how did you two fall in love?” I ask suddenly, stopping the entire table from taking another bite of food as they stare blankly at me. My dad is the first to break the silence as he clears his throat.

“Well, your mother and I met at a conference. What was it on, dear?”

“Bioprocessing,” my mother replies disinterestedly.

“That's right, it was. We met while trying to fetch a cab on the way out. We left around the same time because the speaker wouldn't know the difference between a Pando or a Redwood if it grew arms and smacked him.” Dad shakes his head in disappointment as Mom lights up a bit.

“That was a most entertaining night.” She shakes her head as well, but then I turn back to my dad, waiting for the rest of the story. He goes back to eating his food like that was the end.

“So…” I ask, raising a brow.

“So what?” he asks, confused.

“How did you two fall in love?” At my question, they both sigh, and my mother places her fork on her plate before looking my way. Not meeting my eyes but just looking in my direction.

“Theod..”

“Riley.” I cut her off through gritted teeth.

“What is this all about? Your father just told you how we met. It was a very lovely evening. We talked and found common ground. We knew we could make socially beautiful children more likely to have above-average IQs, and here you and your brother and sister are. You all have well exceeded our highest expectations. Now finish your fish before it gets too cold.” With that final demand, my mother picks up her fork and continues like nothing happened. The others around the table follow her lead and do the same.

I seem to be the only one bothered by the outcome. It may not seem like a big deal to most people, but my mother has difficulty not answering any questions addressed to her with cold, hard facts. The fact that she could not answer my question definitely tells me all I need to know.