Page 94 of Above All Else
James’ foul mood was like a creeping poison seeping into everyone he came across. For the last few days, he’d offered nothing but grunts as a response, as if even words were too much effort in the suffocating gloom.
He’d isolated himself on his couch, engaging only for meals, and even then, his presence was more of a dark cloud hovering over the table than any sort of company.
“I’ll handle your dad, and you focus on keepingminefrom filling his bowl with dessert.”
June snorted, her smile brimming as she cocked her head to the side. “Let him eat cake.”
We don’t have cake.
I’d ordered from the best Indian restaurant in the city, a place I’d gone to for years with spices that sang on your tongue, soft and warm naan, and curries that filled your soul with heat and comfort.
The aroma of saffron, cumin, and garam masala filled the kitchen, mingling with the cool evening air that drifted in through the open windows—the food spread out, buffet style, on the island.
June moved beside me, her fingers brushing over mine as she handed me a stack of plates. Her eyes flickered to her parents sitting across from mine, then to me.
I offered her a reassuring smile. “It’s going to be fine.”
She nodded, her brows tight, creating a fine line between hereyes. “He’s just been so…distant.”
I squeezed her hand, brushing my thumb over her knuckles. “He’s going through a lot. Moving is hard, especially when it’s not by choice.”
June gave an imperceptible nod.
Together, we carried the side plates and bottles of wine to the dark wood dining table set for six with gold-plated flatware. I took a deep breath, shaking off June’s worry that stuck to me like the stench of advanced decomposition. “Ready?” I set down the pile of plates and pulled her into a quick hug.
“Yep.”
I turned to our parents conversing. “Dinner’s ready.”
June’s mom was the first to stand, offering a tight smile as she smoothed down the front of her blouse. “It smells wonderful.”
Mom and Dad followed.
“They have amazing naan bread,” Mom said.
“It’s just naan, Linda.” Dad sighed with a slight shake of his head. “Otherwise, you’re saying bread twice.”
“Oh really?Huh.“ She sat on the left side of the table, near the end. “I never even thought of that.”
James was the last to rise—his movements were slow and deliberate, and it was as if every step took effort. He scanned the spread of food with an expression I couldn’t break down.
June moved to his side, her voice soft as she spoke. “Dad, I hope you like Indian food.”
Mom sat at the table, unfolding a cloth napkin. “Mom, we’re serving ourselves this time.”
She peered over at everyone standing beside the island. “Oh, right.” Dropping her napkin, she stood.
Susan put her hand on June’s shoulder. “Junie, this looks amazing.”
“It’s from a restaurant, Mom. I couldn’t make this to save my life.” She giggled, making my heart jump.
“I know. But you can still appreciate the work it took to make it.”
We lined up at the island, serving ourselves butter chicken, spicy lamb vindaloo, and fragrant basmati rice.
Maybe I went a bit overboard...
June’s dad piled food onto his plate, his expression stoic. Susan offered him a bit of the lamb, but he only grunted in response, his eyes never leaving his plate.