CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

HARPER POLSEN

As we go from the appetizer to the soup course, I can’t think of a time when I’ve felt less like eating. But all I can do, the only way I can hope to get through this God-forsaken meal, is to keep eating as quietly as possible while Mom takes it upon herself to needle Zane and me both.

The potato-leek soup should be delicious, but all I can do is keep my eyes either straight ahead or on my bowl and reply when someone asks me a question. I can barely even taste what I’m putting in my mouth, and I hate that fact.

“I’ll get the next course, Mom,” I say quickly, hoping against hope that I can remind her of why we’re even having this dinner.

“That’s okay, sweetie,” Mom counters.

“No, no, I insist,” I say firmly, getting up from my chair and putting aside my napkin, moving towards the kitchen before she can come up with some reason for me to have to stay in my seat. My stomach is in knots, my heart is pounding. I’m actually getting angry at my mom for how petty she’s being.

I take a deep breath. Mom has, at least, set everything up in the kitchen so she wouldn’t have to leave the table for more than a couple of minutes. I’d seen her taking the roast duck breast out of the oven ten minutes before the Lewises were due to arrive, and she’d made the gravy from the pan drippings as the final touch. You would think after going all out like that, the last thing she’d want would be to screw it up.

I get the third-course tray, which has individual portions of steak tartare that Mom painstakingly made, along with a bottle of Beaujolais, and carefully pick it up to bring it to the table. The second dish that I’d hardly tasted, the soup course, seems to slosh around in my stomach.

“So, Harper, you’ll be going back to the city tomorrow, to that big project of yours,” Bev says as I come out into the dining room with the tray. I hand Dad the bottle of wine and begin putting the little portions of raw steak, egg, herbs and sauce in front of each person. I hadn’t counted on how difficult it would be when I came to Zane.

“Yeah, I am actually really excited to get back into the city,” I say, trying to cover any awkwardness between me and my neighbor’s son.

“I think Harper has had enough of her vacation,” Mom says.

“Oh? Haven’t you had fun, Harper?” Dad doesn’t know that he’s not helping, not in the slightest, but it’s hard not to feel everyone’s eyes on me.

“I’ve had plenty of fun and relaxation,” I say, finally sitting down with my own plate of tartare while Dad uncorks the red wine to serve the rest of us. There’s another bottle of wine to go with the duck that will come next, and there’s a fourth bottle that’s supposed to go with the salad and the dessert, and even though Dad’s not pouring anyone more than about half a glass of wine per course, I can already feel it adding up.

I pick at my steak tartare and sip my wine, and Mom has obviously decided to start pestering me instead of Zane.

“So, Harper, I know you can’t discuss the big project much, but it seems like it’s going to limit your ability to have a personal life,” Mom says.

“No more and no less than ever,” I counter, giving her a tight smile. I look across the table to where Zane sits.

“I think Harper needs someone to shake her up, to give her life a little excitement,” Bev says.

“I think Harper’s running her life fine on her own,” Zane says.

I turn to look at him, and I’m not sure what it is he’s trying to say, there’s something and nothing in it, all at once. On my own? Does he mean that he doesn’t want to be involved with me, doesn’t want to “add excitement” to my life, or does he mean that Mom needs to butt out?

“Thanks, I appreciate that,” I say, keeping my voice neutral. I manage to eat a few forkfuls of the steak tartare spread on some of the buttered brown bread that Mom set it up with, but the richness of it is too much for me after that, especially with the way my stomach is rolling and twisting inside of me.

“I think both Nadine and I would like to see the two of you settled in life,” Bev says, and I glance from my mom to Bev and back again. I have nothing to say to that. I don’t even know if Bev knows, and either approves or not or doesn’t care.

“I think Zane and I both have good lives right now,” I say.

“They’re still young. It isn’t like when we were their age,” Dad points out.

“Why don’t we talk about the four of you? I mean, when are we going to start planning your and Dad’s anniversary, Mom?” I say it with a smile.

“Well, first we’ll have to figure out if you’re both going to be available for the festivities,” Mom tells me, returning my smile. I’m not sure if I’m more frustrated with her or Zane, or the whole situation.

“This anniversary stuff doesn’t make you yearn for a little romance?” Bev looks at me.

“Are we all just about done with the third course? I’ll gather up the plates,” Dad chimes in, and I’m relieved and worried at the same time. There are three more courses to go.

Dad gets up and collects our plates, and I have to sit there, waiting to see if Mom is going to needle one of us again. I feel absolutely on edge, and I can’t really do anything about it. I try to keep going, try to keep myself civil while either her or Zane or anyone end up saying something on accident that makes me even more frustrated or irritable.

I barely enjoy the duck, but Bev loves it, which I guess is mostly the point. But by the time the dinner is over and we’re all sitting in the living room drinking coffee, even the mild buzz from the wine isn’t enough to make me feel even remotely at ease. You’ll be home again tomorrow evening, I tell myself. Zane is leaving tomorrow morning. Just get through tonight. But I know that even if I manage to get through the dinner without causing some kind of upset, I am not going to get any sleep.

I just want to be miles away from where I am right now.