Somebody Like You

37. The internet trolls are right

MADDIE

I'm helping Enya dice tomatoes when her mom walks in from the backdoor.

"Oh!" She muses, taking in the scene. Me, at her kitchen counter, looking like death warmed over and her daughter a few feet away, trying not to scream I guess. "Maddie."

"Hi."

She opens her arms for me. "Come here, sweetheart."

I go, because what else am I supposed to do? And the second she wraps her arms around me, I realize this hug is completely different from Enya's. I don't know if it's because she's a Mom or because of what's going on but it feels like it's saying; I'm so sorry the world is cruel, instead of I've got you.

My throat constricts.

When she pulls back, she keeps her hands on my shoulders. "You're staying for dinner. No arguments."

I shake my head with a weak smile. "I wasn't planning to argue."

"Good." She squeezes once, then turns to Enya like nothing happened.

I glance at Enya, who's suddenly very focused on the cutting board. When did her mom get back? The last time I checked, she left a few years ago to get remarried and Enya does not really like to talk about her.

I raise my eyebrows at her. What the hell?

She catches the look and gives the tiniest shake of her head. Later.

Damn.

I feel like I missed out so much. What else is happening in her life? Did she get a girlfriend while we weren't talking too?

I add it to the list of things I need to ask her later.

Enya's dad shuffles into the kitchen another five minutes later, moving slower than I remember.

He was sick... I remember hearing this while still in camp.

Is he okay now? If I ask now, I will just look like a bitch.

The moment he spots me, his whole face lights up.

"Maddie! Good to see you, kiddo." He pats my shoulder as he passes. "Make yourself at home."

"Thanks, Mr. Jabari."

He grabs water then disappears again but I don't miss the eyes he throws at Enya's Mom. Seriously what is happening? Is that flirting? Are they a thing again?

I need answers!

But it seems I won't be getting them any time soon because Enya is digging through the fridge.
When she catches me staring, she offers a tiny, lopsided smile and I return it before going back to the tomatoes.

We end up making pasta with a little too much salt, but who is complaining? Me. Internally. But I’d eat cardboard if it meant not having to sit in the deafening silence of my own house.

Luckily, there's a side dish of cold pizza slices that none of us bothered to warm.

Dinner happens at their kitchen table. Her Mom serves while her dad complains about how his hospital reviews are clashing with his garage hours.

And Enya… Enya the thief, waits until I’m listening to her dad’s rant, then snags a piece of tomato from my plate. She thinks she’s slick.

“I saw that,” I mutter without looking at her.

“Prove it,” she whispers back, her mouth full of salty pasta.