I DON’T EMERGE from my room until almost dinnertime, when I can’t ignore the fact that unusual smells are wafting under my door. Ah, yes. If my distant memories of days gone by are correct, that is the distinct aroma of . . . home cooking!
“There you are,” Mom says, darting me a quick glance as I come in the kitchen. “You feeling okay?”
“I’m fine, Mom.”
“Then wash these greens. I’ve asked our new neighbors to dinner. Chicken parm, and a cake’s in the oven.”
Chicken parm! Cake! We haven’t had a meal this good since Cal’s birthday! My heart lifts! Then it sinks again, at the thought of Liberty. “Did you have to ask them?” I say. “Can’t we just eat it all ourselves?”
Mom ignores me and digs in the back of the cupboard for spices. “Should we ask the Lees, too? I’ve got plenty of food. Liberty could meet Joon.”
Woop. A panic blip. “No!” I shout. “I mean, I think they’re already busy.”
“If you say so.” Mom wipes her hands on her apron and frowns at me. “Everything okay with Joon?”
“What? Yeah,” I lie. “Of course! Totally fine.”
Mothers are psychic.
At exactly six, Gramps, Cal, and I are all in clean shirts, looking miserable, and Mom’s whipping off her apron as the doorbell rings.
Liberty and her uncle are almost as tall as the doorway. She’s clutching a box of chocolates in her bony hands. Her T-shirt says Sorry I’m late. I didn’t want to come.
Dr. Silverberg is huge, with stooped shoulders, balding red hair, and a big grin. He hands Mom a bottle of wine and starts chatting away before he’s even in the door. Not only is he big, but he also has very big expressions—his eyes widen and his brows shoot up a lot when he talks. His face is like an exclamation point.
“Thanks so much for having us!” he says. “So glad to be part of the neighborhood!” Liberty mimics him behind his back as he goes on and on. I try not to smile.
Over dinner, Dr. Silverberg tells us he’s a new doctor at the hospital—it’s his first job out of med school. He tells us all about his work! And about how he found an Excellent! Homeschool! Tutor! For Liberty! Through the university! She rolls her eyes at the word excellent, and chomps down harder on her piece of garlic bread.
Then Gramps starts talking about the weather. How bad it is in the Midwest compared to Pennsylvania, where the Silverbergs lived before here. “I can sure feel the weather and dampness in this bum shoulder of mine,” he grumbles, and actually gets Dr. Silverberg to get up out of his chair and examine it, right there in the middle of dinner, while Mom tries to politely protest.
After Gramps’s shoulder is looked at, Dr. Silverberg sits back down and takes second helpings. He mentions wanting to learn how to surf, and Calvin tells him about a few good spots.
Meanwhile, every time I catch her eye, Liberty imitates her uncle. It’s not mean—you can tell she likes him. But I’m trying hard not to laugh.
“Liberty, honey, would you like more?” Mom says.
“Yes, please, ma’am.” She passes over her empty plate. “Everything’s delicious.”
“My mom’s an excellent cook when she cooks, which is never,” says Cal in a way deeper voice than usual.
“It’s so nice to see Liberty with a good appetite again,” says Dr. Silverberg, sitting back and patting his own belly.
“Again?” says Mom, smiling politely, eyebrows raised.
There’s an awkward pause. Liberty stops with her fork halfway to her mouth. Dr. Silverberg looks at her, and then at Mom, and his face flushes red. Neither of them says anything more. And Mom quickly changes the subject.
But after that, Liberty stops smirking and mimicking and trying to make me laugh. She just stares straight ahead and waits for the visit to end.