A Graveyard of Stars

Chapter Seventeen

Later that evening, a knock sounds on my door.

My Mom is getting forks out when I leave to get the door. Before opening it, I smooth my hands over my blouse and run my fingers through my curly hair. Taking a deep breath, I swing the door open. Will is standing on the front steps adjusting his sleeves that go to his elbows. He's wearing a dark red button down shirt, a pair of dark jeans and sneakers. In his eyes, I catch a sliver of apprehensiveness.

He wipes his hands on his jeans before stuffing them in his pocket. "Hey."

"Hi." I let him in and watch as he takes a look around. He studies the photos on the walls, one of me and my Dad, another of my Dad and my Mom. Growing self-conscience of Will staring at nine year old me with frizzy hair, I decide to explain. "That was taken at the zoo. My Dad took me to see the giraffes, because I went through a phase where I was kind of obsessed with them. Anyway, it started to rain twenty minutes after we got there. And....turned me....into that."

I look away from Wills' gaze, feeling silly and a little embarrassed. Will smiles at my warmed cheeks and says, "I think you look adorable."

Before he can see my face turn into a tomato, I turn and lead him down the hall toward the kitchen.

"Did you come to my house today?" He asks.

"Oh. Yeah." I answer. Great, I think. Something else to be embarrassed about.

"My Mom said you seemed a little distressed," he tells me, smirking.

My eyebrows raise. "And she told me you seemed a little distracted."

He opens his mouth to respond but closes it before words can escape. I smile at him and my Mom calls for us from the kitchen.

"Don't worry. My Mom is nothing like me," I tell Will, stopping us just outside the kitchen. I place my hand on his shoulder and lean close to his ear. "She's worse."

I've never brought a boyfriend home. Probably because, I've never had a real one. Like I cleared up before, they've never been one of my top priorities. I know, I know. Teenage girl who's almost finished with her senior year of high school isn't into relationships? Preposterous!

Just in case you didn't know, we're not all lustful and unfaithful monster.

If I said I wasn't nervous or anxious, I would be lying. My Mom's an intimidating women, but if there was anyone who I thought could handle this challenge, it would be Will.

We walk into the kitchen just as my Mom is placing the last plate down. She looks up. She stands straight but not rigid. Her eyes are bright with no dark bags. They skim Will briefly and I wait for her scrunch of disapproval. It doesn't come. Yet.

We make such casual conversation throughout the dinner, I wonder if my Mom is scheming. Planning her words of attack. Will they be on me? Will they be on Will? I watch her throughout the dinner. Her skin is more radiant than ever. The way she speaks, the way she sits, it makes me wonder. Could my Mom finally be finding some peace? Could she be happy again?

We are coming to the end of our meals when Mom decides to get to the good stuff.

"So, Will," she starts, wiping her mouth with her napkin. "What are your plans after high school?"

I have to shove garlic bread into my mouth to keep in my snicker. We couldn't leave out this conversation, could we?

Will is perfect in his response, as he has been all night. "Well, my Dad has always wanted me to think about the military. But to be completely honest, I'm more interested in astronomy."

We hold our breaths and wait. Or maybe that's just me. There is a long pause before she speaks, probably just for dramatic effect. After what feels like a dozen years, my Mom nods slowly. "That actually sounds very nice, Will. You find the constellations and things interesting?"

They talk for a few minutes about that. Will actually manages to make my Mom laugh. I don't catch what about though. I'm watching her, wondering who she is and what she's done with my uptight and judgmental Mother.

Enjoy it, that little voice utters in the back of my subconscious.

Mom takes a sip of her water. "Danielle, used to have this crazy idea that she could become an artist." She looks at me. "Actually, I think she still dabbles in the paints sometimes."

The tension. Oh, the tension. We stare at each other from across the dinner table. It feels like everything we've been through is lying out in front of us, naked and exposed for the media to see and examine. All the words said and not said. All the pieces left in the wrong places.

But she's different. Lighter, for the lack of a better word. Her mouth is relaxed, as is her posture. She's not the same sharp woman who intimidated all my friends in elementary school.

Will's voice is smooth and charming. "I've seen some of her work, Mrs. Roberts. She's very talented. I wouldn't be surprised if she could make something good out of it."

My Mom studies him closely. It's like she's trying to read his mind. How dare he disagree with me, she might think.

She doesn't look angry at all though. Instead of replying, she nods in satisfaction. And I don't miss the slight smile on her lips as she looks down at her plate to continue eating.