Discharged

12

12

Grandpa Gomez lived in a simple one-story house in northwest Noblesville. The place only had the bare essentials, a big room that loosely connected the main living room, kitchen, and entrance hall together, with one bedroom, two bathrooms, and a garage. However, to make up for the minimal space was the back patio and backyard area. It was well equipped to host a party, with picnic tables, comfortable lawn chairs, and even a few hammocks.

If it weren't mid-March, we'd be having a barbecue.

Ramona was all smiles and in full host mode when we arrived, apron and all. "I figured for lunch we'd have a pasta buffet of all kinds. Choose your own pasta, sauce, veggies, meat, all the fixings. And just let me know if you want me to bake your creation for that extra flare!"

"You can bake pasta?" said an amazed and cooking-deficient James. "How does that taste?"

"How do you think ravioli is made?" Lizzie said with a grin. "You'll love it, trust me."

I got in line for the buffet behind Alejandro. Lizzie's uncle was dressed in a casual polo and black jeans. Lizzie assured me that he looked better than usual, but his disheveled face and hair spoke a different story. Only a few months sober since his most recent suicide threat, his hair and facial hair were clearly neglected. It was the bags under his eyes that were hardest to miss though, making him seem permanently exhausted. Thankfully, his attitude was far more positive than his appearance. While not much of an extrovert, he kept a healthy smile and chatted with anyone who struck up a conversation with him. He seemed genuinely appreciative when Dad asked him how his recovery was going. It seemed that he was at least making an effort to not be the least sociable person in the room.

That award went right to Doyle LeClair. Lizzie and Ramona admitted that they had some amount of difficulty convincing him to come. He immediately voiced his displeasure about Lizzie's sudden engagement, though it was less about me being the fiancé, and more so about her being married and swept away from the family altogether. Lizzie had to work a bit more magic, convincing him to not be the reason she was deprived of her happiness and really hitting him in his weakness. He relented in the end, though the celebration aspect was clearly not his forte, as evidenced by his permanent fixture on the couch chair in the living room, arms crossed and shut out from the world.

I was in a chicken alfredo mood that day, so I helped myself to the appropriate toppings before handing it off to Ramona to bake. I then moved my way to the dinner table next to Eliza and my soon-to-be fiancé. I gave a hearty smile to the scene in front of me. Frank, who was conversing with Dad, was his usual chatty self. When we'd arrived at the house, Frank was one of the first to greet me. He'd given me a massive hug, a couple of pats on the back, and had shot me a wink. I highly suspected that he knew what was happening tonight. Ramona had planned to keep the proposal a surprise for her family outside of Doyle, so if Frank knew, it was likely from his own deduction. Meanwhile, Mom was talking to Alejandro and Marco, Lizzie's grandfather, about their experience growing up in the southwest where Alejandro, Ramona, and Marianne had blossomed. Eliza and James were focused on the meal in front of them, but James was scrolling on his phone, and occasionally showing some internet meme to Eliza making them both snort in laughter.

The whole thing just felt so right. Like we were a family celebrating thanksgiving. Like we belonged together. After all the doubts from both sides of the family, everything was going swimmingly.

This could work.

I grabbed Lizzie's hand under the table and squeezed, letting some electricity flow through my body. "This is going well," I thought, and I let her hear it.

She flinched with the unexpected tingling feeling and giggled when she realized what it was. She gave me a smile and a subtle nod. Since she couldn't reply to a message no one else could hear, she released my hand and just returned to her meal. Part of me wondered if it was possible for me to hear her thoughts the same way I sent mine over to hers. Something in my mind—or maybe the electricity in my body—was telling me that I might be onto something, but now wasn't the time to experiment; Too many people around. I sighed inwardly, longing for the alone time we were robbed of this past week.