The Twelth Player

Chapter 10

When we got to my parents' place, Eli looked nervous. She kept smoothing down her skirt and fiddling with the straps of her bag. I tried to calm her down.

"Relax. Mom might eat you alive, but only in a good way," I joked.

"That's so reassuring," she shot back with a hint of sarcasm, though the corners of her mouth twitched.

The moment we stepped inside, Mom appeared in the doorway, tea towel in hand, and a big smile on her face. She looked like a general who already had the whole situation under control.

"Eli, finally! Come here, sweetheart!"

Before Eli could even react, Mom pulled her into a hug. A tight one, like she'd known her forever. Eli stiffened a little but then managed a shy smile.

"Hello, Mrs. Heiberg," she said hesitantly.

"Oh, stop with the 'Mrs. Heiberg' nonsense! Call me Brigi. I'm not ready to feel old yet. And you're way too skinny—living with these boys, you probably never eat properly, huh? We'll fix that right away."

"Uh... I..." Eli stammered, clearly unsure of how to respond.

"Never mind, come on, everyone, soup's waiting!" Mom said, steering her toward the dining table like she was some kind of VIP, all while fussing over her.

We sat down in the dining room. Dad, as usual, pretended to be absorbed in his newspaper, but it was obvious he was sizing Eli up. Meanwhile, my brother Erik was trying—and failing—to stop Katie from bombarding Eli with questions.

The soup, chicken broth, was amazing. Eli started out eating cautiously but visibly relaxed after a while.

"This is delicious," she said, looking at Mom. "What's in it?"

Mom beamed. "Oh, nothing special—just a few homegrown herbs and a little love. I'm so glad you like it, Eli."

I could tell Eli appreciated the attention but wasn't entirely comfortable with it. She was used to keeping to the background her whole life.

After dinner, Mom asked me to help Dad with something in the garage. It was clear she didn't actually need me—she just wanted some one-on-one time with Eli.

When I came back a little later, I heard their voices from the kitchen. Eli was talking about how she often baked pierogi and pastries for the kids at the orphanage.

"That's wonderful, Eli," Mom said enthusiastically. "You should do that more often. You know what? I'll ask the guys at the stadium. The buffet there is terrible—always the same boring stuff. If you baked your pastries for them, it'd be amazing. And maybe you'd finally have a job that makes you happy."

"I... I'm not sure," Eli replied hesitantly. "I don't think I'm good enough."

"Don't be ridiculous!" Mom dismissed her doubts instantly. "I'll help you, Eli. You'll see—it'll work out."

Eli tried to protest, but Mom had already made up her mind. When she decided on something, there was no stopping her. She made a couple of calls right then and there, and just like that, it was settled.

On the way back, Eli was quiet. She seemed deep in thought.

"Thank you," she finally said softly.

"For what?" I asked.

"For the way your mom treated me... like I belonged," she said, almost as if she couldn't believe it.

I looked over at her and saw a small, genuine smile forming on her face. And in that moment, I realized that tonight's dinner might have meant a lot more than I originally thought.