The Girl in Seat 23 {l.r.h.}

thirteen.

We had compiled an odd arrangement of shabby excuses for nine seats, including a stack of phone books and a wooden crate. A mountain of manicotti sat piled in the center of the table.

Dad cleared his throat. "Luke, this is Joey, Leo, Marco, Dante, Tony, and Emilio. I am Guido. Don't forget it."

Luke gulped. "I'm gonna forget it," he whispered, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

My father nodded at the boy quaking beside me. "Luke, would you say grazia for us, please?"

Luke's eyes pleaded with me. "Grazia means grace in Italian," I whispered.

"No way!" Grazia shouted. "I always just thought it sounded pretty so Mom picked it."

Grace. Not that you have any. A girl after my own heart.

So Luke bowed his head. "Uh... Hey there, big guy..."

"Geez Luke, this is a prayer, not a pickup line." I elbowed him.

"Uh yeah. Bless this food please, and help us to have a good day-- wait, night. Good night. And bless the hands that prepared it. Oh Lord, pray for me. Amen."

Followed by several "amen"s.

Dad placed his hand on Luke's knee. "Young man, that was rough."

"Dad."

"Rosalie?"

Luke cleared his throat. "No, he was right."

And that's about how dinner went.

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this is literally my family like no joke. ~Laura :)