Her Name is Sorrel

X

10

December 11th - I had dinner with the Solby’s for the first time.

I mean, it wasn’t like I wanted to eat with them; I was forced against my will.

Barb stumbled into Sorrel’s bedroom that afternoon while we were writing our essays on the floor, analyzing George Orwell.

“Shelbs! Danny!” she shrieked, “Let’s eat, yes? Kurt! Kurt set the table!”

Barb clapped her hands excitedly, like a child, and pointed a skinny finger to the staircase down the hall, “Let’s eat, yes! Go downstairs!”

Sorrel gawked, frown in place, “We haven’t eaten dinner together since I was like, 12, mom.”

“Well, let’s changed that,” Barb trilled and grabbed my bicep, latching onto the bare skin of my arm like a leech, “Let’s go eat!”

Fuck this shit.

I stumbled down the stairs; Barb towed me as her fingernails pierced my arm. That’s what you get for wearing a muscle shirt to the Solby’s house; you get Barb’s fingernails digging into your epidermis. 

“Sit here,” Barb commanded as she plopped me down on a wooden yellow chair in front of a mismatched green table, “We’re having- what are we having tonight Kurt?”

“Lasagna,” he grunted in response. Mr. Solby pulled out four microwaved meals on black plastic trays and set them before us, “Enjoy.”

Sorrel looked genuinely embarrassed as she sat down on my right of the square table; Barb on my left and Kurt in my peripheral vision. 

Sorrel stared at my dinner in concern, probably worrying if a rich boy who only ate organic and imported ingredients would be able to stomach microwaved lasagna.

I gave her a small smile and stabbed my fork into the meal, shoving a small piece into my mouth and choking it down. It tasted like corpses but I forced a small grin and gave her a nod of encouragement.

“Soo,” Barb drawled, “Danny, tell us about yourself.”

Choking down the freezer-burned television dinner, I eyed a weary Sorrel whose eyes were intensely fixated on her cold pasta, “I’m in the midst of my football season ma’am.”

“Oh, how wonderful!” Barb smiled genuinely, “Oh Kurt! Oh Shelbs, isn’t that wonderful?”

Kurt grunted and Sorrel muttered a quiet ‘yes’. 

“Tell us more,” Barb insisted as she pushed aside her meal and leaned forward, her elbows resting on the small table, “How are your parents. Do I know them-”

“Mom,” Sorrel suddenly objected, “You wouldn’t know the O’Connor’s so don’t bother asking.”

Barb was floored. “Shelby, that was incredibly rude!” Turning her attention back to me, she pointed a tomato sauced covered fork in my direction, “The O’Connor’s?”