Alice's Umbrella

Chapter 8: Plan of Attack

Ms. Young had reluctantly agreed to the family dinner a night before, hesitant to spend a night out when she could be catching up on sleep. Alice had barely persuaded her with a sob story about how downtrodden Mr. Matthews was these days without his wife, with one son, and too much food to spare.

"Okay, but we're not staying there past eight," her mother had said sternly. Alice had barely managed not to fist pump in triumph.

Pulling out her phone, she shot Elliott a quick text.
нey, we'll вe тнere ѕнorтly. we вroυgнт a ѕalad.
His reply was immediate. cool, we've goт plenтy oғ ғood тoo.
Before they got into the car, Alice sent him another one. ιѕ ιт oĸay ιғ ι вrιng clary?

Clary was the young girl who lived across the hall in Alice and her mother's apartment complex. Alice occasionally babysits her, although she insists she doesn't need one because thirteen was supposed to be an independent age.

ѕυre, he replied with a smiley face. doeѕ ѕнe lιĸe leмon pepper ѕea вaѕѕ?

•

Alice bounded up the steps to their front door first, knocking loudly. A moment later, the door swung open. Elliott grinned at her and pulled her into a tight hug. "Hey," he said into the crown of her head, releasing her to greet her mother, who'd reached the steps next. "Hi, Ms. Young, it's good to see you," he said, leaning in to kiss her cheek.
"Hi, Elliott. I swear you look more grown every time I see you," she replied warmly, passing the container of salad to him. "Thank you for inviting us. I made a salad with strawberries and pecans. I hope that's okay."
His face lit up. "Absolutely, thanks! Come on in," he said, waving them in. Alice lingered in the foyer for Elliott, as her mother hesitantly ventured farther into the house. Clary brought up the rear, dragging her feet just a little bit, giving her a big smile. Elliott mussed her hair as she passed. "Hey, squirt."

She pouted at him and smoothed her hair back down. "Hi, Elliott," she said sullenly. That she didn't snap at him for messing up her hair was a testament to how little anyone actually disliked Elliott; because Alice has known Clary since She was a baby, she still remembered when 8-year-old Clary had a school-girl crush on him and used to follow them around everywhere-to the woods, to the mall, down the street to the playground.

Clary walked inside, and Alice waited until she and their mother were out of earshot before she turned to Elliott, her eyebrows arching toward her hairline in excitement. He leaned closer and lowered his voice. "I think my dad's kind of nervous."

She laughed quietly. "Really? I can't tell if my mom's uncomfortable because of the dinner or because she'd rather be at home sleeping."

Shutting the door with his foot, he shrugged and shifted the container in his hands. "Guess we'll find out. Come on, let's go play matchmakers," he said with an impish grin, and she followed him into the kitchen where their parents were already talking. Alice thought she could detect a cloud of tension shrouding the air between the two.

She took it as a good sign.

"Thank you for coming, Alaska," Mr. Matthews said, smiling warmly at her. Ms. Young returned the smile.

"Well, thank you for inviting us, Henry. I'm sure the girls will appreciate a good home-cooked meal for once," she said lightly, shooting Alice a look. Alice couldn't argue there. "I brought salad." Elliott squeezed past Alice to hand the container to his father.

"That's wonderful, thank you," Mr. Matthews responded, setting the container on the counter to peel back the lid. "Everything's ready, we just have to put the food out. Please, make yourselves at home." He glanced at Alice then and smirked. "Not you, Alice. You're here enough already. Why don't you help Elliott set the table?"