The Dinner

I have never really favored people over at my house. They touch your things, eat your food, sit on your couch, and watch your television. They invade your personal life, even though you did, after all, let them inside.

My dad’s coworkers are coming over for dinner tonight, and it will be anything but enjoyable. Where my dad works isn’t a lumberyard, or an office building; he is a television newscaster for the local news and his face is slapped across the screen every morning, smiling. I know he can’t possibly be that happy so early in the day like that. He is not a morning person. Yet, he likes to tell me otherwise, and I’m beginning to think I know why.

When he looks at his fellow newscaster, Sarah Ann, there is a gleam in his eye and a look on his face: a look of deviance.

“Do you ever think Dad is cheating on you with Sarah Ann, Mom?” I asked her boldly one morning. I had been getting ready for school as I watched my father who in turn was watching Sarah talk about a robbery. He was mesmerized as he stared at her moving, fake, plump lips. I could see the desire in his eyes.

“No, not necessarily,” my mother says, walking out of the kitchen with a coffee cup in hand and sitting next to me.

“I did when he first started working there, though,” she then says, watching my father on the screen. “But I’ve met Sarah Ann a few times and she’s a lovely woman. She has a darling husband, wonderful kids, everything.”

I wasn’t convinced. Having a husband and kids to show for it doesn’t mean anything. She could be looking for something, something different that her husband lacks in. And tonight at dinner, I will be watching Sarah Ann and my father. I know something’s up.

At exactly six o’clock the doorbell rang.

“Frank, can you answer that?” my mother shouted from the kitchen. Dad and I were in the dining room, setting the table. The house smelled like rotisserie chicken, baked potatoes, and the classic apple pie. It smelled happy.

“Absolutely,” my father said eagerly, setting down the last of the silverware. I watched him walk to the door with a skip to his step. As the door opened, there she was, Sarah Ann, in the flesh. She smiled sweetly, and pushed her curly red hair behind one ear as she walked past my father. I sensed tension between them.
Dan Gibbons, the sports newscaster, shook my father’s hand as he made his way in. So did Mike McAvoy, the meteorologist. As they smiled, their teeth were whiter than they were on television.

“How ya doin’, Frank?” Mike asked, winking. He constantly winks on television.

Dad only laughed as he was in tow with the guys to the living room.

Sarah Ann, on the other hand, greeted me in the dining room.

“Diane, right?” she smiles at me.

I nodded my head. “Yup,” I say, fidgeting with the napkins. They were perfect to begin with, but it was the only thing keeping me from interrogating Sarah.

“Your dad talks about you all the time. It’s good to finally meet you,” she says sweetly.

“Would you like any help?” she then offers.

I can’t say I like her attempt at small talk, but she’s trying like hell.

It’s as if she knows I’m suspicious of her.

“I got it, thank you,” I said, managing to curl a smile. I walked towards the kitchen, and joined my mother, leaving Sarah Ann alone.

“They all here?” my mother asks, tossing some rolls in a bread basket.

I nod my head.

“Fantastic,” she smiles. She hands me the rolls and heads out of the kitchen to greet everyone.

Mom loves having company over. She loves cooking for other people, making them happy, and comfortable. She considers the Channel 4 News members celebrities, and when they’re over at our house, she’s ecstatic.

I stood in the kitchen as I listened to everyone’s chitter-chatter. The walls separating me from them were muffling their conversation, and I liked it that way.

I walked out to the dining room, and placed the rolls down on the table. I fidgeted with the napkins once more and sat down, claiming my seat, ready to observe. Everyone else was still out in the living room, laughing, joking, and being adults.

“You are so funny, Sarah Ann!” I heard my mother say. She suddenly appeared in the dining room, startled to see me sitting at the table.

“Honey, why won’t you join us in the living room for a bit, huh?” she asks.

“Is dinner ready?” I asked, ignoring her suggestion.

She glanced at her watch. “Uh, yeah, the chicken should be done right about now, actually.” Normally she’d answer with a snarky remark, and I can tell she truly wanted to. I wonder why she stifled herself. Mom then walked into the kitchen, the door swinging wildly behind her.

I decided to go help get the food ready, when Sarah Ann stopped me in my tracks.

“Hey, Diane,” she says, placing her left hand lightly on my shoulder. As I turned around, I glanced over at it and noticed her wedding ring was missing.

“Mhm?” I say, stifling what I really wanted to ask.

“Could you tell me where your restroom is?” she smiled politely.

Yeah, out the front door.

“Oh, yeah, um, down the hall, two doors down and it’s on your left,” I forcefully smile once more. I hate being fake.

“Oh, gosh, you’re a doll,” she says quickly and pats me on the head like a puppy.

That does it.

When she disappeared down the hall, I followed her, and waited outside the bathroom. As she stepped out, I purposely startled her.

“Oh, jeez, Diane!” she said, placing her hand over her chest.

“Did you lose your ring?” I asked her coolly.

She looked down at her hand, and felt around her finger.

“Oh no! I think I did!” she exclaimed. I could sense she was acting.

“Cut the crap, where is it?” I asked, blocking her way out of the hallway.

She looked at me, puzzled. “Diane, I don’t know where it is. . .” she said.

{i)Fine, I’ll let you go . . . . For now.

During dinner, I sat in my seat I claimed earlier. It is the seat next to my father. I made it a conscience effort to make sure him and Sarah Ann did not sit next to each other, but across from one another. My mother sat on the other side of him instead, like it should be. Mike was next me and Dan was next to Sarah Ann. It was a perfect seating.

Every so often, I’d catch my father staring at that witch as she was eating. She did the same in return. Mom didn’t even notice, and if she did, she was probably ignoring it.

“So, Diane,” Sarah Ann asks me during dinner, “your father tells me you want to be a television reporter like us.”

I nearly choked on the water I was drinking. Never, ever, will I be like them. I wonder where Dad got that idea from.

Time to go in for the kill.

I looked her straight in the eye, smiled, and said, “Actually, I’m leaning more towards a marriage counselor. You know, to help people who have trouble with their marriages. Like, maybe the spouse is cheating or they’re just not happy with one another. You know, that kind of stuff.” I then shoveled in some mashed potatoes as I watched Sarah Ann’s eyes dart quickly at my father.

Gotcha.