“Here we are,” Dave said, as Ellis cut the engine. “I hope you guys are hungry.”
The van door slid open, and he and I slid out, Heather and Riley following behind. There were several lights on inside the house, casting yellow light out onto the steps as we climbed them. I turned back to check on Deb, who was bringing up the rear with Ellis.
“Something smells amazing,” she said softly, as Riley moved ahead of us, pulling open the door.
She was right. I’d been brought up in restaurants, and eaten a lot of good food. But something about the smell of that house was totally unique. Like fried food, and cheese, and warmth and sugar, the best, most tasty bite you’ve ever taken.
“You’re late,” a woman’s voice called out as soon as we stepped over the threshold. This was followed by the sound of an oven door banging shut.
“It was Dave’s fault,” Riley replied, dropping her bag by a flight of stairs.
“I was volunteering,” Dave said. “Just so you know.”
“Of course you were.” Riley shifted out of the way, and I saw the voice belonged to a small, red-haired woman who was standing at the sink, wiping her hands on a dish towel. She had on jeans, sneakers, and a U Basketball sweatshirt, and she was smiling. “Because you are a good boy.”
“Hey, what about me?” Ellis said.
“The jury is still out,” she said, offering her cheek. He gave it a kiss, then moved past her, into the dining room I could see just beyond. “Heather, sweetie, your dad called. He’s going to be late.”
“Why doesn’t he just call my phone?” she said, pulling it out of her pocket. “I have tried to explain to him that he doesn’t need a cell to call a cell. But he cannot comprehend. He’s such a caveman.”
“Leave Jonah alone,” I heard a voice say frothe dining room. I looked in to see Ellis sitting next to a man with a beard, also in a U sweatshirt and a matching hat. A beer sat on the table in front of him, his hand loosely around it. “Not everyone is attached at the hip to their technology like you people.”
“It’s not technology,” Heather said, flopping into a chair on his other side. “It’s a keypad.”
“Be sweet,” he said to her, and she stuck out her tongue. I watched as he laughed, picking up his can and taking a sip.
“Mom, this is Mclean and Deb,” Riley said. “They were hungry.”
“Oh, we really weren’t,” Deb said quickly. “We didn’t mean to impose—”
“You’re not imposing,” Riley’s mom said. “Now come sit down. We’re running late and we know how your father gets if he thinks he’s going to miss the tip-off.”
I glanced at Riley, who was tying on an apron patterned with red checks. “They know nothing,” she assured me. “Promise.”
“Tip-off?” Deb said.
“U plays Loeb College at seven sharp,” Riley’s dad called out, gesturing for us to come into the dining room. Once we were closer, he stuck out his hand. “Jack Benson. You know you have the same name as one of the best college basketball coaches of all time?”
“Um, yeah,” I said, shaking it. Behind me, Riley and her mom were bustling around, bringing out various pans and casseroles and putting them on the table. “I’ve heard that.”
“Can I help you with anything?” Deb asked her as she dropped the best-looking macaroni and cheese I’d seen in ages onto a trivet.
“Do you see that?” Riley’s mom said, pointing at Dave and Ellis. “That’s called manners. You all should take lessons. Or at least notice.”
“We stopped offering because you never said yes,” Ellis told her. To me he added, “She’s a total control freak when it comes to cooking. Our plating skills were not up to her standards.”
“Hush up,” Riley’s mom said, swatting at him with a stack of napkins. To Deb and me, she said, “You two are guests. Sit down. Riley, make sure everyone has a drink, will you? We’re almost ready.”
“You know,” Mr. Benson said as I sat down next to Dave, “I gotta say, you look kind of familiar to me. Do I know you from somewhere? ”
“No,” Riley called over her shoulder as she dumped ice into a pitcher.
“I think I do.” He squinted at me. “You were the one at the game with Dave the other day! Talk about great seats. You must be pretty special to warrant that. He still won’t tell me how he scored them.”
“Because it’s not your business,” Mrs. Benson said. The smell of fried food, hot and mouthwatering, wafted over me as she walked behind me, depositing a huge platter of chicken on the table in front of her husband. “Now let’s stop talking about basketball for ten minutes and say grace. Any volunteers?”
I looked at Deb, sort of panicking. Then Dave said, “Don’t worry. That’s a rhetorical question, too. You could never say grace as well as she does.”
“David Wade,” Mrs. Benson said, pulling out a chair and sitting down. “That is not the least bit true.”