“I’m your peer,” he said with a blank face.
“My other peers,” she corrected.
“Even Clark?”
“Especially Clark.”
“Oh,” he said, following it with nothing because that’s how much he knew about relationships.
“Sorry. I just wish he’d take things more seriously sometimes. Having a plan is sort of my thing.”
“No surprises,” he said. “You’ve clearly come to the right place.”
“So far, you’ve been all surprises.”
“Right. Well, I’ve reached my quota then.”
“The Land of Solomon,” she said. “Come for the holodeck, stay for the pasty kid in the Speedo.”
“I’m not wearing that thing. And you do realize I spend ninety-eight percent of my time reading and watching TV alone, right?”
“I realize you used to,” she said with confidence.
? ? ?
Lisa came over every day that week. She’d only stay two or three hours, just long enough to play a couple of games or watch a movie, and by the time the weekend rolled around, Solomon knew to expect her around three thirty or four every afternoon. And he could feel himself relaxing a little more with each visit.
On Saturday, Solomon’s mom insisted on cooking them lunch. He knew it would happen eventually—a mostly silent meal where he’d be forced to look on in horror as his parents took turns interviewing her between bites of food. Up to that point, they’d pretty much stayed out of the way, so well that he suspected they were making sure she’d be sticking around before getting too attached.
“I hope you like enchiladas, Lisa,” his mom said as they all sat down to eat.
“I do. The cheesier the better.”
“These are vegan,” Solomon said with a serious expression.
“Oh . . . well, vegan sounds great, too. Vegan all around.”
“He’s kidding,” his dad said.
“But you’ve passed an important test,” his mom added.
“Very important,” Solomon echoed. “Always love whatever the cook cooks, isn’t that right, Dad?”
“That’s right. Unless it’s tofurkey.”
“I try it one time and now I’ll never hear the end of it,” his mom said. “Who wants to say grace?”
“Is it Christmas?” Solomon asked, looking at her like she’d offered to sacrifice a lamb on the dining room table.
“Do you say grace at your house?” she asked Lisa.
“Mom . . . seriously? The only two rules of a dinner party are no discussing religion or politics.”
“Lisa, you a big fan of democracy?” his dad asked with a grin on his face.
“I’m an agnostic fiscal conservative, actually,” Lisa said. “But I think you should make Sol say grace anyway.”
“Fine,” he said, bowing his head. “Thank you for the world so sweet. Thank you for the food we eat. Thank you for the birds that sing. Thank you, God, for everything. Amen.”
“Amen,” his parents and Lisa said in unison.
“Also, praise Xenu,” he added.
“Praise Xenu,” they echoed.
“That was adorable,” Lisa said.
The rest of the meal went better than Solomon had expected. They did interview her, but it was innocent enough, and by dessert, he just sat back and watched as they all shared stories and laughed at one another’s little jokes. It was as familiar as when his grandma was over, but more exciting. She was new, after all, and as he watched his parents hanging on her every word, he thought maybe they’d needed a Lisa Praytor just as badly as he had.
Over the next three weeks and into May, Lisa spent most of her free time at the Reeds’. She’d stay for dinner most nights, helping Solomon set the table and do the dishes afterward, like they were siblings sharing chores. And he could quickly feel the rhythm in his house changing—the day would be quiet as ever and then Lisa would show up and they’d all fight over her attention. But, she seemed to love it, always down for an in-depth conversation about film history with Solomon’s dad or a baking lesson with his mom.
“No one here cares about cake, Lisa. It’s my living nightmare,” Valerie Reed said to her one evening as they poured batter into a cupcake mold.
“I didn’t peg you for a baker,” Lisa told her. “I didn’t think you’d have time, I guess.”
“I used to make birthday cakes to help pay for college. My aunt had a cake shop. Taught me everything she knew. Plus, you can’t do root canals at home. I get bored.”