The Suburban Strange by Nathan Kotecki

Author:Nathan Kotecki [Kotecki, Nathan]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: General Fiction
ISBN: 9780547729961
Publisher: Houghton Mifflin
Published: 2011-12-31T13:00:00+00:00

CELIA SPENT THE NEXT FEW days putting the finishing touches on the rest of her portraits and mounting them in frames. She couldn't stop thinking about Tomasi and how their date had ended, but like so many things these days, she didn't know what she could do to make it better. Late in the afternoon on New Year's Day, Regine picked her up and they went over to Ivo and Liz's house. "I would say First Night is a tradition for us," Regine told her, "but next year everything will be different, so this may be the last time. I guess they'll probably come home from college for break, but who knows if it'll be the same." Her excitement bubbled over. "You are going to love their parents!

They were the last to arrive, and Celia finally got to traverse the ivy lawn and go inside the house she saw every morning before school. On the front door a bright brass plate had FOURAD engraved on it.

“I want everything in this house,” Regine whispered to her before Liz opened the door. From the moment she stepped inside, Celia could tell the Fourads shared a taste for the erudite and offbeat with their son and daughter. Everything was special, and carefully chosen. The jar next to the phone on the hall table held antique-looking mechanical pencils and fountain pens. The bulbs in the chandelier were the type that mimicked Edison’s originals, with oblong glass and glowing looped filaments. Celia admired framed prints in the hall, which she learned were created by people with intriguing names like Rauschenberg, Frankenthaler, and Diebenkorn, and she hoped to have the chance to examine a collection of beautiful old books she noticed as she passed the study.

They assembled in the family room, and Celia was presented to Mr. and Mrs. Fourad, who welcomed her warmly. If Celia had tried to imagine what Ivo and Liz would look like in twenty-five years, she would have guessed something very close to Mr. and Mrs. Fourad. They were darkly stylish and refined, and she could see aspects of Ivo and Liz in both of them. They had a whimsy about them, though, that Celia hadn’t found in their son and daughter. “I know your name isn’t exactly Cecilia, but do people sing you that Simon and Garfunkel song?” Mr. Fourad asked her.

“I’ve heard that a couple times.” She smiled.

“There’s a much better song, by the Motels, and it really is your name,” he said. “Celia, see what you’ve done, see what you’ve done to someone . . .” He sang the line easily, and she thought that she couldn’t remember ever having heard her own father sing anything, except to mumble “Happy Birthday” in a crowd.

“I don’t know that one.” She looked around, and the others didn’t seem to know it, either.

They approached the long, low dinner table, around which stood an assortment of upholstered chairs that were all different but somehow matched. Mrs. Fourad took the head, and Mr. Fourad the foot, and the Rosary filled in the sides.

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