After by Amy Efaw

Author:Amy Efaw [Efaw, Amy]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Penguin USA, Inc.
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

chapter fourteen

When dinner comes, Devon takes her tray to her corner of the common area, near the book cart, to eat. Tonight it’s lasagna; a reddish grease seeps out from between the noodles, pooling in the tray’s depression designed for the main dish. Garlic bread, green beans—the grayish-green kind that comes in cans—and vanilla pudding, a dollop of that stiff, fake whipped cream on top.

Devon pushes her plastic spork out of its cellophane wrapper, takes a bite of the lasagna.

It doesn’t touch her mom’s, not even close. Lasagna is the only food her mom can make from scratch, and it is surprisingly good. “It’s all in the ingredients,” she’d say mysteriously when someone asked about the recipe. Devon’s mom had learned how to make lasagna from her own mother—the grandma Devon’s never met—in that “other” life, her pre-Devon life, in Spokane. And strangely, lasagna had become their special meal at every holiday, the closest thing Devon and her mom owned as a family tradition. As if, in that small way, her mom’s long-abandoned family could be there with them. An unconscious presence.

Devon takes another bite, and a memory pushes forward into her mind. Last Thanksgiving. She hadn’t eaten much that day, she remembers. She’d been feeling “fat” lately, the fly on her jeans becoming a struggle to zip, her hips and around the waist snug against the denim. So, she’d started wearing warm-ups more and more, for comfort. In fact, in this memory she’s sitting at the Thanksgiving table in her soccer warm-ups, still damp from a run she’d taken earlier that afternoon. She hadn’t felt like dressing for the occasion, or even cleaning up after her run, their only guest the Guy of the Moment. She had no desire to impress him.

“You could’ve at least taken a shower, Dev,” her mom had hissed at her in the kitchen. “What’s up with you? I mean, you could make an effort to be nice. Phil’s a good guy. And besides that, I like him.” She’d torn open a salad bag then and dumped its contents into a large mixing bowl. Sprinkled a package of salad toppers—sliced honey-roasted almonds—and shredded cheddar cheese over the lettuce. “Just put this on the table, okay? And grab the light Italian dressing, the good stuff by what’s his name? That Newman guy? I’ve gotta check on the lasagna. It smells like it’s burning.”

When they were all seated at the table, the three of them, their plates covered with the salad and steaming stuff, Devon picked up her fork. Started pushing her food around.

“Wait up,” Phil said suddenly. “Before we dig in, how about I say grace? You know, seeing as it’s Thanksgiving and all? We probably should give thanks.”

“I was just going to say that myself,” Devon’s mom said, pressing her hand over her heart. “Gosh! You read my mind, Phil! It’s like we’re the same person!” She was beaming across the table at him. Phil, who fancied himself a religious kind of guy. Phil, who’d

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