I hear the front door open and voices coming in from the front hall. I quickly turn and look toward it expectantly.
“Oh good, they’re back. We’ll have dinner. Leah, I’ll give you a Tupperware to take home to Oliver and the kids.”
Dylan strolls into the kitchen, looking tired and rumpled. I look behind him, but there’s no Josh.
“Where’s your dad? Is Josh joining us?” my mom asks.
Dylan looks around the kitchen and then meanders over to the counter and grabs two meatballs from a cooling tray and pops them in his mouth.
“Dylan Michael, that food is for tomorrow,” my mom scolds.
I bite my lip and wait for my brother to answer my mom’s question. “Dad’s getting changed,” he says. Then he waits for my mom to turn back to the beeping timer on the oven and he grabs another meatball.
I wrap my arms around myself and look out at the front yard. It’s dark out, dusk has come and gone.
“Where’s Josh?” I ask.
Leah looks over at me, and Dylan frowns. “He went back to his dad’s.” Dylan shrugs. “We invited him for dinner but he said he had some things to take care of.”
I imagine him alone in his childhood home, the quiet and the dark. I bend down and pull a Tupperware container from the cupboard. “I’ll run over and take him dinner.”
Dylan shakes his head. “He’ll order pizza.”
I start scooping spaghetti casserole into the container. Then I grab another plastic tub and scoop in fluffy lime Jell-O salad full of whipped cream and lime zest.
“He should have a homemade dinner,” I say.
“Why do you care what he eats?” Dylan asks. “You haven’t paid attention to him in decades.”
I stop scooping, the metal spoon hangs in the air. “That’s not true.”
Dylan gives me his big brother, I’m always right look. “Oh right, you had dinner together in the city one night. So what, you’re friends now?”
“You had a date with Josh?” my mom asks.
“Mom,” Leah says, “please. Remember two years ago, when you had the harebrained idea to set Gemma up with Josh? Remember what she said?”
My mom’s mouth turns down in concentration.
Dylan raises his hand, “I do. Josh and I were in the next room. We heard.”
I flinch and drop the spoon back into the Jell-O bowl. I don’t remember, but by the look on Dylan’s face, I’m sure it wasn’t nice.
“What did you say?” my mom asks.
I shrug and shake my head. “I don’t know.”
But Leah remembers. “Gemma said, and I quote, ‘Me and Josh Lewenthal? Are you kidding? He’s been with the entire female population of this town, he doesn’t have a career or direction, and he thinks life is a big joke. Why would I ever date Josh Lewenthal? I’d rather date Greg Butkis.”
My body goes cold. I have a vague recollection of saying that. We were in the kitchen making a Sunday roast and my mom was trying to find me a date for the New Year’s party. She suggested Josh. And I…I judged him and rejected him.
“You forgot the part where she said that inspirational quote, the one about the gift of loving and that she wouldn’t waste it on a guy like Josh,” says Dylan. He gives me a dark look. “It wasn’t cool, Gemma. So if you’re just going to go over and tell Josh some positivity crap or make fun of his life choices, you can put the spaghetti down. He doesn’t need that right now.”
I look down at the food spread out across the counter, ready for the reception after the funeral.
“Ease off, Dylan. Gemma doesn’t go around dumping on people. She’s just trying to be nice. It’s not her fault Josh heard her. There were plenty of times she voiced her opinion of him and he didn’t hear. Remember the Fourth of July party the year Sasha was born? Josh was there and she said, ‘Where did all his potential go? Remember when we all thought he was going to do great things? But like Ian says, ‘It takes a great person to do truly great things.’”
I’m cold with shame.
“Okay, I won’t try to set Gemma up with Josh,” my mom says. “They wouldn’t be a good fit anyway. Gemma needs someone who doesn’t mind that she can’t have children. And who doesn’t care if she’s a tad bit overweight or wears oversized sweaters and—”
I press my hands to my cheeks. They feel drained of blood. Then I turn to my mom and my sister and brother. “Mom, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t ever try to fix me up again. Or fix me, period. I know you mean well, but it hurts me when you try it, okay? It makes me feel as if you don’t think I’m okay just as I am. And I know I’m not as pretty as Leah, or as funny as Dylan, but that doesn’t mean you have to fix me. Maybe you could just love me as I am?”