Free The Good Life by Susan Kietzman Page B

“You’ve got one minute to get in that dining room, if you know what’s good for you.” The moment those final few words left her mouth, both she and Nate knew they were false. She had said them too often; they had no meaning. And Ann knew that Nate actually did know what was good for him. He didn’t seek trouble. Sure, his room was always a mess, and his homework was done poorly, and his disrespectful attitude was tedious. But he was not driving his car when drunk. He was not doing drugs—at least Ann had found nothing in her periodic jacket and pants pocket searches. Ann and Mike had never been frantic in the night, seconds away from calling the police because he was not home and might be in danger. Other mothers worried about that. Instead, Ann worried about the distance between them. When he had pulled away, farther away than he had already been, Ann had done nothing to bring him back. It was as if they were attached by a large rubber band, stretched to the point of breaking.
    “But you always tell me that I don’t know what’s good for me,” said Nate, jerking his head to shift his bangs.
    “In this case I think you do,” said Ann, turning her back to him. She returned to the dining room just as Emma was putting a dinner plate in front of her seat.
    “Nate will be joining us shortly,” Ann said to Emma. “You can just put the salad on his dinner plate.” Emma nodded her head, then returned to the kitchen.
    “Nate’s home?” asked Eileen. “I didn’t see him.”
    “He’s just washing up,” said Ann, sitting. “Apparently, his after-school plans took longer than he realized.” They all returned to their dinners. Sam coughed, launching several rice grains into the air like miniature artillery fire. They landed, six of them, on Ann’s white tablecloth. No one said anything. Nate walked into the room looking bored already. He hesitated a moment, and then sat down next to his grandmother in the only empty chair.
    “Hello, Nate,” said Eileen, reaching over to hug him. “You’ve grown since last Christmas.”
    “Hi, Gran,” said Nate, arms at his sides.
    “I need a hug, young man.”
    Instantly reddening, Nate lifted his arms and draped them loosely around his grandmother’s rounded back. He lifted his eyes to meet his father’s. Mike winked. As soon as she let him go, Nate pulled away. He glanced at his grandfather, whose bib was newly spotted with rice grains and gravy, then shifted his gaze downward. “Hi, Gramps,” said Nate to his salad. Sam said nothing.
    “He didn’t hear you,” said Eileen, gently squeezing Nate’s arm. “Try again, Nate.”
    “Hi, Gramps,” said Nate, a little louder. Sam continued to push grains of rice onto his fork with his finger.
    “Sam,” said Eileen, reaching over and touching her husband’s arm. “Your grandson is saying hello.” Sam looked at his wife with a puzzled expression. “Your grandson is saying hello.”
    “It’s okay,” said Nate, still embarrassed.
    “He gets tired at the end of the day,” said Eileen. “Tomorrow, he’ll be better.”
    I’ll bet, thought Nate, looking at his watch. He lifted his fork and shoveled in some rice.
    “How was school?” Eileen asked him.
    “Fine,” said Nate, thinking the last time someone had asked him that question in earnest was second grade.
    “What are you studying?”
    “Lots of things,” said Nate, finally giving his grandmother a look loaded with the weariness he felt. “As a matter of fact, I’ve got a huge physics test tomorrow, so I should hit the books.” He pushed his chair back and stood.
    “We’ve got pecan pie for dessert,” said Ann with forced cheerfulness.
    “That’s okay,” said Mike, feeling Nate’s discomfort. “You get to your studying. You can have some dessert later if you want to take a break.”
    “Me too,” said Lauren, standing. “I’ve got a history test. My teacher this year is brutal.”
    “No pie?” asked Ann, already knowing the