Free The Icing on the Cake by Elodia Strain

Thankfully, at that instant, Mom came into the room and announced that dinner was ready.
    “I know I’m hungry,” Dad said, patting his stomach.
    We all moved into the dining room. Dad and Mom sat down in their usual places at the six-seat table, Dad at the head and Mom to his right. I sat next to Mom, and Isaac sat across from me. I eyed the steaming food eagerly.
    “Isaac, would you offer the blessing on the food?” Dad asked.
    I quickly shot Dad a what-are-you-doing glare, but he ignored me. I turned my eyes down to avoid making eye contact with Isaac.
    “Of course,” Isaac said.
    Isaac bowed his head and offered a reverent and sincere prayer. When he had finished praying, I opened my eyes slowly and turned them upward to look at him. He met my gaze and our eyes locked for a moment. I gave him a tiny smile. Then I thought I felt his foot touch mine under the table. But I’m not quite sure—it might have been Mom’s.
    “Did you serve a mission, Isaac?” Dad asked as he served himself some drizzled chicken and passed the dish to Mom.
    I shot Dad another look, but I was ignored again.
    “Yes, sir, I served in the Philippines,” Isaac answered.
    “What year did you get home from your mission?” Mom asked, sounding interested. She handed me the chicken.
    “I’ve been home for about four years now.”
    As I dished up some chicken, I did some quick math in my head. I figured out that if Isaac had gone on his mission when he was nineteen, then he was likely about one year older than me. Not too shabby .
    Mom obviously did some math in her head as well because seconds later she started listing off the names of anyone and everyone she knew who had served a mission in the Philippines during the years Isaac had served there.
    I always find it funny when people do this. And I find it even funnier that they usually discover they have a friend or an acquaintance in common. It turned out that Mom’s previous visiting teaching companion had a daughter whose ex-fiancé served in Isaac’s last area. Mom and Isaac talked about him for a moment.
    For the remainder of the meal, the conversation stayed mostly on Isaac and his mission. I listened intently as he spoke about what he learned and experienced in the mission field. I felt my admiration for him growing as he shared his stories and his thoughts with my family.
    When we were through eating, Dad, remembering Isaac’s earlier interest in his chess set, asked Isaac if he would like to play.
    Isaac looked at me as if asking for permission, which I thought was really adorable. “Go ahead,” I said. “I’m going to help clean up.” I stood up and started clearing dishes from the table.
    “Are you sure you don’t need help?” Isaac asked in a way that let me know he really wanted to play chess.
    “I’m sure. Mom and I both hate chess, so he doesn’t get a chance to play much. Go play.”
    I put my hand gently on Isaac’s shoulder and suddenly felt an electric-like sensation that began in my fingers and spread all the way into the center of my chest. I moved my hand away quickly, but couldn’t help smiling sweetly at Isaac as he stood up from the chair. He returned my smile with a look that let me know he had enjoyed the simple touch as much as I had.
    Dad and Isaac set up their game in the living room, and I helped Mom with the dishes. In the privacy of the kitchen, Mom and I talked.
    “I really like him, Annabelle,” Mom said with a smile. “I liked him the second I met him at the café.”
    “I really like him too,” I whispered dreamily, leaning against the counter.
    “How does he know Rona Bircheck?” Mom asked with a hint of skepticism in her voice. Mom became a little wary of Rona after she watched me attempt to play croquet in my black prom dress.
    “She asked him to take some photos for her,” I said in a resent-laden voice. “And now she won’t go away. She has some big-shot world-saving doctor for a fiancé, but she insists on spending time