Page 31 of The Rebel
Valencia looked at the table Oliver had laid—his job—and said, “I usually eat in my room.”
Mom’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, but she was smooth as she said, “We like to eat together, it’s a good time to catch up and hear about everyone’s day.”
I jumped in and pulled out the chair opposite Oliver’s and that stupid, embarrassing accent came out again, “Here m’lady.”
Oliver and Mom laughed, but Valencia’s smile was delayed, like it was out of obligation.
“Thanks,” she mumbled while I shuffled back to the kitchen to help Mom bring out the dishes.
Note to self:Stop with the accent and butler behavior!
Mom reached out her hands, Oliver taking it quickly but Valencia made no attempt to move until Mom said with a smile, “We just like to offer thanks.”
She took Mom’s hand, and I tentatively reached out mine, having a minor panic attack as our fingertips met in a barely-there touch. It sent a warm shiver down my spine, but induced an empty head.
Mom went first. “We’re thankful for this meal and for bringing Valencia to us. Girl power!” She raised their hands in triumph, causing Valencia to smile.
“Thanks for Mr. Senna being away from school today so we didn’t have a pop test in math,” Oliver said.
Something about Valencia’s fingers against mine had my mind whirling but also devoid of a coherent thought. I squeezed her hand to indicate she should go next because I was struggling to think.
“Oh, uh...”
“You can say anything,” Oliver prompted.
“Yes, whatever you’re thankful for,” Mom chimed in. “It’s just a little thing we like to do every day.”
Valencia’s jaw clenched and she pressed her lips together, maybe her mind as blank as mine. “Um, I’m thankful...that...thanks for...letting me stay here while Paris is playing his tournaments.”
We all smiled, but I detected a hint of bitterness in the way she said Paris’s name, but Mom didn’t seem to notice, saying, “You’re very welcome. It’s our pleasure.”
I sat dumbly for a few seconds, trying to string my thoughts together, worried she could feel my clamminess. “Thanks for my little brother who’s agreed to do the washing up if he wants to come to soccer tonight.”
“What? I never said that!” Oliver pulled his hand out of mine, and unfortunately that set off a chain reaction where Valencia removed her hand from mine. I missed it instantly.
Oliver protested for a few moments, but brought out his best manners, pouring water for everyone, passing Valencia the bowl of beans, pointing out the salt and pepper shakers as if she wasn’t familiar with such things.
Conversation wasn’t difficult with Mom directing the questions about our day, though she didn’t grill Valencia on her discipline slip. I steered the talk toward Mom’s day. She was a qualified nurse but now worked at Whittakers Ice Cream Factoryas a Health and Safety Advisor. It was a new thing since Dad had died, allowing her regular hours or working from home.
“Hey, any new ice cream flavors?” I asked.
“There’s always new flavors being tested,” Mom said.
“Did you bring any home?” Oliver asked.
“Not today,” Mom said. “It’s not exactly ice cream weather.”
“It’s always ice cream weather,” Oliver said with a cheeky grin.
“Valencia, what are your favorite foods?” Mom asked. “Is there anything you don’t eat?”
“I’m allergic to crab legs,” she said, quite pointedly.
“Crab legs? That’s random,” I said. “Uh, how did you find that out?”
“Our second night at a restaurant in Florida,” she said, sounding thoroughly peeved. “I came out in big red hives.”
“Oh that sucks.” I laughed, but regretted it. I mean sometimes allergies could be life and death situations. A kid in elementary school had an allergy to peanuts and had to carry an epipen at all times. Peanut butter sandwiches were off the menu for that year because of him.
