So I guess they’re happy to have me back, but they aren’t ready to hear what happened. Maybe they never will be.
Dad takes his station at the head of the table and cuts into the roast. The sawing noise the knife makes as it cuts into the meat makes my stomach convulse. The sight of the bright red meat makes me close my eyes.
I’ve never been so keenly aware that the chunk of meat I was about to eat came from a living, breathing animal. The blood pooling into Mom’s china serving plate is the same blood that kept that animal alive. I’m about to eat its flesh.
I know I’ll never eat meat again. I’ll never dine on the pieces of an innocent animal ever again.
When Dad puts the first slab on my plate, I shake my head.
“You love roast, Jade,” he says, the knife in his hand dripping red grease.
“No.” I keep shaking my head. “I don’t.”
Mom wets her lips across from me and looks at Dad. She doesn’t know what to do. I know she planned this meal for me. I know she wanted it to be special. I hate that I’m ruining it for her, but I can’t eat that. I can barely stand to sit in my seat with it staring at me.
For ten years, I’ve eaten food that came from a can or a bag: rice, beans, tuna, peas, green beans . . . I might have liked bloody meat in a different life, but not this one.
“Here, trade plates with me.” Connor leans across the table and grabs my plate before setting his empty one in front of me.
I send a small smile his way, and he shrugs back like it’s no big deal. Dad goes back to cutting the roast, and I distract myself by scooping a mound of potatoes and green beans onto my plate. I already know I won’t be able to eat much of it, but for Mom’s sake, I’ll try. My appetite has disappeared ever since I was rescued. I don’t know why, but it’s like I can’t stomach anything anymore.
“What are you studying in school, Connor?” I ask as I squirm on the chair, trying to find a comfortable spot. This chair’s so hard. Back at Earl Rae’s, the chairs had pads covering the seats.
He shrugs again while Dad grumbles.
“A little bit of everything right now,” Connor answers.
“Are you a junior now?” I glance at his U-Dub sweatshirt, wondering if he ever sees Rory anymore. They used to be friends, but who knows if that’s the case anymore.
“Senior.”
“Who should be graduating with the rest of his class in a week,” Dad adds under his breath.
“I don’t know what I want to be when I grow up yet. It’s a big decision.” Connor takes a drink of his water. “I’m leaving next week for Europe to spend summer quarter taking a course in ancient Scottish history.”
I nod while Dad grumbles, “Because just think of all the job opportunities out there for people who spend a summer learning about Scottish history.”
“Ancient Scottish history.” Connor lifts his fork.
Dad grumbles again.
Sam is silent down the table from me. I feel her anger directed at me, but I can’t figure out its source. I’ve been gone for ten years—what could I have done to piss her off so badly? She can’t still be mad about the time Torrin and I turned the sprinklers on her and her friends when they were camping out in the backyard.
“What have you been up to, Sam?” I try a bite of the mashed potatoes. I’m sure it’s the same recipe, but I feel like I’m choking down rubber cement.
She tenses when I say her name, then she picks up her fork. “I graduated from University of Oregon three years ago with a double major in International Business and Economics. I work for Boeing in Federal Way as an international liaison. Two years ago, I married Patrick, who I met in college.” She lifts her left hand, and a ring sparkles from her finger. “He works for Microsoft in Redmond as a software developer. We had our daughter last year. Her name’s Maisy.”
Sam lists this all off like she’s reading a grocery list, so it takes me a second to catch up. She’s married? She has a kid?
“So that means I’m an aunt?” The words sputter from my mouth as I try to work that out.
Sam lifts a shoulder.
“Are Patrick and Maisy coming to dinner too?” I ask, but the table’s only set for five.
Sam shakes her head. “Patrick and I aren’t ready to explain all of this to Maisy yet.” She makes “this” sound like a lurid thing.
“How old’s Maisy?” I ask, swirling patterns into my mashed potatoes.
“Fourteen months.”
I feel my forehead crease. Explaining “this” isn’t why Sam left her family at home. She doesn’t want me to meet them. She doesn’t want them to meet me. Is she ashamed of me? Embarrassed? Does she think I’m ruined now? A potentially bad influence? A black hole that will suck everything that gets close into its vacuum?
“Congratulations,” I say before trying the beans. They go down a little easier, but I know I won’t be able to eat more than a few bites.
“Thanks.” Sam picks at her plate, but her appetite looks as absent as mine.
“Jade, sweetheart . . .”
Just the way my mom says it, I know she’s hesitant to mention whatever she’s going to. She’s walking on eggshells. Everyone at the table is. I hate it. I just want them to act like nothing happened, to treat me like the same person they remember me as, to not think of me as a victim who was kidnapped but as their sister and daughter.