Leta, May 21, Dinner
By the time Emma and G’aikui reached the community supper, neither of them remembered they were holding hands.
That was the problem.
They had spent most of the afternoon building picnic tables, working close enough that passing tools without asking had become normal. Somewhere between the last load of hardware and walking across the grass toward dinner, G’aikui had taken her hand.
Emma had taken his.
Neither had thought about it after that.
The smell hit them before the crowd did.
Pancit, grilled meat, rice, beans, tortillas, something sweet on another grill, and the unmistakable mayonnaise-and-condensed-milk sweetness of Filipino macaroni salad.
Long serving tables had been set up along one side of the park. Some were folding tables brought from Marshall.
Others were very obviously new.
Emma looked at them.
G’aikui looked too.
“They used ours.”
“Of course they used ours.”
“They should have allowed the fasteners to settle longer.”
“They’re bolts.”
“Yes.”
“They’re fine.”
“I know.”
“You’re worried.”
“I am observing.”
Emma squeezed his hand.
He squeezed back.
Then she saw her mother.
Zahra Johnston stood behind one of the serving tables with an apron tied over her clothes, a serving spoon in one hand and a dish towel thrown over her shoulder.
She had apparently spent enough of the day cooking to acquire command authority.
Two Filipina women were beside her. So were three V’ren women, one of whom Emma recognized as G’aikui’s mother.
Sw’oojaim D’ik was looking directly at them.
Emma slowed.
G’aikui slowed because Emma did.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You stopped.”
“I did not stop.”
“You nearly stopped.”
Emma looked at her mother again.
Zahra looked down.
Not at Emma.
At their hands.
Then slowly back up.
Emma looked down too.
Her hand was still wrapped around G’aikui’s.
“Oh.”
G’aikui followed her gaze.
“Yes.”
Emma let go.
Immediately.
That was a mistake.
Her mother’s eyebrows went up.
G’aikui looked at his suddenly empty hand.
Then at Emma.
“Why did you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Let go.”
Emma could feel heat rising into her face.
“Because.”
“That is not an answer.”
“It is tonight.”
Zahra’s expression became painfully pleasant.
“Emma.”
“Hi, Mom.”
“G’aikui.”
“Hello, Mrs. Johnston.”
“You two have a good day?”
Emma nodded much too quickly.
“Yep.”
G’aikui said, “We built twenty-one picnic tables.”
Emma looked at him.
“Twenty.”
“Twenty-one.”
“The last one wasn’t delivered.”
“It was completed.”
“That does not make it part of the delivered total.”
“I said built.”
Zahra watched them.
Sw’oojaim watched them.
One of the other women had stopped pretending not to watch them.
Emma said, “Twenty-one.”
G’aikui nodded.
“Thank you.”
Zahra smiled.
“How long have you two been holding hands?”
Emma stared at her.
“Mom.”
“What?”
“You know what.”
“I asked a question.”
G’aikui answered.
“Since we left the park.”
Emma closed her eyes.
Zahra said, “Thank you, G’aikui.”
“You are welcome.”
Emma opened her eyes and glared at him.
He frowned.
“You wanted me to lie?”
“No.”
“You look as though you did.”
“I wanted you to recognize that the question did not require an answer.”
“That seems inefficient.”
Someone behind Zahra laughed.
Emma did not look to see who.
Then her father appeared carrying a tray of grilled meat.
Jacob Johnston took one look at Emma.
Then G’aikui.
Then the space between their hands.
Then his wife.
He smiled.
Emma knew that smile.
“No.”
Jacob stopped.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You were going to.”
“I was going to ask whether you wanted beef or pork.”
“No, you weren’t.”
“I might have.”
“You weren’t.”
Jacob set the tray down.
“So are you coming home tonight, or are you spending another night making out in the new park?”
Silence.
Not complete silence.
The cookout behind them continued.
Someone dropped a serving spoon.
A child yelled from somewhere near the playground.
But the five or six adults immediately around Emma became very, very quiet.
Emma stared at her father.
G’aikui turned toward her.
“You told me they did not know.”
“I said I didn’t have any missed calls.”
“That is not the same statement.”
“I know that now.”
Jacob reached for a tortilla.
Emma said, “Dad.”
“What?”
“You cannot just say that.”
“Why?”
“In front of everybody.”
Jacob looked around.
“Everybody?”
Emma looked around too.
That was another mistake.
Sw’oojaim had one hand over her mouth.
C’lep T’resk, who had apparently come up sometime during the catastrophe, was looking at his son with unmistakable interest.
Ph’etuv stood several people farther down the serving line.
Her face lit up.
Emma pointed at her.
“No.”
Ph’etuv smiled.
Emma pointed harder.
“Absolutely not.”
Ph’etuv said something in V’ren.
G’aikui made a strangled sound.
Emma looked at him.
“What did she say?”
“No.”
“Translate.”
“No.”
Jacob looked at G’aikui.
“For the record, I’m not actually asking for details.”
“Good,” Emma said.
G’aikui nodded.
“We did not spend the entire night making out.”
Emma froze.
Jacob froze.
Zahra lowered her serving spoon.
Ph’etuv made a sound that might have killed a weaker person.
Emma slowly turned toward G’aikui.
He realized something had gone wrong.
“I was clarifying.”
“No.”
“I thought your father was concerned that we had spent the entire night doing that.”
“He wasn’t.”
Jacob said, “I’m a little concerned now.”
“Dad.”
“I said a little.”
G’aikui continued, because apparently death held no terror for him.
“We talked for much of the evening.”
Emma grabbed his arm.
“Stop helping.”
“We also watched the moon.”
“G’aikui.”
“Then we fell asleep.”
“Please stop.”
“I thought accuracy was preferable.”
“Not always.”
He looked genuinely troubled by that.
Zahra finally took pity on her daughter.
For perhaps three seconds.
She looked at G’aikui.
“You built the picnic tables?”
“Yes.”
“Are they sturdy?”
G’aikui hesitated.
Emma saw the trap.
He did not.
“Yes.”
Zahra nodded.
“How sturdy?”
G’aikui glanced toward the nearest one.
“The design is simple but structurally sound. The fasteners are rated well above normal seated loads, and we checked the first several for movement after assembly.”
Emma stared at her mother.
“Mom.”
Zahra ignored her.
“So they won’t break?”
“Not under normal use.”
Zahra smiled.
“Good.”
Emma knew.
Some primitive survival instinct deep inside her knew.
“Mom, don’t.”
Zahra looked at G’aikui.
“Her dad broke the one Emma was conceived on.”
G’aikui went completely still.
Emma stopped existing.
Jacob closed his eyes.
For one miraculous moment, nobody said anything.
Then one of the Filipina women made a choking noise.
Sw’oojaim bent over the serving table.
C’lep coughed into his hand.
Ph’etuv screamed with laughter.
Emma covered her face.
“Why would you tell him that?”
Zahra calmly stirred the macaroni salad.
“He was concerned about structural integrity.”
“I was not.”
G’aikui looked at Jacob.
Then at the picnic tables.
Then back at Jacob.
Jacob held up one hand.
“Do not ask.”
G’aikui shut his mouth.
Emma peeked through her fingers.
He was thinking.
“No.”
“I did not say anything.”
“You were going to.”
“I was wondering what failed.”
Jacob pointed at him.
“That is exactly what I told you not to ask.”
G’aikui nodded.
“Understood.”
Zahra said, “It was one of those old campground tables.”
Jacob turned toward her.
“Zahra.”
“What?”
“It was already damaged.”
She looked at him.
“You have maintained that position for sixteen years.”
“Because it was.”
Emma dropped her hands.
“Please stop discussing my conception.”
Jacob picked up the tray again.
“You started this.”
“I walked in.”
“Holding hands.”
Emma stared.
“That is not starting a discussion about where I was conceived.”
“Fair.”
Zahra nodded toward G’aikui.
“He was the one discussing load capacity.”
“I answered your question,” G’aikui said.
“That was your mistake,” Emma told him.
He looked at her.
“I am beginning to understand that.”
Sw’oojaim had recovered enough to straighten.
She said something quietly to her son.
G’aikui answered.
His mother looked at Emma.
Then smiled.
Emma narrowed her eyes.
“What did she say?”
G’aikui hesitated.
“Nothing.”
Emma stared at him.
“You cannot use that now.”
“I have heard you use it repeatedly.”
“What did she say?”
“She asked whether I intend to come home tonight.”
Emma’s face heated all over again.
Jacob laughed.
Zahra said, “See? Sensible question.”
Emma looked between both sets of parents.
“This is terrible.”
Ph’etuv called from farther down the table, “You could go back to the park.”
Emma raised her middle finger.
Ph’etuv immediately returned it.
G’aikui looked delighted.
“Oh, I know this.”
Before Emma could stop him, he raised his own hand and returned the gesture to his sister.
C’lep stared.
Sw’oojaim stared.
Jacob burst out laughing.
Zahra looked at Emma.
Emma said, “That one is not my fault.”
“It is absolutely your fault.”
“I did not teach him.”
G’aikui said, “Urban Dictionary did.”
Zahra slowly looked at her daughter.
Emma pointed at G’aikui.
“That requires context.”
“I am sure it does.”
“Siri made it worse.”
Zahra’s eyebrows climbed.
Emma closed her eyes.
“I am going to eat.”
“That seems wise,” her father said.
She took a plate.
G’aikui took one beside her.
For a few moments they concentrated on food.
Pancit.
Rice.
A little macaroni salad.
Pork.
G’aikui took more pancit after tasting the first forkful.
Emma noticed.
“Good?”
“Yes.”
“My mom helped make it.”
G’aikui looked toward Zahra.
“Mrs. Johnston.”
Zahra turned.
“This is very good.”
Her expression softened immediately.
“Thank you.”
Emma leaned closer to him.
“See? You survived.”
“I am uncertain.”
“You’re alive.”
“That is a low standard.”
They moved down the table.
Behind them, the adults resumed talking.
Mostly.
Emma could still hear Ph’etuv laughing.
At the end of the serving line, G’aikui held out his free hand.
Emma looked at it.
Then at her parents.
Her mother was watching.
Her father was definitely watching.
Emma took G’aikui’s hand anyway.
Zahra smiled.
Jacob said nothing.
For once.
G’aikui looked at Emma.
“You are holding my hand again.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
She squeezed it.
“Because I want to.”
He smiled.
“That answer is precise enough.”
They walked toward one of the picnic tables.
Emma stopped.
G’aikui nearly walked into her.
“What?”
She stared at the table.
Then slowly looked back at her mother.
Zahra was smiling.
Emma turned around.
“Nope.”
G’aikui frowned.
“What?”
“We are eating on the grass.”
“There are tables.”
“I know.”
“We built them.”
“I know.”
“They are structurally sound.”
Emma pulled him away.
“Not helping.”
He followed.
After several steps he said, very carefully, “Was the old table less structurally sound?”
Emma kept walking.
“G’aikui.”
“Yes?”
“Eat your pancit.”
