Chaos Theory

chapter twelve

Barbara sways around the dining room table when they're a decent chunk into the second episode of Friends. She's putting plates down on the cream colored placemats and muttering the lyrics to the song flowing from the kitchen, lining silverware up and straightening the fake flowers in the vase sat in the middle of the dark wood. Del, having been thoroughly enjoying being introduced to the show, gets distracted in her concentration.

"How long, Mama?" Cody calls to her, his shoulder pressed against Del's from where he's leaned back into the cushions, the lilt still present in his voice. Del finds that he really likes to hear it.

"Around ten minutes," Babs wipes her hands on her shorts, raising her eyebrows at her son and turning up one side of her lips. "Can you wait that long?"

Marlee snorts.

"Yes I can," Cody huffs.

Barbara's laugh carries even when she returns to the kitchen.

They finish the episode, with Marlee having to nudge Cody more than once for talking over it. He's caught up on explaining that no, he is not a pig and that they 'shouldn't be brainwashing Del like that'. Marlee seems to be somewhere between laughing and hitting him across the head when their mother appears with a steaming dish in each hand and a call that the food is ready.

Cody jumps up before she's finished, shadowing Barbara as she places the pots delicately on their holders and pokes fun at his insistence.

"I'm worried about your taste," Marlee tells him, having replaced Cody's spot next to him to lower her voice. Her eyes are fixed on her brother, shoveling spoonfuls of food onto his plate.

Del can't deny that he's smiling, can't deny the fluttering that's been in his stomach all day. "I'm not."

He doesn't see the expression Marlee makes, but he can gather the gist of it by the way she stands up and says, "I can't believe I've gotten myself into this. You're sitting next to him. You're welcome."

Del watches her disappear into the kitchen, the sink running for a moment, before reappearing and looking him in the eye as she assuredly plants herself into the chair of the singularly placed plate and silverware on one side of the table.

Del goes to wash his hands, thinking that if they were to ever meet, Darcie and Marlee would really hit it off.

When he returns—his hands sufficiently smelling of lavender—it's at the same time as Mr. Salceda, his heavy boots still laced and not only smelling of sawdust but now a thick cloud of smoke.

Del resists the urge to wrinkle his nose, pictures of tar colored lungs and excerpts about the effects of smoking popping into his mind unbidden. He could recite a number of them from memory, but figures that it isn't the greatest idea in the presence of a man he's not entirely sure won't beat him up.

Instead, he holds his breath through hesitantly adding food to his plate, holds it until he no longer can, sat in a seat next to the man himself at the head of the table. There's a small glass close to his right elbow, filled almost to the brim with a dark liquid, and Del decides to avert his eyes all together before he starts spitting out random facts about health.

"Alright, let's pray," Barbara announces from the opposite end of the table, her hands already clasped together. "You pray, don'tcha, Del?"

And Del, having neither gone to church nor prayed in what could very well have been eleven years, answers, "Yes ma'am."

"Great."

Mr. Salceda leads the prayer, deep voice notably delicate as it rumbles over the words. The expression on his face in the silence after the amen is proud and a touch soft. Del tries not to stare too hard at him. He's only trying to figure him out.