Shake Me Down L.S

Chapter 30

Twenty-six minutes. That's how long Harry is home before his mom says something that makes him break into a cold sweat.

Harry thought things were off to a good start, too. He enjoyed a completely silent ride home from the bus station with his step-father (sure, the silence was a little awkward, but not as awkward as a conversation surely would have been). They arrived home to find Harry's mother in the kitchen, watching TV while she absently stirred a potful of pasta. She didn't even try to rope Harry into a conversation after hugging him hello. Actually, Harry's mom looked a little preoccupied— probably with whatever she was watching on the news, Harry assumed—which was fine by him. Relieved not to be the center of his parents' attention, Harry fled to his bedroom.

Even better, Harry's parents were caught up in their own conversation when they sat down to dinner. Harry started tuning them out after the pre-meal prayer, thanking God for whatever reason he was able to fly under the radar for so long.

But the longer Harry sat at the dinner table unmolested, the more uneasy he became. It was rather incredible that his mother wasn't giving him the third degree. Harry didn't believe for a second that she had gotten her fill of grilling him about school over Thanksgiving break. Neither his mother nor his step-father even asked Harry about his exams, which was the first thing Harry expected to be interrogated about when he walked in the door. Not to toot his own horn or anything, but Harry was pretty sure he'd nailed that stats final, and he was looking forward to sharing the good news with his mom.

Well, maybe that was a sign that Harry should wait until grades were actually in before bragging about his presumed A to anyone.

Still, Harry thought as he twirled spaghetti on his fork, he was starting to get suspicious of how little attention his mother was paying him, rather than grateful.

As if on cue, that was the moment Harry's step-dad chose to use the bathroom. As soon as he was out of the room, Harry's mom turned her full, undivided attention on Harry for the first time all evening. "I saw Conor at Mass last week," she said. "He's looking forward to having coffee with you."

Ah, crap. Well, the peace couldn't last forever. So here Harry is, shoulders curved in, fingers tapping out a nervous pattern against his knee, barely able to keep a grimace off his face. Harry hazards a glance at his mother. Her lips are pressed into a thin, critical line.

"That's—good," Harry says, spinning his fork nervously in his pasta. "I'll email him."

Harry's mother, apparently dissatisfied with the lack of conviction in Harry's voice, presses, "You'll have to let me know how he and his family are doing. We only ever catch each other in passing on the way out of church."

"Okay," Harry says, trying to at least sound not miserable about the prospect.

Harry's step-father proves the unlikely hero of the situation by returning from the bathroom and recapturing his mother's attention. She smiles at him and picks up their conversation about replacing the dishwasher where they left off.

Harry doesn't know what's more disturbing—the fact that he's backed into a corner, in regards to this coffee-with-Conor situation, or that his mother seems to have strategically waited to raise the subject until Harry's step-dad was out of the room. It's...unnerving, and Harry's nerves were already as frayed as a snapped rope.