A La Carte by Tanita S. Davis

thinking I should go,” he says, and I give a short laugh.
    â€œBefore dinner? Be serious, Sim. Let’s eat.”

9
    â€œAre the latkes okay?”
    Sim nods, spooning in another bite of soup. “They’re fine.”
    I can barely taste my food, but Sim’s eating enough for both of us. I’m uncomfortable in the silence at my own table. I feel like I opened up my front door and let in some kind of untamed animal, and it’s holding me at bay at my end of the room.
    Of course, I didn’t let him in. That still bothers me a little.
    Too tightly wound to sit anymore, I push back from the table, heading into the living room to light a fire. The phone rings as I’m stacking up kindling, and Sim doesn’t look like he’s miles away anymore. “Don’t pick up.” The tightness to his jaw makes the hair stand up on my arms.
    â€œWhat?” I freeze and stare at him.
    â€œDon’t pick up. I know who it is.”
    I’m baffled. “So do I. It’s my mom. She calls me every night at this time.”
    â€œIt might not be.”
    â€œYou can check the caller ID.”
    The phone is on its third ring. If I don’t pick up and it is Mom…I ignore his glare and stretch for the cordless phone.
    â€œHi, Lainey.” Mom’s voice sounds anxious. “Are you feeling better? You were sounding a little depressed earlier.”
    â€œI’m fine, Mom. I just made some soup, and I’m going to watch a movie.” I look at Simeon with exaggeratedly wide eyes, mouthing,
See?
    â€œOh, good.” Mom sounds relieved. “I was going to pop by and make sure you were doing okay…I still can. Want me to bring you something?”
    â€œNo—no, Mom, I’m okay. I made latkes too, so I’m not doing any dessert.”
    â€œYou sure? Pia’s having a good night with coconut torte. If you find Sim, you could—”
    Yikes. “N-no, thanks, Mom. I’m good, really.”
    â€œWell, okay. I better get back—big crowd tonight.” I can hear the pride and the nervousness in my mother’s voice.
    â€œThat’s great! Well, break a chicken leg or something.”
    â€œHa! Vegetarian humor. Enjoy your movie, honey. You do sound better.”
    Mom says something else nice, then I hang up the phone and finish piling wood into the fireplace.
    â€œYour mom calls you every night?”
    I blink. Shrug. “Yeah.” I don’t bother telling him she also calls me when she knows I’ll be home from school. Mom is always calling to check up on me. But she is very cool about it. Mostly. When it isn’t totally annoying. I shrug again.
    Sim relaxes a little and watches me make the fire, still sitting at the table, fiddling with his soup spoon. I offer him more soup, but he shakes his head. He picks a piece off the last latke and nibbles on it, his face expressionless.
    â€œYou’re really quiet,” I say finally.
    He shrugs and watches the flames.
    I quirk my eyebrows, but nothing else seems forthcoming, so I clear the table, put on the kettle for hot chocolate, and try to figure out if I should make dessert. If we watch a movie, snacks might come in handy, so I pull out four Fuji apples from the fruit basket and dig out the apple corer. I think about chopping them up to make an apple crisp, but I decide against it and put back all but two of the biggest apples for baking.
    I glance over my shoulder again at the statue at my table. How long do you have to be friends with someone before you’re allowed to ask about the details of their life? Is that some girlfriend privilege I haven’t been given? I’m dying to ask him what’s going on…but should I?
    â€œLaine, I need to tell you something,” Sim says, and I twitch guiltily.
    â€œHmm?”
    The corer has a spot on it. I run it under the tap and pick at it. There are no clean dish towels within reach, so I open the drawer and