Heart on a Chain by Cindy C Bennett

Henry tells me, “She doesn’t need any help with her ego.” This is said with an indulgent smile towards her.
    “ I hope you like pumpkin,” she tells me.
    “ I don’t know,” I say, “I haven’t ever tasted it.”
    “ Really? Who hasn’t tasted pumpkin?” she asks with nose wrinkled. “Oh well, you’ll like it. No one makes pumpkin soup like my mom.”
    “ If you don’t like it, sweetie, you just tell me and we’ll get you something else,” Mrs. Jamison says.
    Soon we’re seated at the table, after a little fuss from Christine who wants to finish her book. A promise from Henry to read her a bedtime story later solves that. It’s obvious that she and Henry are crazy about each other as she insists on him sitting next to her.
    I sit on his other side and look around at them, all smiling and laughing and talking over top of one another with an organized kind of chaos, and I feel the world shift again. I didn’t know that this kind of family really exists. I watch the way his parents look at each other, with a deep understanding and security in their love for each other. His sisters bicker somewhat, but there’s obvious love there as well, both for each other and for Henry. They include me in as if I belong.
    They all take for granted the pumpkin soup served in hollowed out pumpkins, the homemade rolls in a wicker basket lined with a cloth napkin, the sautéed squash, the whole atmosphere, things that, to me, are like a fairy tale. When Henry’s mom rises to go to the kitchen to retrieve the pumpkin cookies she’s made for dessert, my eyes follow her. As she disappears through the open doorway my gaze comes to rest on Henry, who’s watching me closely. I watch his eyes darken as they do whenever he’s feeling strongly about something. He seems to read something on my face, but he doesn’t question it, simply reaches under the table and takes hold of my hand, giving me a secure anchor to hold on to.
    After dinner, Mrs. Jamison won’t let me help clean up as I’m the guest, no matter how persistent I am.
    “ Take her out to see the clinic,” she tells Henry.
    I’m not sure what the clinic is, but I’m okay with being alone with Henry so I happily go along. He grabs his jacket for me to put on. We step out through an impressive pair of French doors onto a deck that’s larger than my bedroom. We cross an expanse of lawn that‘s still green in spite of the fact that it should be going into hibernation. He takes my hand and leads me toward the big building I had seen earlier.
    Turns out I wasn’t so far off when I thought it was a stable—no horses since his father doesn’t specialize in large animals, as Henry explains, but it’s the clinic where he treats animals. He opens the door and turns on the overhead fluorescent lights, revealing a clean, sterile room which, he tells me, is the operating room. He leads me in, showing me the individual treatment rooms, the recovery room, and the waiting room which has large windows looking out the opposite side of the building from the house. I can see the parking lot out there and realize that it’s accessible from the main road.
    “ Your dad works at home?” I ask.
    “ Pretty much, yeah.”
    “ Your mom is okay with that?” I ask, thinking about how much my own mom hates it when my dad’s home. When he is home all they do is fight anyway.
    He laughs. “Weird, huh? My parents are still embarrassingly in love. She spends most of her time out here when he’s working.”
    We’re standing in the doorway that separates the waiting room from the rest of the clinic; I look around at the comfortable waiting room which is more welcoming than my own home and I feel tears sting my eyes at the glaring differences between my life and his.
    “ I don’t deserve you,” I whisper, immediately flushed with embarrassment at having voiced the thought.
    “ You don’t have any idea how I feel about you, do you?” he asks.
    I look up at him. He stands with