Winter Jacket: New Beginnings by Eliza Lentzski Page B

timid. “Dinner’s almost ready.”
    “You made more food?” I asked, sitting more upright on my bed.
    She nodded. “But don’t worry; I kept it reasonable. We’re not opening a restaurant.” She turned her eyes toward my girlfriend. “Hunter, will you be staying for dinner?”
    Hunter flashed me a look of uncertainty.
    “Yes, she is,” I answered for her.
    My mother’s smile was tight. “Great. I hope you like lasagna.”
    +++++
    I had never sat at a dining room table with my mother and whomever I’d been dating before. I had had boyfriends in high school, but I’d rifled through them so quickly that no one had ever been invited over for a meal. In college the situation had been similar; I hadn’t figured out my sexuality until my Junior year, and by then my family and I had become distant.
    I pushed my uneaten food around on my p late. There were too many awkward silences, but I couldn’t come up with anything to fill the gaps in our conversation. The sound of knives and forks scraping against plates seemed louder than usual.
    “So, Hunter…that’s an interesting name,” my mother not-so-innocently remarked. “If Elle had told me she was dating someone named Hunter, I would have thought she’d gone straight again.”
    “Mom!” I complained , letting my annoyance show.
    My mom didn’ t look up from her plate and the dainty cuts she was making in the lasagna. “But it’s not like you ever call me anymore.”
    “ Whenever I do, you’re always out of the country,” I pointed out, waving my fork at her. “Besides, you have a phone, too. It works both ways.”
    “I’ m just a little hurt you never told me you were dating someone new. What happened with Cady?” She set her fork and knife down. “I always thought you two would get back together.”
    “ That was a long, long time ago, Mom,” I sighed. “Cady and I are better at being friends than girlfriends.” I hadn’t talked to Cady since Hunter and I had officially started dating; we were barely even friends now.
    Hunter cleared her throat. “ This is really good, Mrs. Graft,” she complimented.
    “ Thank you, dear. But please, call me Vivian.”
    Hunter took another bite. “Did you use Italian sausage instead of ground beef?” she asked when she’d finished chewing.
    My mom nodded and took a sip of her red wine. “Good catch. I like the subtle kick it provides.”
    Hunter had been very qui et through dinner, but I couldn’t blame her. It was an awkward back and forth between my mother and me. We really should have hashed things out, just the two of us, before I subjected Hunter to a family meal.
    I kept waiting for the question – the obligatory origin story of how Hunter and I had met – but it never came. Either my mom had already guessed, or she didn’t care, or she was too uncomfortable to ask those kinds of questions.
    When we finished eating, Hunter was the first one out o f her chair. “I’ll clean up,” she announced.
    My mom started to st and up. “Don’t be silly. Guests don’t clean up.”
    My eyes darted between the two women, my mother and my girlfriend, mentally preparing myself for some kind of confrontati on.
    My mother’ s choice of words, calling her a guest, didn’t appear to faze Hunter, at least not visibly. She picked up her empty plate and grabbed mine as well. “You made a lovely dinner, Vivian; it’s the least I can do.”
    I scrambled to my feet. “I’ll help, too.”
    Hunter waved a hand, shooing me away. “Sit down, Elle. I’ve got this. Keep your mom company.”
    I glanced at my mother who arched an eyebrow at me. I sat back down in my chair while Hunter cleared the table and brought everything into the kitchen. The kitchen and living room were open concept, but the formal dining room where we sat was separated from the primary living space. I could hear Hunter clattering around in the kitchen, but I couldn’t see her.
    I fiddled with the stem of my wine g lass.
    “She’s awfully