Corresponding Stars

Chapter Twelve: Death By Dinner (Alexis's POV)

A few weeks later, Marielle' s father decided that he and Father "have spent too long without each other." (Sounded to me more like a love letter than a dinner invitation.) So he insisted we come over for dinner. To Father, it was an exciting opportunity to catch up with an old friend and reminisce. To me, it was a death sentence.

The night of the dinner, I dress in my armor, or as most people call it, a formal suit. My shirt and pants are pressed, and my burgundy tie is perfectly straight. My shoes are so shiny I can see my reflection in them, and my hair has not a strand out of place. My cast finally came off recently, and I relish in putting both arms through my jacket.  I'm unsure as to why I'm dressing so well. To impress Marielle? Show her what she's missing? To prepare myself? All I know is that it feels necessary.

Father eyes me warily when I emerge. "Why so fancy?"

I just grin. "You said formal."

It is a fairly nice day, so we walk to Marielle' s house. Her father comes to the door. I think this is the first time I've seen her father look happy in my presence. He never liked me. He criticized me for being creative and free-spirited like my mother, and not practical and realistic like my father. I regret never calling him out on disrespecting the name of the dead.

Anyway, he embraces Father and gives me a stiff handshake, not even looking me in the eye.  He's already too caught up talking to Father.

As we take a seat in the parlor, he gestures towards Marielle, who is already staring at me with eyes harder than stone, and me. "Remember when we were young like them, Augustine?"

"Ah, yes. Young and carefree. Though I daresay we were more practical," Father replies with a smirk.

"Oh, of course. She says she wants to be an artist. I tell her that while she's at it, she might as well paint herself some money, since she won't be making any with her paintings." They both erupt into convulsing, knee-slapping laughter.

"So I guess all those risky business ventures are a better idea? At least she's not wasting money with her art supplies. At least she's actually making something," I say, causing both fathers to gape at me and a tense silence to fall over the room.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Marielle trying to suppress a smile. No matter how much she hates me, our love of art and our parents' disapproval of it will always bind us together.

Finally, my father, seeing us smirking at each other, says, "Look at this. I've fostered a little love connection."

My face flushes red, both in embarrassment and anger. Thankfully, Marielle's mother saves us a few moments later by announcing that the food is ready.

I bow my head as Marielle's father says Grace. I've never been particularly devout, but in that moment, I send up a silent prayer of thanks for Marielle's mother interrupting the tense pre-dinner conversation.

The rest of the night, every time the conversation veers towards a possible love connection between Marielle and me, Marielle's mother switches the subject, making me think that she knows what transpired between us. I don't know if she knows the truth, but she knows what went on.

We share awkward goodbye hugs and handshakes, and then I breathe a sigh of relief at surviving the night.

When I come home, I find the mail awaiting me. I find a fancy-looking, cream envelope addressed to me.

It's a letter from Acker Thompson, a close friend of mine who moved a year ago to Paris, along with a wedding invitation. The invitation is obviously to his wedding on November fifth. The letter reads:

Hello, Alexis. Greetings from Paris.

As you can see, I’m getting married on November fifth to a wonderful girl, Anne. I am asking you to be one of my (dis) honorable groomsmen. Really all you need is a tuxedo.

Write me back and let me know if you can make it.

Wow. I never thought Acker, the wild child, the prankster, would be the first one to settle down. I try to think of any Parisian contacts I have who might be able to help me find a place to stay. Then I remember.

A/N: Sorry for the slow updates. I had finals, and a terrible bout of writer's block.