I Guess They Never Disappear

Chapter 3

Trigger Warning: Panic Attack (Do Not Read if this is a trigger for you. I'll mark off before and after the section and put a summary at the bottom. Stay safe everybody!)

Tonight is family dinner night. 

It wasn't mom's idea to begin with, but of course she loves the idea, and I still haven't found the heart to deny her that. We didn't have so many when I was in high school or during the year I took off in between high school and college, and especially few during college, when I was busy getting a degree and my mom was too. 

My third year of college my mom met a man. 

I was actually pretty glad that she felt ready to be meeting people again, not that it was any of my business or anything, but still, I was worried about her living alone once I moved out, which was something I was starting to consider. (I lived at home during college, considering I attended one that was only a short drive away, I didn't feel ready to move out, and most importantly it saved us money, which we needed.) 

Anyways, my mom met a man at one of her night classes or something. I didn't hear about this man until they started dating, during the fall of my junior year at college. 

He moved in with us about a year later. 

To be honest, I don't have any issues with him really. Paul doesn't have a ton of comments to be pointed in my direction. He was the one who decided that it might be nice to start having family dinners together. 

There's a little flower shop a ways down the street from my apartment. Every week on my way back to my mom's house I stop by the flower shop and pick out a flower arrangement for her and Paul. It's my way of giving back to her, although I really should do more than just buy her flowers. High school Evan was a burden, as much as she refuses to admit it, and I can't just erase all of that with a bouquet of slightly wilted carnations. 

Fortunately, the drive is short, and soon I'm pulling into the driveway of the little yellow house I've known for my entire life. 

I get out and straighten the collar of my polo. Mom and Paul always tell me that I don't need to dress up: after all, it's just them. I get the drift: we're all family here, no big deal, except it is a big deal. It will always be a big deal for me, no matter how many times I knock on this door and Paul comes out and shakes my hand and tells me my mother misses me. 

The entryway is just how it always is, and I slide my tennis shoes off and place them next to my mother's. 

It seems like we're always celebrating something at these dinners: tonight is a rare exception. 

I mean, it's not like something terrible has happened or whatever. It's just... normal. And normal is always a welcome reprieve. 

Somebody's picked up food from the really good Mexican place with the vegetarian enchiladas that I enjoy. 

We started eating kosher when Paul started dating my mom. Not that I mind it.

In elementary and middle school and the beginning of high school, I spent a lot of time at Jared's. His parents were sort of strict, I guess, because they made sure he ate kosher, although he confided to me in private that he hated it and as soon as he had freedom he was going to stop doing so. Regardless, I spent so much time over there some days that I ended up eating meals with the Kleinmans, which were always kosher and homemade.

It was nice, actually, because at some point the food I ate at home became something you heat up in the microwave and comes in a tiny plastic tray and is way too hot to eat at first. Homemade meals in our house stopped in middle school or so, not that I blame my mom because I understand what she had to go through. She was busy making sure we would be able to stay in our home.