Unfamiliar Ceilings

Dinner with the Owens’ wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be. Not another word left Dean’s mouth. Well, at least not to me.

He had a younger brother, named Johnny. He was quiet throughout the most part of dinner, but looked up and smiled at me when I entered Mark’s dining room. If I saw the two walking together on the street, I’d never assume they were brothers; they looked so different. Johnny’s hair was blonde, cut shorter and styled differently to Dean’s sweeping black mop look. Johnny wasn’t as pale, but he looked a lot scrawnier than his brother.

Dean was seated at the opposite end of the large mahogany table, closer to the window, talking a man that could only have been his father. Mr. Owens had the same straight nose and broad shoulders as his eldest son and his hair was a dark iron grey and thinning out. Johnny sat in the chair opposite mine, furthest away from his own kin, just as Mark, Stephanie and Mrs. Owens entered the room, laden with plates of food.

The majority of Stephanie’s attention was spent on Mrs. Owens as they chatted across the table, while Mark entertained Mr. Owens and Dean. Johnny and I were left to silence. I picked at the food on my plate, not feeling particularly hungry. I’d glance around the table every now and then, in my subtle attempt to check the time on the clock on the wall. You know how things normally go about five times slower when you’re desperate for something to end?
Yeah, this was one of those times.

I’d catch Mr. Owens occasionally shoot me a glance from the end of the table, open his mouth to say something, then think better of it and go back to his food, his son or my father. I thanked God in my mind, and went back to spearing pieces of lukewarm tofu with my fork and nibbling at the edges.

“So, Dean, are you planning on college?” I heard Mark asked after he swallowed a rather unnecessarily large mouthful of broccoli. "You're the same age as Leila, aren't you?"

“Yeah, I am, Mr. Cole,” Dean replied. “Hopefully studying psychology, medical science and music.”

I saw Mark nod in approval out of the corner of my eye. He then turned to our end of the table, gave Johnny a small smile and said, “What about you, son? Any plans after school?”

He seemed shocked to be asked anything, considering his parents hadn’t given him a second glance all evening. He promptly swallowed whatever he was chewing.

“I’m not actually sure,” Johnny shrugged his shoulders. “I was thinking of a photography course, but I've still got another year to decide.”

Mark nodded again, giving Johnny another encouraging smile before turning back to the remains of his meal. I took a glance at Johnny, to see his face flushed red. I held back a slight giggle, then heard Dean going on about something to do with the human psyche. I couldn’t help rolling my eyes; he was kissing arse so much.

Johnny was leaning back in his seat – knife and fork laid askew on his empty plate – smiling at me and shaking his head. It got harder not to laugh the more Dean talked, and the more his brother kept laughing at him. I ended up looking down and shoving the last piece of tofu on my plate into my mouth to stop myself from laughing.

“Everyone finished?” Stephanie asked, looking around at all of us. Everybody nodded. “Great. Leila could you clear up for me love?”

I nodded my head, mouth still crammed with tofu, and stood up to grab as many plates as I could, then escape to the kitchen and finally laugh. I’d just gotten around to Mark’s plate, when Mr. Owens said, “Johnny, help her will you.”

“Eh, why can’t Dean?” Johnny complained, but stood up and started grabbing plates anyway.

“Because we’re having a discussion.”

Johnny rolled his eyes and grabbed the other three plates, along with his own and followed me out into the kitchen. I dumped the plates onto the counter beside the sink. Considering Stephanie just had this kitchen done up, I was a bit surprised at the lack of a dishwasher. Johnny walked up beside me, placing the plates lightly next to the ones I’d just put down.

He sighed heavily and said, “It’s a hand job then?”

I looked over at him and raised my eyebrows. He seemed to be thinking over what he’d just said, then smacked a hand to his forehead.

“I meant the dishes,” he laughed.

“Yeah, I know,” I replied, shaking my head and dumping the plates in the sink. “I’ll wash, you dry?”

Johnny nodded, leaning against the counter beside me while I started washing the dishes. I passed them to him when I’d finished. That little cycle continued in a slightly awkward silence, until I tried to break the silence.

“So, your broth-” I began.

“Is an arrogant show-off?” he smiled, keeping his eyes down on the plate he was drying. “Yeah, I know.”

“I wasn’t going to say that,” I laughed.

“Maybe.” He nodded, considering. “But you were thinking it.”

Kid read my mind.

I laughed and shook my head, going back to the soapy water in the washing up bowl. It didn’t take us long to wash and dry the dishes, then stow them away in their appropriate cupboards. Johnny hoisted himself up onto the island once we were done, while I leaned against the counter opposite him. He gave me one long calculating look that made me feel quite uncomfortable.

“So, what’s your deal?” he asked, tapping the countertop with his finger.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I don’t know. Tell me about yourself.”

“Oh.” I stopped and thought for a while. For such a straightforward question, it was hard to answer. There was a lot somebody could mean by “tell me about yourself”. They could mean, “tell me about your hobbies”, “tell me about your past”, etcetera, etcetera.

“Leila, you still there?” Johnny laughed, waving his hand in front of my face.

“Oh, yeah, sorry,” I said. “I’m not sure how to answer that one. I suppose you’ll just have to get to know me.”

Johnny shrugged his shoulders and said, “Fair enough.”

“Johnny-boy,” Dean said, walking into the kitchen. “We’re goin’ home.”

Johnny nodded and gave me a small wave goodbye. He exited the kitchen, leaving Dean there with me. He was just standing there, looking me up and down. It wasn’t making me uncomfortable, it just made me want to slap the look off of his face.

When he finally finished, after an extensive look at my chest – which I ended by crossing my arms across it – he looked me in the eye.

“You’re not bad, y’know.”

And then he turned around and walked away.

What?