The Dishwasher
"Oh it's fine, I'll do it later."
"Please." The girl reached for the plates. "It's the least I could do after that wonderful meal."
The boy's mother smiled. "You're such a sweetheart. Isn't she, darling?"
The boy's father gave an approving nod. "Absolutely," he replied.
"I'll help out." The boy started clearing the table along with the girl. She shot him a grateful look, to which he replied with a tender smile.
They headed to the kitchen with the dirty dishes. He started scraping off the leftovers from the plates while she filled the sink with hot water. He watched as she poured dish soap into the running water. "What?" The girl asked, glancing sideways.
The boy shook his head. "Nothing." She swore he almost caught him laughing. There was a certain twinkle in his eyes she couldn't quite read.
"I do the dishes all the time, okay? I'm not trying to win your mom over or something." She said the last part quietly, almost as if she was mumbling to herself.
"Of course." He tried his best to keep a straight face but failed miserably.
Now she was really annoyed, but her cheeks turned slightly red. "Whatever. Can you pass me that glass?" He did, and she started working on cleaning the glass carefully in her hands. "I had a really great time tonight. I'll have to admit, I was kind of nervous. I've met your parents plenty of times before. But being in your house, it feels...different."
"Hey, I had a great time too. And I'm glad that you're here today." He smiled reassuringly. "They couldn't love you more. They laugh at your jokes more than they do at mine, it's actually unfair."
"Don't pin this on them. I never really got your weird jokes either," she said. He put some of his fingers under the running water and sprinkled some water at her. They both laughed. "For what it's worth, I'm really, I mean really happy to be here today. It all feels so normal. Like we're..." She wasn't quite sure what to finish her sentence with.
"Family?" He suggested after a moment of silence.
She nodded, slowly at first, and then more confidently. "Yeah, family," she repeated, feeling the unfamiliar word rolled on her tongue. It felt heavy, but it also felt nice now that she was able to say it.
The boy was a bit unsure of what to do. He thought of pulling her into a hug, but hesitated. So instead he picked up the dishes she'd cleaned and started drying them with a towel. "Look, we're doing a family thing now. You're doing the dishes and I'm drying them off!" The girl laughed. The edge of her eyes creased every time she did, and her nose would scrunch up a little bit. The boy thought it was the most wonderful thing in the world. "After all, we only children gotta stick together, right?"
She tilted her head as if considering what he just said, earning an eye-roll and impatient 'come on' from him. She laughed then replied, "Yeah, I guess we do."
They were taking their time, the girl doing the dishes and the boy drying them and putting them back in the cabinets. They talked about the cold temperature, the girl's professor Dr. Milford who kept interrupting students who were answering questions she'd asked herself, the boy's professor Dr. Chilton who threatened to fail the whole class if he saw another student falling asleep during his lecture, the spectacular brioche they got from the bakery last week, and the even more spectacular french toast they made from the said brioche.
"Next time we gotta try their focaccia. I heard they went great with Ben's cheddar broccoli potato soup," the girl added, and the boy reacted with a dreamy sigh.
"Who wants coffee--oh." The boy's mother interrupted herself. "Oh, sweetie, you shouldn't have troubled yourself, you could've just thrown them into the dishwasher."
"I'm sorry?" The girl wasn't sure if she caught that right.
The boy's mother pulled out the dishwasher on her side. "Yeah, the dishwasher right here. Wait, you didn't tell her?" She glared at her son.
The girl turned toward the boy with a look of amusement on her face, "Yeah, you didn't tell me?" She repeated, hands crossed in front of her chest. The boy seemed to be at loss for words, darting his eyes back and forth from the girl to his mother.
The boy's mother went over to the sink. "Oh, and you're done. Thank you, sweetheart. Let's just have that coffee, shall we?"
"I'm on it," the boy said, already rummaging through the cabinet for the coffee.
"All right then. Oh, sweetie." She looked at the girl again. "I'm so sorry."
"No, no it's fine. Please don't worry about it." The girl gave a sweet, genuine smile.
The boy's mother gave her arm an affectionate squeeze and headed toward the living room.
The girl then turned toward the boy again and gave a light punch on his arm. "What the hell?!" Her eyes were wide, an amused look still resting on her face.
He chuckled. "When you filled the sink with water I was about to ask you what you were doing. When I realized I was like, screw it. It was nice to spend some time alone with you anyway."
The amused look on the girl's face broke into the biggest, brightest grin, and she laughed. "Oh my God. Oh Goodness."
"What?" He looked a little sheepish now.
"Nothing." She wiped a tear on her right eye. "Oh man, it's just, my mom never let me use the dishwasher." And she laughed again.
The boy laughed along with her. "She would be so proud of you."
She smiled back. "I'd like to think so."
"Well come on, let's make that coffee." He handed her four sets of coffee cups and saucers. "They'd think we'd cleaned the whole house by now."
The girl let out another laugh. And for the first time in years, she felt at home.
