Closing the door behind me, the smell of food wafts through the air and into my nose. I moan at the smell and follow it into the living room. A wood burning fire is going with the food in front of it, a red and white checkered blanket underneath. There is even a small basket off to the side. Both brothers sit on an end, a plate waiting for me in the center.
"It smells delicious. Did you cook all of this?" I turn to Damon, my eyebrow furrowed. I could've sworn we were only here for maybe an hour max. With the spread set up I would've guessed we were here for hours. He made various triangle sandwiches, my favorite being the roast beef and swiss one, potato and pasta salad, fried chicken drumsticks, and fruit salad.
"Yes. I wanted there to be something for everyone to eat. Dig in."
I sit there, unsure of what to choose first. Following the boys lead, I grab a sandwich and load up on the various types of salads he made. Taking a bite of the sandwich, the crunch of the lettuce is clear for everyone to hear. I finish the sandwich quickly, afterall the only thing I have eaten in the last two days was ramen I made last night. Grabbing my fork, I stab a piece of the potato salad and pop it into my mouth. The taste of mayo, with a hint of mustard, drives me to take another bite.
"What do you think?" Damon asks between bites of his sandwich.
"It's all really good. I like the mustard in the potato salad. I'm not a huge fan of mayo so it was a nice touch."
Deciding to start a new topic, Brandon asks, "what have you been up to? Yesterday you looked like a woman on a mission."
"I definitely was. For my writing class, my professor gave us all this writing assignment where we have to write a 100 page novel. I have had him for a few years already so he knows my work. He asked me to send him what I have so far to see if another professor, who is also an editor, would be interested in publishing it. I spent the whole night revising my chapters and writing an extra one."
"Did you finish it all?"
"Yes, I gave it to him this morning. He said he would read it and let me know of any other changes that I should make before he gives it to the editor. If he likes it and the editor likes it this could be my big break. I mean, just think of it. I already have fifteen chapters, each around three or four pages. I'm already almost halfway done with the assignment, but I see a much longer future for the book. If this gets published, I might be able to get a job working with other editors while writing!"
"That's amazing, Rose!"
"I know he will like the chapters!"
Both of their praise makes redness flood my cheeks. To take the attention away from myself, I ask "what have you two been up to the last couple of days?"
Expecting an answer, I'm surprised when I'm surrounded by crickets. Did they just not want to tell me? Did something happen that I can't know about? Deciding to ask another question, I go for a hard one. "Remember the guy from the party a few nights ago? You both seemed like you knew him. How do you know him? Has he done what he tried to do to me before? Did you stop him?"
"Rose, what you're asking is more than a simple answer. If we were to tell you, you would be in more danger than you are now. That man following you will no longer follow you. He will do anything to make you talk. It is better if you don't know about any of this," Damon replied firmly. On the outside it seemed like a command, but listening closer, I heard the tremble in his voice, the fear coating every word. He was scared. I'm not sure what he was afraid of, but something was keeping his lips sealed shut.
Determined to find out more about the people I'm sitting with, I pry. "I want to know. If this has any possibility of involving me shouldn't I know so I can protect myself? You both know I won't tell anyone anything. You can trust me."
"It's not about trust. It's your safety we are worried about. Right now, you are a harmless friend, but if anyone were to find out what you know, we would all go down and I don't know if we will survive it again."
"Brandon!" Damon screams.
Ignoring Damon's outburst, I turn towards Brandon. "What do you mean 'survive it again?' Did something happen to you previously? Please tell me," I beg, curiosity and anxiousness driving my words.
Damon answers before Brandon can even part his lips. "Rose, stop this."
In all my life, I have never been a good listener. I especially don't like taking orders from people who shouldn't be giving them to me. "No. I already told you, if it involves me, even the smallest bit, I deserve to know. Like it or not, I am a part of this now and I want to know."
Damon and Brandon both look at each other, similar looks of relief and fear painted on their faces. I don't understand what the big deal is. They said that they won't survive again, but were they just being dramatic? Thinking about it, with the car following me and the guy at the party, everything seems to connect. They aren't being dramatic. I have only had a taste of what they experienced and they are trying to protect me from the brunt force of the blow. I appreciate it more than they realize, but I also know how to take care of myself, I have been doing it for years now and will continue to until the day I die.
"We will make you a deal. If you wait until tomorrow and let us finish the picnic I worked very hard to create, we will tell you what you need to know, but nothing more."
Seeing no other choice, I stick out my hand, "deal." They both shake my dainty hand and we dive back into the food. Slowly my mind drifts to what they will tell me tomorrow, but Damon tapping me brings me back to reality.
"I didn't just make food. I had activities set up for us to all relax. Do you want to still do them?"
Appreciation fills my every fiber. He did all this work just for me. After an overly hectic and stressful day and night, it is nice to be able to relax and enjoy their company. Without even knowing it, Damon realized what I needed before I knew it.
"Of course! What's first on the list?"
Getting up from his spot on the floor, Damon walks into the room next door. He returns with arms full of games. Even with his tall and muscular stature, the games make him seem so small since there are so many piled up.
Quickly scanning through, my eyes catch on a board game I used to play as a child before my parents started to hate each other. "Can we play 'Jenga'? It was my favorite game as a child."
Nodding in agreeance, we all set up to clean off the blanket and put the perishable food away, keeping the sandwiches with us in case we get hungry. With everything packed up, we flip the blue rectangular box upside down and watch as the wooden blocks form a tower perfectly aligned. It's a shame it will soon collapse with one wrong move.
Being a competitive person, I go first. It is always easy to begin the game because you get first choice of what piece you want to choose.
Picking a piece in the middle, I easily slide it out and the tower retains its stable structure. Going clockwise, Brandon goes next. He chooses to go for the tougher blocks at the bottom. Rookie mistake. The tower wobbles when the piece is only halfway through. He lets out a breath when he places the piece on top of the tower, next to mine. Damon goes next and aims for another easy block. We take turns, each one getting more intense as the tower starts to lose important pieces of its infrastructure. Brandon and I watch as the tower collapses on Damon's lap, a singular wooden part in his hand.
Looking through the rest of the games, we spend the rest of the night in friendly competition, hoping to beat each other, but not dreading the loss. It is full of laughs and sighs of disappointment, but most of all, full of friendly chatter and a warm atmosphere.