Tryst Six Venom by Penelope Douglas

We walk toward the dining room, down a long hallway, interrupted
sporadically with doors on one side and a wall of photos on the other. Black
and white portraits from years ago, childhood photos, some of my brother
and me, my cousins, Easter Sundays, family picnics on the lawn, and my
mother—at sixteen at her ball, on the arm of my father as he stands next to
her in a tux, his chin high and a loaded smile on his lips. I pause as my mom
and grandmother head into supper.
My parents looked so young.
They were young, I guess. I can’t help but wonder what was going
through their heads back then. How ready they were to live. How excited
they were to dream about the future—vacations, their home, laughing,
family, holding each other… The years spread out before them, and it was
only going to be gold, right?
Did they know they were going to do bad things to each other?
Would they go back and do it again?
I walk into the dining room, Tucker holding my chair out for me.
“Thank you.” I sit down.
Taking my napkin, I pull it off the ring, but my mother stops me. “Clay.”
I stop, realizing myself. I set my napkin down and look to my
grandmother. She gives me a look, but it has a hint of a smile. Rookie
mistake, Clay. When a guest at dinner, take your cues from your host. I
wasn’t supposed to lay my napkin in my lap until she’d done it.
She holds out her hand, and I know what she wants. I set my phone in her
palm, and she places it on the small tray Tucker holds out next to her.
We start with salad, a citrusy vinaigrette dressing gleaming over the
arugula.
“The Senior sleepover is happening soon, right?” Mimi asks. “Have you
RSVP’d with Omega Chi at Wake Forest?”
I sip my water, setting it back down. “Mm, yes.”
I feel my mom’s eyes, and I look at her, getting the signal. I straighten
and smile, giving Mimi my full attention.
“Yes, Mimi,” I say more clearly. “Dues are paid, and I’ve already reached
out to some of the other attendees via social media to get a rapport going.”
“Social media…”
“It’s the standard of the times,” I tease, finishing up the small serving of
greens.
But she waves me off, picking up her glass. “Oh, I know. I just lament the