She regarded him the way a battle-hardened general regards the enemy on the other side of a blood-soaked battlefield, which was weird since she was the one who’d invited him to dinner. The whole thing had happened suddenly. Charlie and Zooey were arguing over paint colors for the baby’s room while Diego and I played video games on the couch. Then Mom burst into the house and herded us all into the car for a surprise family dinner at Neptune’s. “So, Diego, where in Colorado are you from?” Diego’s mouth was full of a tomato wedge from his salad. His eyes grew wide, and he chewed quickly while everyone watched him, before spitting out, “Brighton.” “How’s the renovation coming, Charlie?” I was trying to rescue Diego—I’d never seen him so adorably flustered—but my mother was not easily deterred. “What brought you to Calypso?” Diego set down his fork. Unlike at the barbecue, he had impeccable manners. He kept his elbows off the table, didn’t talk with his mouth full, and used his napkin frequently.
