"Sorry," Seth says. "We're working on his manners."
"Is he a lab?"
"He's a mix, probably lab and collie. Wandered onto the property and kept showing up on my doorstep, kind of adopted me, I guess."
"And you named him Mutt because..."
"That's what I always called him. Like, 'Hey, Mutt, you back for more scraps?'"
He leans over to tousle his dog's fur, and I get my first glimpse of Seth's smile. When he sees me watching him, he clears his throat and resumes shucking corn.
"He's kind of an attention whore," I say, reaching down to pet the dog again.
"Is he bothering you?"
"Nah, I'm just kidding."
I give Mutt a belly rub to prove that I like him. He responds by rolling on his back, legs up in the air, in a completely undignified pose. I want to make a joke about the position his dog is in, but I'm not sure Seth will appreciate my humor.
We lapse into silence again, and I reach for other topics of potential conversation, not because I need to talk, but because I want to hear what Seth will say.
"Do you watch sports?" I ask.
"Not much anymore." He finishes the second cob and studies it for that one elusive strand of silk he might have missed. "I don't have a TV in my cabin. Sometimes I go to a bar to watch college basketball."
"I don't know much about basketball," I admit. "My dad and I are baseball fans."
He looks up and raises his eyebrows, as if this might interest him. I'm surprised Dad hasn't mentioned it before. Maybe he has, and Seth is yanking my chain. It's difficult to tell because this guy has a serious poker face.
"Please say the Mets."
I make a gagging sound because I'm very mature. "No, the Yankees, of course."
He lets out a long breath and frowns, like I've just confirmed that I come from a family of war criminals.
"That's a shame," he says, shaking his head. "We could have been friends."
* * *
Seth takesa huge piece of meat from the platter using his fork, then passes it to me. The steaks are sitting in a pool of blood—okay, maybe it's technically not blood, but it's some kind of animal juice and the sight of it makes my stomach churn. He watches me pass the plate to Michael without taking any, and I know he's going to make a comment.
The others are having a conversation about Harmony's desire to take horseback riding lessons, and they don't hear him when he says, "Is the steak too rare for you?"
"I'm a vegetarian.” I reach for the plate of baked tofu Renata heated up for us.
"Why?" Seth asks.
I have to admit that his tone is as non-judgmental as it can be, for a person with a caveman-sized portion of beef in front of him. He sounds curious, not critical.
"I really don't like talking about why I'm a vegetarian in front of people who are eating meat.” I gesture to the plates on the table that are full of dead cow. "It feels rude."
I've had this conversation many times before, usually at Thanksgiving with relatives Dad and I don't see often. Everyone worries that I'm going to be hungry (even though my plate is heaping with side dishes) and wants to know my reasons for rejecting the turkey that they're whispering is dry and overcooked again. My aunt Janice always pipes up to say that she thought I ate chicken and turkey, as if birds aren't animals. Yes, I tell her every time, birds are part of the animal kingdom.
Seth's eyes widen, like he wants to say something more, but instead he puts a forkful of steak into his mouth. I can imagine what he's thinking: it's also pretty rude to show up at someone's house unannounced and expect them to take you in as a houseguest. But this is my dad's home now, too, and as a daughter, I have a right to come see him. Kids show up at their parents' houses all the time, and the door is always open, right?
Dad overhears me and adds, "Andie has been a vegetarian since she was a kid. When she readCharlotte's Webin third grade, she bawled her eyes out and refused to eat meat ever again. She started a vegetarian lunch group at her school, and she tried to win me to her side. Pretty soon I was introduced to things I'd never heard of before: tempeh, quinoa, fakin bacon. I learned a lot from her."
"Yeah, but you wouldn't stop eating burgers," I remind him.
