Parallel

at the dining room table, relishing every course. With my mom at the helm, there’s no way we’ll eat before sundown. I’ll easily be back from Josh’s in time.
    “Great,” he says. “So I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”
    “See you tomorrow,” I reply, and touch my lips to his. He steps forward, resting his hands lightly on my hips as his lips move against mine. We’ve kissed twenty-three times, but I still get light-headed when it happens. The two on the roller coaster last weekend (numbers nineteen and twenty) nearly made me pass out.
    “Hey, you two! The party’s over!” An exasperated park ranger is idling in his truck, waiting to shut the gate to the parking lot.
    “Sorry!” we call in unison, swallowing smiles. Josh kisses me one more time, earning us a honk from our chaperone.
    “If she was your girlfriend, would you want to leave?” Josh shouts to the park ranger as he jogs to his car. He turns back and blows me yet another kiss.
    Then, suddenly, it’s as if everything slows down. Even the wind that right now is rustling Josh’s hair. Details I didn’t notice a second ago now jump out at me. The old gnarled tree at the head of the path down to the river. The Sprite can someone left in the parking lot that got crushed by a car tire. The small brown bird perched on the edge of the entrance sign. And, at the center of all of it, Josh. His hand at his mouth, palm open, his kiss having just taken flight. A grin just beginning to take shape. The dark gray USC T-shirt with a bleach spot on the collar.
    The moment feels like déjà vu, but more precise. Déjà vu isn’t detailed. This moment is all about the details. Even Josh’s tiny mole stands out.
    Then, as quickly as it slowed down, everything speeds up again, and Josh’s back is to me as he jogs to his Jeep.
    I’m surprised to see my grandparents’ maroon Buick LeSabre parked in our driveway when I pull in. They’re supposed to be boarding a Seniors at Sea cruise ship right now.
    There’s much commotion in the kitchen when I open the back door. My grandma is holding a syringe full of dark brown liquid over a massive raw turkey. There are brown grocery bags on every available countertop.
    “Grandma, I think he’s dead already,” I say as I step inside.
    “She gets her sarcasm from you,” my grandmother says, looking pointedly at my father.
    “Better that than my hairline,” Dad replies, and kisses me on the forehead.
    “Still waiting,” my grandpa says, the same thing he says at the beginning of every visit. I walk over and plant a kiss on his cheek. “That’s better,” he says, folding me into a hug. “How’s my girl?”
    “I’m good, Grandpa,” I tell him, burrowing my nose into his leathery skin. Tobacco and Lagerfeld cologne. He always smells the same. I smile against his neck. “What are you guys doing here?” I ask, resting my cheek on his shoulder. “I thought you were supposed to be in the Caymans.”
    “We were,” my grandmother replies, squinting at the turkey.
    “Thwarted by a hurricane,” Grandpa says. “So here we are.”
    “Surprise!” my mom says cheerily, between large gulps of wine. Grandma shoots her a look, then stabs the bird with all the force her tiny frame can muster.
    “So does this mean we’re eating at one o’clock tomorrow?” I ask.
    “Of course,” my grandmother says as she pumps our turkey with brine. “We always eat at one.” My mom and I look at each other and mouth Grandma’s words with her as she says them in her thick Tennessee drawl: “It’s tradition.”
    “Their flight from Nashville to Miami was canceled because of the hurricane,” I tell him, “so they drove down here instead.” I called Josh as soon as I could escape the kitchen.
    “That’s good news, right? You were bummed you weren’t going to see them.”
    “Yeah, but it means I can’t come over tomorrow. We sit down at one o’clock and, no joke, we don’t finish till five. It’s the longest meal of the year. At the end of it, both my voice and my ears are tired.”
    “You’re lucky,” he says. “We speed through ours in awkward silence.”
    “What time does your brother get in?”
    “His plane lands at nine,” Josh replies. “My mom’s at the airport picking him up.”
    “Are you excited that he’s coming?” I ask. I don’t mean to pry, but I can’t help it. I know so little about Josh’s relationship with his brother, and why his presence puts everyone on edge.
    “Excited? No.