The Beginning of After

have either done himself or gotten at a pricey salon, you could never tell. Everything about David was so familiar to me but so unsettling, like spotting someone in person after you’ve seen his picture a million times.
    When he got to the table, he swept a chunk of that hair behind one ear and glanced at me, at Toby, then at my parents, with big, bright eyes that never matched the rest of him. Especially now. He seemed confused, like he’d forgotten why our family was here, in his house, interrupting his nightly listening-to-my-iPod-and-surfing-online-porn session.
    “Hey,” he said, looking not at me but at a point two feet to my left.
    “Hi,” I said, and this time, when Toby kicked me, I kicked back hard.
    David was a year older than me and once, so long ago it could have been a dream, we were little-kid friends. Now he was a member of what everyone in our town called the Railroad Crowd, which meant he spent most of his time hanging out in the train station parking lot, smoking and drinking and carving words into the wooden benches that were supposed to be for normal people to sit on. We hadn’t spoken to each other in years except for the rare, painfully unavoidable “hi” at neighborhood parties or when we passed each other at school. But I knew what I was to him: a girl whose name was always in our local paper’s High Honors listings, the one member of the drama club who never actually appeared onstage. Despite our past as children playing together, despite our families’ friendship, David and I were in different orbits.
    I survived dinner by forgetting he was there, which was surprisingly easy to do because he just ate quietly, staring blankly at his bitter herb. When it was his turn to read, David shook his head no and passed the Haggadah to my brother. If he looked at me at all, it was when I was glancing the other way.
    After dinner, I was helping my mother do dishes as Mrs. Kaufman put away the leftovers, and I saw a window of escape.
    “Hey, Mom?” I asked. “After we’re done, can I skip dessert and just go home? I was working on my SAT words and haven’t even gotten to my homework yet.”
    She just paused. “I think Mrs. Kaufman has spent a lot of time making a flourless apple tart.”
    “Me?” squeaked Mrs. Kaufman, surprised. “Deborah, I thought you were making it!”
    They looked at each other for a very tense moment, and I actually thought some kind of fistfight might break out. But then they were laughing.
    Mrs. Kaufman led us back into the dining room, clearing her throat to interrupt the men, who were deep in discussion about money-market funds. Toby was standing by the window, fogging it with his breath and drawing shapes. David stood nearby and watched him with a slight, begrudging amusement.
    “Hey, guys?” said Mrs. Kaufman. “We had a little dessert mix-up and, well, there isn’t any. I do think we have some Easter chocolate from Gabe’s office, but that doesn’t seem right.”
    Mr. Kaufman stood up. “I’d say that’s a perfect excuse to go get ice cream. How about it?”
    “Freezy’s?” Toby asked, his finger paused in the middle of making a big O on the window.
    “Heck, yeah,” said Mr. Kaufman. “We’ve done our job here. Let’s go out and have some milk shakes.”
    I tugged at the back of Mom’s dress, and she took the cue. “Oh, Laurel’s going to head home. She’s got some homework to finish up.”
    “We’ll bring you something back,” said my dad, winking.
    Now David, who was still by the window, sprang to life.
    “I can’t go either. I have to go down to Kevin’s. . . .” He was thinking quickly. “He promised to help me with calculus.”
    Mrs. Kaufman looked at her son, and I got the sense that she had never even heard him say the word calculus before.
    “Fine,” she said defeatedly. “But I want you back here as soon as we come home. I’ll call if I have to.”
    “Yeah, yeah, whatever,” David was saying, already on his way to the hall closet.
    “It’s drizzling. Take an umbrella,” said Mrs. Kaufman.
    He looked at her, rolled his eyes, and grabbed his leather jacket. He waved at us, murmured something that passed for good-bye, and was out the door.
    The dads were talking about transportation now. Mr. Kaufman had a new hybrid SUV and was anxious to show how roomy it was. I walked with everyone down to the garage, where the car sat all shiny and eager to please.
    Mrs. Kaufman handed me an umbrella out of nowhere.