picked up the serving spoon, debating its heft.
Shelley paused over the dressing. “I thought only the chicken was getting grilled tonight,” she said and winked at Joy. Joy sent her a smile of thanks. At least Shelley had her back.
“You’re just lucky I didn’t invite Monica,” Dad said. “She would’ve brought the thumbscrews.”
Ink glanced at Joy. “Thumbscrews?”
“He’s kidding,” Joy said, patting Ink’s hand. “Seriously. Kidding.”
Ink’s eyebrows twitched under his long, black bangs. “‘Seriously kidding’?”
Stef and Dad exchanged glances. Joy’s heart beat double-time and she waved at Ink to forget about it. She’d try to explain later. If they made it through this dinner alive.
“So, Ink, where do you live?” Stef said with a wicked, knowing grin.
Joy drained her drink and slammed down her cup. “Anyone need more water?”
“You sit. I’ll get it.” Her father got up, snagged the empty pitcher and went to the fridge, filling the room with gurgles and the crack of the ice maker.
Shelley looked at the glares across the table and sighed. “I’ll cut some more lemons,” she said and joined Mr. Malone where they could talk quietly by the sink.
“Have some more ice water,” Joy whispered to her brother. “Then take the hint and chill out!”
“I’m testing a theory,” Stef whispered back, pointing a fork at Ink. “I thought that his kind couldn’t lie.”
Ink looked up, surprised. “I cannot lie.”
“Oh, really, Mark Carver?”
Joy hissed, “Stef!”
“Ah,” Ink said, cutting his roll neatly in half. “I see your mistake. That name is not a lie—more like a time-honored tradition.” His voice skimmed low over the table, crisp and clear. “I did not change my name, I simply named my glamour ‘Mark Carver.’”
He grinned and took a bite. Butter wet his lips.
Joy beamed in relief, and Stef laughed despite himself. “Clever,” he said.
Mr. Malone thunked the water pitcher on to the table, cutting off their conversation. He and Shelley sat down.
“Now, where were we?” he asked, setting his napkin on his lap.
“Grilling,” Ink said.
Stef snorted.
Joy lunged for the earthenware bowl. “More potatoes?”
Ink spooned out three roasted potatoes and watched them wobble across his plate. He poked at one with his fork, painting a long trail of rosemary and oil. Catching a piece of herb on a tine, he examined it curiously, turning the fork over and over, watching the bit of leaf glisten under the lights. His face was a mask of pure fascination. Joy put a hand on his leg. Startled, he looked up with a smile.
“This looks delicious,” Ink said.
“It is,” Mr. Malone said. “It’s Shelley’s recipe. She’s a great cook.”
“Oh, stop,” Shelley said and patted her red hair into place. “It’s an old family recipe. The secret is to crush fresh herbs and garlic and store it in the olive oil overnight.”
Ink put the potato in his mouth, chewed carefully and swallowed.
“I have never tasted better,” he said. Joy grinned. Besides being polite, Ink was telling the truth: he had only recently begun to taste things because he’d only recently begun to eat. It was fun watching him talk circles around the others, hiding the whole truth behind words that were one hundred percent true.
Joy’s phone rang. She glanced at her purse in the hall.
“Don’t you dare,” her father said without looking up from his plate. “Whoever it is can wait.”
No phones at the dinner table was a new household rule. Dad was trying to reinstate the sacredness of family dinners before everyone split up again. Joy didn’t recognize the ringtone so it wasn’t Monica or Kurt or Graus Claude or Luiz. It might be one of the other Cabana Boys, which made her feel nervous and guilty. Ink’s sister, Invisible Inq, had a tribe of mortal lovers who supported one another through thick and thin, like an extended family of hot male models that stretched across the globe. Even if Joy technically wasn’t Ink’s lehman anymore, she was still considered one of them—a mortal who loved one of the Folk—and a call from one of the boys meant something important. Joy sat on her hands as the call flipped over to voice mail.
“Thank you,” Dad said. “Now can you please pass the—”
Joy’s text messaging pinged. And again. And again. Dad sighed. Stef rolled his eyes. Ink looked up, curious. Joy took a shy bite of green beans. Shelley passed Dad the pepper.
“Where will you be camping?” Ink asked as he sliced a potato in half. Joy was glad that he could handle subject changes as easily as a fork and knife.
“Lake James,” her father answered and took a drink of water. Ink took a drink at the same time, mimicking her father’s movements, watching him with the same intensity he used while watching Joy. Ink was still learning the subtleties of how to act human. His efforts made her smile. Stef glared at his green beans as he chewed.
“It’s a great place,” Dad said. “We used to do a lot of family camping trips—” he swerved to avoid the words before Mom left and continued smoothly “—when the kids were little.” The subject of Mom didn’t hurt like it once had—they’d all grown used to the weekly calls and video chats. Time healed things without meaning to, whether you wanted it to or not. “How about you?” he asked Ink. “What does your family do on vacations?”
Ink put his fork down, and Joy twisted her napkin over her thumb. This was what they’d been rehearsing ever since Dad suggested that Joy invite Ink over for dinner. Her nervousness reminded her of how Monica had felt about her boyfriend, Gordon, meeting her parents, but Ink wasn’t a different race, he was a different reality. As a member of the Twixt, Ink, like Joy, could not lie...but the Folk could be rather creative with the truth.
“I never knew my parents,” Ink said and smiled to take the sting out of his words. “But I have a twin sister, and she’s all the family I can handle.”
Joy laughed. Stef didn’t. Mr. Malone looked apologetic.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t know.”
Ink shrugged and made looping swirls in the ketchup. “It’s all right,” he said. “She and I are very close. We’ve traveled a lot, met lots of interesting people, seen many amazing things together—over the years, we have created our own family.”
“That’s good,” her father said, nodding. “Family’s important.”
Mr.
