In Your Dreams

Chapter 13: Dinner

"Jessie."

"Ah!" I flail my arm across the screen, the mouse hanging limply over the edge of the desk. Casey's forehead creases as she takes in my overreaction.

"Sorry, I didn't want to scare you." She leans over my arm as I return the mouse to its mouse pad. "So, what are you reading about anyway?" She squints at the screen. "Dreams? This isn't homework."

I close the browser and lower my voice. "I came here to research and I found this website—"

Casey straightens abruptly. "Oh, Mom, Dad, found her!"

I peek over my computer monitor and recognize Mr. and Mrs. Tombs as they bounce excitedly towards us from the direction of the lobby.

Mrs. Tombs' hair—just as blond as Casey's, though not naturally anymore—swings across her shoulders as she wraps me in her arms. "Oh, Jessie, it's so good to see you again!" I'm met by an onslaught of perfume as my nose slams into her shoulder.

Mr. Tombs, an equally enthusiastic parent, if not more, pushes his glasses up his nose and flashes his teeth, just as shiny as his bald head. "I couldn't be more pleased to have you and Casey as roommates, looking after each other just like old times." He pulls me into a hug.

I step back and take in their smiling faces. Casey's is somehow apologetic, like she's trying to say Sorry they're so in your face, but you know how they are!

And the thing is, I like it. Casey's parents have always been like family to me, and seeing them here in this mahogany-covered library makes me feel like I'm getting back another piece of home. I feel myself smile. "It's nice to see you both too."

I quickly log off the computer, locking eyes with the librarian. Not surprisingly, our less-than-quiet reunion has caught her attention. I push in my chair and whisper, "So what are you guys up to?"

Casey notices and steers us towards the lobby, holding open the door to let us through. "We want to invite you to go out with us."

The librarian watches us leave with a disapproving look on her face.

"Yes, we're going shopping and then out for dinner." Mrs. Tombs squeezes her hands together excitedly. "A girls' afternoon out, if you will."

Mr. Tombs clears his throat. "And what am I, chopped liver?"

Mrs. Tombs giggles and playfully grabs her husband's arm. "Of course not, you're driving us, aren't you? Liver can't drive."

I sneak a look at Casey and we burst out laughing. A few hours later, we're squeezing our shopping bags into the trunk of the Tombs' eight-year-old electric car and piling into an Italian restaurant we found on the Internet. The walls are a deep red that almost matches the single red rose on the centre of each table, all covered in white cloths. Dimly lit sconces circle the room, creating a serene environment in agreement with the hushed tones of the diners around us. We're led to a table in the middle of the room and I tuck in between Casey and her dad, the ends of the table cloth spilling onto my lap.

Casey bites her lip as she scans the menu, then leans over and looks at mine. "What are you having?"

"I'm not sure. Maybe something with meatballs?" I zero in on the pasta section. "Ooh, they have ravioli!"

"That's a good choice." Mr. Tombs lowers his chin to peek over his glasses at the menu, the glow of the tea lights reflecting in his lenses.

"There's also gnocchi," Mrs. Tombs points out.

Casey and I both start giggling.

"What?" Mrs. Tombs looks to her husband for guidance. "Did I say something?"