RSVP

A week before the wedding, there was a knock at Dad’s door, exactly twenty minutes after we ordered from Pizzeria Pete’s.

Sheila yelled, “Food!” swung her boots down from the coffee table, and jumped out of her chair. But when she opened the door, she just stood there.

“Sheel?” Jesse leaned into the living room from the kitchen. “Do you need money? My wallet is on the table.”

“No,” Sheila said. “But I’ll take a bucket if you’ve got one. I think I’m going to be sick.” Her hand dropped from the doorknob and she walked straight back to my bedroom, leaving the front door wide open. There was a man there, holding a green duffel bag. He had short hair and he wasn’t smiling.

Jesse was coming from the kitchen. “Sheel?”

When he saw the man, he stopped.

The man hadn’t moved. He was waiting, I think, to be invited inside. He said, “Hey, Jesse.”

Jesse stepped forward. “Come on in, bro.”

“And the man invites him in!” Sheila shouted from my room. She was walking around in there. We could hear her boots smacking the wood floor.

Jesse smiled, and the man smiled back in a way that changed his whole face. I liked his smile. He came in with his duffel bag and closed the door behind him. That was when the word bro sunk in. Bro. Like brother.

“Bea,” Jesse said. “This is my brother, Mission. Mission, this is Bea.”

“Nice to meet you, Bea.” He gave me a little bow. Then he turned back to Jesse. “I’m trying to think of the right words.”

Sheila’s voice came sailing through again. “I have a whole lot of words! A whole lot of not-nice words!”

“Bring out your dictionary, then, Sheel!” Jesse shouted.

Mission. He was here. And Jesse was smiling.

Then the door banged open and Dad walked in with our pizza, saying, “I mugged the delivery guy in the elevator!” Which is Dad’s idea of a joke, but then he saw Mission.

“This is my Daniel,” Jesse said. “Dan, this is Mission. You’ve heard all about him.”

“Of course,” Dad said, smiling. Carefully.

Mission gave Dad one of his little bows and said, “May I shake your hand, sir?”

“You may,” Dad said. “Let me put down this pizza first.”

After he shook Dad’s hand, Mission turned to me. “And may I shake your hand, Bea?” He was so formal. And I wasn’t sure why Sheila had asked for a bucket. I said, “You better not. I might have rabies.”

Nobody laughed.

“Bea,” Dad said, “will you get us some plates?” He flipped the pizza box open on the coffee table.

“Sheila!” Jesse called. But Sheila had stopped talking, and I couldn’t hear her boots on the floor anymore.

“Hungry?” Jesse asked.

Mission said, “I never say no to pizza.”