least that’s what I tell myself.
Jacoby arrives at 6 o’clock on the dot wearing a forest green dress shirt complete with matching green and blue striped tie and a silver-wrapped flat square which I assume is some sort of gift. I also assume it’s not for me. He’s totally trying to suck up and it makes me smile. But then I worry immediately that my mom won’t be very nice to him and it makes me sad. He’s trying so hard to impress her.
I watch him tug at the tie around his neck and clear his throat nervously before ringing the doorbell.
I rush to my bedroom door and hang back in the frame while my mom answers the door so I can spy a little longer.
“Good evening, Mrs. Carrington. Thank you for inviting me to dinner,” Jacoby says as he hands my mom the gift.
She hesitates and looks questioningly at the thin 8X8 square before saying, “It’s our pleasure, Jacoby. Come on in.”
Jacoby walks in but turns around to face my mom again, gesturing to the square in her hands.
“Mia said you don’t like to give people real flowers so I figured receiving them is probably not your thing either, but since I didn’t want to come empty handed I–,” he says nervously, “I thought maybe I’d try my hand at it.”
He shrugs in the offhanded way he usually does when he’s trying not to make a big deal out of something.
Realization lights up on my Mom’s face. She gingerly rips off a corner revealing the familiar edge of a canvas. She quickly removes the rest of the paper, gasping when the picture comes in full view. She studies it for a minute before looking back up at Jacoby with wide eyes and a beaming smile.
“I don’t know what to say,” she laughs. “You did this?”
“It was harder than it looks,” he admits, and I can practically hear his smirk.
My curiosity can’t take anymore so I bound down the stairs to see firsthand what Jacoby has painted.
“Hi! When did you get here?” I ask as I reach the bottom of the stairs. I don’t want them to know I was spying on them after all.
“Jacoby has painted me a masterpiece!” Mom can barely conceal the entertainment in her voice as she gazes at him affectionately. “Why didn’t you tell me he was so talented?”
He’s a brown-nosing genius. I’ll have to make him teach me everything he knows.
I take my first look at the painting and burst in to laughter. I don’t know what I was expecting but I definitely wasn’t expecting to see a replica of Van Gogh’s Sunflowers.
“Jacoby,” I scold playfully. “Is this a Paint-by-Number kit?”
“Maybe,” he answers with a sly little grin that makes me just want to kiss his face. And I probably would’ve if my mom wasn’t standing right next to me.
“Oh good grief,” I tease him. “Look I can still see the number 14.”
“You can not!” He grabs the painting out of my hands and checks to make sure then narrows his eyes at me.
“Oh Mia, leave the poor boy alone.” Mom takes the painting back from Jacoby. “I think it’s beautiful, Jacoby. I’ll hang it up in the hallway.”
“Yeah, right along with all of Maddie’s ‘masterpieces’,” I add. He mocks devastation and I nudge him with my elbow. “Come on, let’s go eat. I’m starving.”
“Good evening, Jacoby,” Paul greets him as we enter into the dining room that we rarely use. We normally eat in the breakfast
Jacoby arrives at 6 o’clock on the dot wearing a forest green dress shirt complete with matching green and blue striped tie and a silver-wrapped flat square which I assume is some sort of gift. I also assume it’s not for me. He’s totally trying to suck up and it makes me smile. But then I worry immediately that my mom won’t be very nice to him and it makes me sad. He’s trying so hard to impress her.
I watch him tug at the tie around his neck and clear his throat nervously before ringing the doorbell.
I rush to my bedroom door and hang back in the frame while my mom answers the door so I can spy a little longer.
“Good evening, Mrs. Carrington. Thank you for inviting me to dinner,” Jacoby says as he hands my mom the gift.
She hesitates and looks questioningly at the thin 8X8 square before saying, “It’s our pleasure, Jacoby. Come on in.”
Jacoby walks in but turns around to face my mom again, gesturing to the square in her hands.
“Mia said you don’t like to give people real flowers so I figured receiving them is probably not your thing either, but since I didn’t want to come empty handed I–,” he says nervously, “I thought maybe I’d try my hand at it.”
He shrugs in the offhanded way he usually does when he’s trying not to make a big deal out of something.
Realization lights up on my Mom’s face. She gingerly rips off a corner revealing the familiar edge of a canvas. She quickly removes the rest of the paper, gasping when the picture comes in full view. She studies it for a minute before looking back up at Jacoby with wide eyes and a beaming smile.
“I don’t know what to say,” she laughs. “You did this?”
“It was harder than it looks,” he admits, and I can practically hear his smirk.
My curiosity can’t take anymore so I bound down the stairs to see firsthand what Jacoby has painted.
“Hi! When did you get here?” I ask as I reach the bottom of the stairs. I don’t want them to know I was spying on them after all.
“Jacoby has painted me a masterpiece!” Mom can barely conceal the entertainment in her voice as she gazes at him affectionately. “Why didn’t you tell me he was so talented?”
He’s a brown-nosing genius. I’ll have to make him teach me everything he knows.
I take my first look at the painting and burst in to laughter. I don’t know what I was expecting but I definitely wasn’t expecting to see a replica of Van Gogh’s Sunflowers.
“Jacoby,” I scold playfully. “Is this a Paint-by-Number kit?”
“Maybe,” he answers with a sly little grin that makes me just want to kiss his face. And I probably would’ve if my mom wasn’t standing right next to me.
“Oh good grief,” I tease him. “Look I can still see the number 14.”
“You can not!” He grabs the painting out of my hands and checks to make sure then narrows his eyes at me.
“Oh Mia, leave the poor boy alone.” Mom takes the painting back from Jacoby. “I think it’s beautiful, Jacoby. I’ll hang it up in the hallway.”
“Yeah, right along with all of Maddie’s ‘masterpieces’,” I add. He mocks devastation and I nudge him with my elbow. “Come on, let’s go eat. I’m starving.”
“Good evening, Jacoby,” Paul greets him as we enter into the dining room that we rarely use. We normally eat in the breakfast
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