by Jane Graves
She raised an eyebrow. What am I supposed to do? Put them on a plane back to Texas?
Carl looked over the menu for a minute, then leaned over to Treva and whispered, "What language is this?"
"Italian, I guess. But there's no pictures. How are we supposed to know what we're eating?"
A waiter approached their table. He translated a few entrée names from Italian to small-town Texan, but Carl still looked confused.
"So this chicken thing has mushrooms in it, but not regular mushrooms?"
"They're porcini mushrooms," the waiter said.
"And this other thing has fusi…something."
"Fusilli."
"What's that?"
"It's like macaroni," Sarah said. "You like macaroni and cheese, right?”
"Does it have cheese on it?"
"No, sir," the waiter said.
"Then it's not like macaroni and cheese."
"Mona, honey," Treva said, "I know you eat in places like this all the time. Can you tell us what's good?"
Since Mona never got tired of giving her opinion about anything and everything, she stepped right up. "Try the risotto. It's excellent."
Treva glanced at Sarah. Riso-what?
"It's a rice dish," Sarah said.
"Oh. I'm afraid we don't eat much rice," Treva told Mona, then lowered her voice. "Ever since Carl was in Vietnam, he won't touch it."
"Oh!" Mona said. "I'm so sorry you had a bad experience! Though it's not unheard of when you're traveling overseas. Charles and I went to a lovely little café in Ho Chi Minh City a few years ago when we were on a tour, but the Pho Bo Vien did make me a bit queasy."
"I was a little queasy, too," Carl said. "Being as how it was 1973 and I was spending all my time trying to keep from getting shot." He pointed to the menu. "Guess I'll have this macaroni and cheese thing that hasn't got cheese on it."
Everyone eventually picked something. Everyone except Dickey, who let out a heavy sigh.
"It's all looks kinda weird, doesn't it?" Nick said.
Dickey rolled his eyes. "You can say that again."
"Why don't you just have a burger?"
Dickey brightened. "Can I do that?"
Mona dropped her forehead to her fingertips, blueblood body language for I'm in the presence of socially inept morons. "No, dear. Not here. This is an Italian—"
"Of course," the waiter said.
Mona jerked her head up with surprise. "You serve hamburgers in this restaurant?"
The waiter gave her an ingratiating smile. "Anything for your party, milady."
Mona looked perplexed, as if she didn't know whether to preen because she was a princess, or object because the restaurant had lowered its standards to a totally unacceptable level. In the end, she just blinked oddly and said nothing.
"Hey, dude," Dickey said. "Can I get fries with that?"
The waiter grinned. "No problem, mon."
"Did you hear that?" Dickey said. "They actually say that in Jamaica. No problem, mon!"
Randall leaned over and whispered to Sarah. "Nick's at it again. Now your cousin thinks this is McDonald's."
"The waiter doesn't seem to mind," Sarah whispered back.
"Because he knows how big my mother tips. God only knows how much she'll have to slip the guy for putting up with this."
"So have you checked in?" Nick asked the new arrivals.
"You bet," Marva said. "I've never seen anything like those rooms. I can't wait to hop right in the middle of that big ol' king-sized bed."
"And those little mini bars are a miracle!" Imogene said. "Beer. Wine. Pretzels. Oreos. Murphy asked them if he could get Wild Turkey, and the guy said—"
"Wait a minute," Randall said. "You got Oreos?"
"Yeah! A whole bunch of little packets of them. And they told us we can have more if we want them."
"They still haven't brought me any," Randall whispered to Sarah.
"They can't read your mind," Sarah whispered back.
"Everybody else gets them just by showing up."
"For heaven's sake, will you just ask?"
"We have two johns." Carl asked. "Do you have two johns?"
"Yep," Murphy said.
"Three shower heads?"
"Yes, siree."
Carl shook his head. "Most wasteful thing I ever saw."
Mona closed her eyes and shook her head silently, and Sarah could practically see her counting the seconds until this dinner, this day, and this wedding were history. But she was still in the position of hostess for the evening, which meant she was forced to converse with her guests even if she thought they were idiots.
"So," Mona said to her parents, pasting on a pleasant smile. "You're farmers. What is it that you raise?"
Her voice dripped insincerity. Couldn't she say anything that didn't sound condescending? Somehow every question out of her mouth sounded as if she was asking a toddler how preschool was.
"Wheat mostly," Carl said. "With a few head of cattle."
"Sounds fascinating! Wheat should be a very lucrative crop. Everything these days seems to have some in it. Of course, there are those of us with gluten issues."
Sarah saw her father give her mother a look. Good Lord, she's one of those.
"Sarah tells me the wedding plans are pretty much wrapped up," Treva said.
"Yes," Mona said. "It's been a bit trying, of course, as all event planning is. But it's going to be a lovely wedding."
"It would have been hard for us to manage anything so elegant. We appreciate everything you and your husband are doing."
"Of course, dear. Randall and Sarah deserve the best, don't they?" Mona said, and Sarah heard the subtext: Even if you're not able to give it to them.
Dickey suddenly came to attention, his gaze following a woman walking through the restaurant. She had brassy red hair and a tan that made Coppertone models look like albinos. The bodice of her dress was two sizes too small, but that was probably because they didn't make them big enough to accommodate the Hindenburg times two.
"Holy crap!" Dickey said, letting out a low whistle. "Is she a hot one, or what?"
"Dickey!" Murphy said. "Keep your eyeballs in your skull where they belong! This is a high class place. Don't you be hitting on every woman who walks by!”
"But Dad—"
"Keep it classy, boy. You hear me?"
Classy? How was that even possible with a man who relied on impressing girls with his 2007 Ford F-150 and his collection of quarters from all fifty states? And if he didn't have those handy to fall back on, he simply made things up. He once told a woman he'd competed in the Olympic marathon, but he missed out on a medal because he stopped to perform CPR on a woman in the crowd who was having a heart attack. Of course, that had been his reason for deciding to become a heart surgeon.
Sarah leaned in and whispered to Randall. "You need to talk with my family. At least try to carry on a conversation."
"What do you want me to say?"
"I don't know. Say anything."
He looked at Murphy. "Uh…so. Murphy. Shot any big, angry animals lately?"
No! Not that!
Soon Murphy was in full storytelling mode, his eyes wide with excitement and his hands waving. "So there he was, galloping toward me and snorting like a bull. Barely had time to swing my rifle around. But I got him. Popped him right between the eyes!"
Randall looked mildly horrified, but what had he expected when he asked about hunting?
"Randall," Carl said. "How's business?"
Sarah groaned inwardly. Her father had no idea he'd pushed Randall's "on" button, the one she sometimes wished she could turn off permanently. Soon he'd launched into a soliloquy about their reorganization and their market share and about a hundred other boring details nobody on earth would have been interested in.
No! He's your fiance! The man you love! He is not boring!
Sarah mentally slapped herself and vowed to listen attentively to everything he said. But then Nick gave her a sidel
ong glance and made a subtle talk, talk, talk sign with his fingers and thumb. He accompanied it with a tiny smile, as if the two of them shared an inside joke.
No. Ignore him. He's out to trash your wedding. Never forget that.
"So what exactly is it that Baxter Industries does?" Imogene asked.
"It's simple, really," Randall said. "We manufacture fiber-reinforced plastics and offer fiberglass substructure solutions to the chemical, nuclear, and waste water treatment industries."
When Imogene looked at him blankly, Nick said, "They make plastic crap and convince other companies they need it."
Randall glared at him. "Nick doesn't work in the family business, so there's a lot he doesn't understand."
"But am I wrong?" Nick said.
Randall opened his mouth to object, only to close it again. After all, what could he say? Nick's assessment was pretty much on target.
A few minutes later, the waiter brought their appetizers. Murphy frowned at the pile of arugula with the single seared scallop in the center topped with a few drops of balsamic vinaigrette. "So where's the rest of it?"
"Excuse me, sir?"
"I think you left part of this off."
"No, sir. That's the seared sea scallop appetizer."
When Murphy looked at it with disappointment, Nick leaned in. "Don't worry. This isn't your usual restaurant. If something looks too skimpy, order more. As many as you want."
"Seriously? What'll they charge me for that?"
"Nothing," Nick said. “This is an all-inclusive resort. It's all part of the price you paid to be here."
"Hot damn!" Murphy leaned away from the table and called out to the waiter. "Hey, buddy!"
The waiter doubled back. "Yes, sir?"
Murphy circled his finger above the scallop. "Maybe you'd better bring me a few more of these thingies."
"A few more?"
"Five or six. Just cram them onto one plate. No sense making more work for the guys in the kitchen."
"Oh, my dear Lord," Mona whispered under her breath.
"Uncle Murphy?" Sarah said. "Maybe you'd better take it easy on those scallops."
"Don't worry. I've got an iron stomach. I even thought about becoming one of those professional eaters. You know the ones. They see how many hotdogs and such they can stuff down in an hour or whatever. There are guys who make a lot of money doing that."
"So you win money just for eating?" Nick said, grinning. "Now, there's a dream job if I ever heard of one."
"I know! I'm gonna have to check into it." He turned to the waiter. "And bring Marva here a couple more of those mushroom things she's having."
"Yes, sir."
"Well, as long as we're doubling down," Imogene said, "I could use a few more of these crab claws."
"Hey, why don't you just put a big 'ol plate of them in the middle of the table and we can all share?" Murphy said.
"This isn't happening," Mona whispered under her breath. "This cannot be happening."
"How about the rest of you?" Murphy said. "You good? Mona? Want a couple more of those cheese thingies you're having?"
"No!" she said, holding up her palm. "No, it's all right. I'm fine."
Sarah only thought she'd reached the pinnacle of embarrassment, but as it turned out, she hadn't even come close. In the next hour, she was sure every one of her relatives was vying for that champion professional eater title Murphy had talked about. At Nick's urging, they ordered more entrees, passed them around the table for others to try, and kept the waiter hopping until he was out of breath. Soon the waiter cleared dinner plates and handed out dessert menus. When he returned to take their orders, Treva was still undecided.
"They all look so good," she said. "Chocolate mousse…cheesecake…and look at this strawberry tart! I just can't decide."
Nick turned to the waiter. "Bring her all three."
"No! I couldn't possibly eat all that!"
"You don't have to. Just have a few bites of each. They're pretty stingy with the sweets around here, so that's about all each one is, anyway. And Sarah will help you eat them, won't you, Sarah?"
Sarah glanced at Mona, whose teeth were clenched so tightly she was in danger of her jaw cracking wide open. "Uh…"
"Of course she will," Nick went on. "I bet she'll love that chocolate thing in particular."
Just like that, it all came rushing back. Chocolate. Park City hotel room. One bite, then another, and another, from Nick's fingertips to her lips…
The waiter smiled. "I'll bring the lady one of each."
Mona gave Nick a look so hot it could have melted a polar ice cap, but Nick merely sat back in his chair with a satisfied smile. Of course he was satisfied. He was systematically wrecking the entire evening by encouraging people who didn't know better to act as if they were piling food on their plates at a church potluck rather than savoring five-star cuisine. If Mona or Randall didn't kill him before all this was over with, Sarah was going to.
"I know Randall is a bigshot in the family business," Murphy said. "But how about you, Nick? What do you do?"
"I teach snowboarding," he said offhandedly.
"Snowboarding?"
"If you took skiing and skateboarding and combined them…well, there you go."
Wait a minute, Sarah thought. Yes, he taught snowboarding, but was that all he was going to say? What about his business?
"So you're from someplace snowy?" Treva said.
"Park City, Utah."
"That sounds so nice. We don't get much snow in south Texas."
"No," Carl said. “But we’re close enough to the Gulf to get fallout from hurricanes. Hell on the crops."
"Farming is hard work," Nick said. "I was on a harvest crew in eastern Colorado one summer."
"Nick didn't go to college," Mona said, then laughed a little. "But it wasn't for our lack of trying to get him to."
"Hey, I went to college," Nick said with mock offense. "I just didn't hang around long enough to graduate."
"We're so impressed with Sarah's accomplishments, particularly her education," Mona said. "You must be very proud of her."
"Oh, we are," Treva said. "She was always good in school."
"So was Randall," Mona said, glowing at her eldest son. "But I'm afraid Nick never saw the value in higher education."
"Nope," Nick said with a grin. "All those classes really got in the way of my snowboarding time. But what did you expect when you sent me to school in Boulder?"
"It wouldn't have made any difference, Nicholas," Mona said icily. "If we'd sent you to a California college, you'd have taken up surfing and still skipped class."
Nick winked at Carl and Treva. "My mother really knows how to hit the nail on the head."
As he drained his beer bottle and slapped it down on the table, Sarah couldn't take it anymore. This wasn't right. It just wasn't. Mona was making Nick out to be the slacker teenager he used to be. Why wasn't Nick correcting the record?
Well, somebody needed to.
“Tell everyone about your business, Nick," she said.
Nick froze.
“Your online snowboarding shop.” She looked at Randall. “He mentioned it to me today when we were out on the beach," she lied. "He says it’s quite successful.”
"Snowboarding shop?" Randall said. "You said you were just teaching."
Nick slowly turned to look at Sarah. His grin had vanished, replaced by a subtle look of irritation.
"Wait a minute," Randall said. "You actually started that business you wanted me to invest in?"
Nick paused. "That's right."
"Where did you get the money?"
"Found another partner."
For a moment, Randall just stared at Nick. Clearly this wasn't computing. "What’s your annual revenue?”
“Two hundred.”
“You only brought in two hundred dollars last year?”
“Two hundred thousand,” Nick said.
Randall looked as if he’d swallowed a mussel, shell and all
. He took a sip of water. “Better be paying your taxes.”
“Nah, I thought I’d skip out on the tax thing,” Nick said. “I hear the IRS is very forgiving.”
“The IRS? Forgiving? You’d better think twice about—“ Randall stopped short, frowning. “Look out, Nick. That cocky attitude is going to get you into trouble.”
“Nah. That cocky attitude gave me the guts to start a business my brother wanted no part of."
"Online businesses have a high failure rate."
"All startups have a high failure rate."
"Yours is seasonal."
"I don't need foot traffic. Our sales are all online, and it's always snowing somewhere."
"I wouldn't count on turning a real profit for some time," Randall said.
"Yeah, that's what statistics say about new businesses. But I've never been a fan of statistics. In fact, we thought we’d shoot for half a million next year.”
Mona sighed softly and shook her head. All eyes turned toward her as she took a sip of water, then set the glass carefully back onto the table.
Nick narrowed his eyes. "Is there a problem, Mom?"
Mona's face crinkled as if she'd smelled something rotten. "Half a million dollars?"
"Yes, half a million. Is something wrong with that?"
"The door is still open at your father's company. Let him know when you'd like to put your efforts toward something that will actually provide you a decent living."
For a moment, Sarah saw a look of shocked hurt wash over Nick, as if Mona had picked up her napkin and whapped him right across the face. Then, to her surprise, Nick grinned again. "Now, Mom. You know how I feel about really working for a living. Wouldn't be long before the old man fired me, and then where would I be?"
Mona dabbed her mouth delicately with her napkin as if she was actually pleased with herself. Randall kept eating as if what his mother had said wasn't the least bit unusual.
Or hurtful.
In that moment, Sarah hated Mona. She tried to brush the feeling away, but it kept coming back. How could she say something so terrible to her own son?
For the rest of dinner, Nick kept that smile on his face and talked to her family, completely ignoring everyone else. Once when Sarah did catch his eye, his genial smile slipped a little and she saw the truth behind his cavalier attitude. He hadn't liked her bringing up his business, but why shouldn't they know about it? Maybe eventually Randall would stop treating him as if he was his shiftless little brother with no prospects at all for success.
