Family Dinner
Chapter forty-one
Alex
“Please, Seth! I have to live vicariously through you. Details, man!” I beg, hounding him for details about his date with Sasha.
Seth bites his lip ring and side eye’s me, debating how much to share. “It went well. We went to see Chainsaw’s Revenge Four and then got a bite to eat. No big deal.”
“How was the movie?” I’m so upset I can’t go see it. Chainsaw’s Revenge one through three are cult classics.
“It was, um, okay I guess. I wasn’t completely focused on the movie,” he admits.
I gasp. “Seth, you dog! Were you guys playing baseball in the theater?”
He looks at me, confused. “Huh?”
I wave my hands around dramatically. “It’s a metaphor! Now tell me, what were you focused on if not the movie?”
He blushes but decides to give me a few details. “He held my hand, during the movie. It was really nice.”
“Awww!” I coo and put a hand over my heart. “Are you planning on going out with him again?”
“Yeah, we have another date planned for this weekend. And no, you can’t have all the details, bro.”
“Traitor. I’m glad it went so well. Hey, I’m making dinner for everyone at the hotel tonight. Are you sticking around?”
“Hell, yeah. Sounds awesome.” He pulls a blunt out of his pocket. “I’m gonna take a smoke break,” he says and heads for the front door.
I head into the kitchen to get started on dinner.
So, confession time. I’ve never cooked anything in my life other than things wrapped in plastic.
I pull a cookbook off the shelf at the end of the island and open it.
Flipping through it, I find a recipe for chicken enchiladas.
Ooh. As I read through the recipe my eyes widen in horror.
“What the fuck is this?” I mutter to myself.
“This is cooking, why is there math involved?” I put my head in my hands, defeated.
Just then Sasha walks in and heads towards the fridge, pulling out a bottle of water.
“Oh hey, you just missed Seth,” I inform him.
He uncaps it and takes a long drink before wiping his mouth and looking me up and down.
“Something wrong?” he asks.
“Yes, something’s wrong! I want to make dinner for everyone tonight, but I can’t read this recipe. This is a disaster.”
“You cannot read? How did you get a job here then?”
“No, I can read. I can’t do math,” I explain.
He looks more confused. “Math?”
I sigh. “I don’t know what you’re not understanding Sasha. Look at this recipe. It calls for dicing, cubing, sautéing. I don’t even know what that means! That’s clearly not even English. There’s fractions in here too! I didn’t sign up for this. I just wanted to make enchiladas,” I whine.
He laughs, hard. “No one has ever taught you how to cook?”
“No!”
“I can help,” he shrugs. I perk up at that.
“You can?” I ask hopefully.
“Yes, I will help you make your enchiladas. Will Seth be attending dinner tonight?”
“He will, so you better do a good job and impress him. If you fuck this up, he may cancel your second date.”
He smirks and says, “He doesn’t like me for my cooking.”
I gape at him. “So you two were canoodling!”
“Focus. I will teach you how to read a recipe.”
I study his scarred hands as we work. He’s so gentle as he cuts the onion and bell peppers. So precise. “You’re really good at this,” I tell him.
He smiles at me. “Thank you. Dinner will be a success. This is good recipe.”
“You like to cook?”
“I do, sometimes. It’s relaxing.”
“So, what—after a long day killing people and butchering their corpses you like to come home and cook a nice dinner to sit down and enjoy?” I tease.
He chuckles. “Something like that. I learned to cook as a small boy, with whatever was available in the house. If I did not cook, I would go hungry. So, I learned.”
“Oh. I’m sorry. That sounds fucked up.”
“Yes,” he agrees. “But I can cook. It is a good thing, too. Otherwise, your dinner would be a disaster,” he teases back.
“You’re a secret softie, aren’t you? It’s a good thing, though. If I thought you’d hurt Seth, I’d have to kill you.”
He studies the ingredients intently, adding the spices to the chicken cooking in the pan. “I will never hurt him,” he says seriously. “Ever. I will protect the people I care about with my life.”
“I believe you,” I say and give him a small smile.
***
Jake
Alex stands from his seat at the head of the long table.
This is the first dinner we’ve had in the dining hall.
It’s always been for show and nothing else, so it’s nice to have a chance to use it.
The table seats twenty, and we don’t have nearly that number, so everyone is concentrated at the left end.
Alex, of course, is sitting at the head of the table.
He deserves that spot, and I can tell he’s enjoying it.
I enjoy seeing him so confident and at ease.
Everyone is here tonight: me, Alex, Brandon, Sasha, Seth, Frankie, Debbie and Tom.
Even Kayla’s here. She glances over at me trying to get my attention and I look away.
I know she has a crush, so I do my best not to encourage her.
Alex clears his throat, clinking a spoon on his glass of wine to get everyone’s attention.
“Thank you all for coming tonight. I worked really hard to cook this meal for you, as a token of my appreciation. Your hard work, even yours Kayla, has made this hotel the success that it is. I hope you enjoy the enchiladas.” He sits down and everyone claps politely.
“Does that mean we can get a raise?” Kayla asks.
“Um, no. But you can have an extra enchilada,” Alex replies.
Frankie eyes the pan, nodding in approval. “These look surprisingly edible,” she says. “I think you missed your calling in life.”
“Thank you?” Alex says, apparently not knowing if that was supposed to be a compliment.
The table goes quiet as everyone starts digging into their food, the only sound in the room the clinking of forks on the porcelain dinner plates. After a minute, Debbie clears her throat.
“So Kayla, how have you been doing, dear? I hear you spent a bit of time in jail?” Debbie asks.
Kayla, just about to take another bite, sets her fork down.
“Oh, I’ve been doing okay. I’m out on bail for that.
Allegedly. It’s been tough. I’m turning states evidence in order to take down the Covington empire.
You know, once all this is over, I’m thinking about going to law school.
There are just so many people that have had their lives destroyed by malicious prosecution, and I’d like to be an advocate for them. You know?”
Alex stares at her, flabbergasted, but he holds his tongue.
“Preach it girl,” Frankie says. “Someone has to stand up for the rights of us little people. My cousin Robert was accused of stealing radios out of cars. Got a year for it.”
“Oh, was he falsely accused?” Kayla asks.
“No, he really did steal them, but the cops were super shady about the way they busted him. It’s like, just because he’s driving around with radios in his trunk, that automatically means he stole them?” Frankie rants, and I can see the quizzical look on everyone’s faces.
“Um, yes? Probably so?” Alex says.
Frankie just shrugs. "They totally violated his memorandum rights. The whole case should have been thrown out."
The room falls into a confused silence.
“Well, that’s wonderful, Kayla. I’m glad you’re turning your life around. I hope everything works out. But you and I will be talking later, sweetie.”
Kayla gulps and looks back down at her food.
Debbie turns to Alex. “I didn’t know you could cook, honey,” she says, beaming at her son.
Tom nods his agreement as he takes a bite.
“Fine work, son,” he says.
“Thanks!”
Beside me, Sasha clears his throat. “Who made these enchiladas again, Alex?”
Alex rolls his eyes. “Yes, Sasha did help. I found the recipe, though.”
“You did a really good job,” Seth tells Sasha with a shy smile. Sasha smiles back and winks, making Seth blush.
Brandon has already devoured three of his enchiladas. I’m glad Sasha and Alex made so many. Stoners and their appetites, I think with a small shake of my head.
“Can I have the recipe?” he asks. “These would be amazing after a smoking sesh.”
“Sure. You’ll have to cook them yourself though,” Alex says.
“Can we hire a personal chef to cook for us? The guests would probably be super chill with that, too,” he says hopefully.
“Not in the budget, unfortunately. Maybe when we’re more consistently booked.”
Brandon nods his head and scoops another enchilada out of the pan. Alex and I, being ghosts, don’t partake, but they smell amazing.
Debbie sets her fork down, looking over at me. “So how are you doing sweetheart? Is therapy going okay?”
I smile, happy that she cares enough to ask about me. “Yeah, it’s going good. Lisa comes by once a week, and so far I really like her. She says I have PTSD, so we’re working on coping mechanisms, exposure therapy, things like that. She’s helping, so… it’s good.”
“I’m so glad to hear that,” she says.
Tom surprises me when he speaks up. “I like to go fishing when I start feeling the jitters. You should come with me next time, kiddo.”
“Yeah, I’d love that,” I say as I fail to keep the smile off my face. I’ve never been fishing, but I want to try.
He nods and stands up. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to go find the little boy’s room. This wine is going right through me.”
“Dad, oh my god! It’s through the kitchen to the left. Next to the laundry room.”
“Thanks, son,” he says and walks off.
Debbie looks after him fondly. “We’ve been talking about selling the house and finding a place out here. I’ve loved being here with you guys, and I want to be close. What do you think?”
“I would love that,” Alex says with tears in his eyes. “I want you to be close, too. You guys can stay in one of the cabins if you want, so you have some privacy from these hooligans until you find a place.”
She nods. “Easy decision, then. I can be close to both of my sons year round.”