5
Family Dinner
Mitch
Roused by the smell of home-cooked roast chicken and vegetables, my stomach rumbles, but the massive boulder of tension resting in my gut doesn’t make me too interested in filling it with food.
I pull out a chair at the dining table, taking a seat across from Maxine. She’s fixating on her plate with a piercing glare, her delicate fingers skimming across the edge of the wooden table’s surface.
I stare at her hands: the simplicity of her short, nude, round nails, the smoothness of her skin, the uncomplicated beauty she’s always possessed with no desire to embellish it. Something that contrasts against the puck bunnies that usually hover around me after games.
Announcing my presence by clearing my throat, Maxine doesn’t even lift her head. It’s as if I’m not even here. I guess she’s still not over me calling her a world-class bitch yesterday.
“Need my help with anything?” I ask my mom as she sets a salad bowl on the table.
“No, thanks, sweetheart. You sit. I’ve got this.” She grips my shoulders, holding them for a few seconds longer. Sympathy swims in her eyes, sending shards through my heart. She gets how awkward I feel right now.
“Well, let me know if you need anything,” I offer and hear Max scoff. I catch her eye-roll. “Look, Max,” I begin once Mom is out of earshot, but am interrupted by the sound of Dad’s metal walker as it scrapes the floor right outside the kitchen.
Maxine rushes to his side, while I take way too long to accept how helpful she is. I finally snap to, shoving my chair back to lend a hand, but I’m left stunned by Maxine’s sharp glare. She wraps her hand around Bill’s arm, guiding him to his dining chair at the head of the table.
I watch the entire scene unravel before my eyes, guilt-ridden for not reacting quickly enough, and especially for the rift that’s between us now.
What I really can’t stand is how Maxine is more like a daughter to him than I am a son. When the hell did that happen? Sure, she was always around when we were kids, and we treated her like family, but this is odd. His betrayal affected her as much as it did me. Shouldn’t she hate his guts?
Once seated, and with the table laden with far too much food, my parents lower their heads to say grace.
When Maxine drops her head, too, so does my brow.
She used to have very choice words about religion, and her atheism knew no bounds.
I hear the quiet hush of my father’s prayer spoken through his dry, pale lips, and wonder if his current condition has ignited a belief Maxine didn’t use to have.
When they’re done praying, Mom scoops some mashed potatoes onto Bill’s plate, and he thanks her, giving her a genuine smile that meets his eyes.
The sight of it stirs my emotions, and my eyes sting.
I reach for the vegetables, my hand landing on Maxine’s, and freeze.
I leave it there, without pulling away, but oh, she does.
As if I’ve burned her with my touch, she grimaces and seems so disturbed, like she’s itching to go wash her hands.
She used to love when I touched her.
“Go ahead,” she offers, tucking her hands into her elbows.
I lean back, drumming my fingers on the table. “No, I insist.”
“No, really. All yours.”
There we sit, our eyes locked in a battle of pride, the weight of my parents’ gaze pressing down on me.
“Enough,” Bill snaps. “You’re acting like children.”
“Come on, you two,” Mom adds. “Eat.”
Maxine releases a long breath, shoveling some vegetables onto her plate, then pops a green bean into her mouth, but her eyes never leave mine, like she’s keen on winning this ridiculous staring contest.
“Mitchell…” Dad warns.
I turn to look at him, annoyed that I have to break first. “Sorry, Dad.”
As I pile chicken onto my plate, he begins.
“So, we asked you both to be here tonight because we need to talk about the inn. Robyn and I have thought a lot about this, and given my health…” He halts, turns his gaze toward his wife, and seizes her hand.
“We’ve decided to transfer ownership of the inn to both of you. ”
This gets my full attention, and my food stops midway to my mouth as I turn my head. Maxine’s fork falls loudly onto her plate.
“What do you mean, the both of us?” she asks.
My gaze volleys between my folks, to her, then back. I’ve missed something. Frowning, Maxine gives me a shrug, as confused as I am.
“Yes. Both of you,” Dad answers. “You’ll share ownership before I’m gone.”
Profound silence follows his words while they linger in the herb-scented air.
“There’s no need to worry about that now,” Maxine says, her voice steady but with a shaky undertone.
“Yes, there is,” he replies. “This is happening. And before it’s too late, you two need to figure shit out because once I’m gone, you’ll have no other choice.”
“But you don’t know if you’ll—”
“I do know,” Bill cuts her off, slamming his hands on the table, causing the dishes to rattle.
Dad’s short fuse is usually reserved for me.
I’ve never seen him bark at anyone else.
He’s got this even temperament that borders on sociopathic.
Even when Mom found out about his affair and called him every horrible name you could think of, he didn’t crack and kept his cool.
But to see him now, flushed, with watery eyes and his mouth pressed into a fine line, his reaction is unnerving.
“I’m dying. It’s not a matter of if, Maxine. It’s a matter of when,” he adds, calmly. “I appreciate how positive you and Robyn are, but you have to stop acting like I’m sticking around much longer. The sooner you all accept this, the better off we’ll be.”
I’m insulted. And hurt. As if I’m intruding on an argument I should have been involved in. My mind whirls, and my stomach cramps.
“And what about Mom? Why aren’t you giving it to her?” I spit, suddenly finding my voice.
My father’s great-grandparents built the Adams Inn, and they have passed it along ever since, through good times and bad. Would he be so callous to give it to me instead of Mom? She’s worked her ass off for years at that place.
Mom turns to me, her eyes wet. “I’ll still help when I can, but it’s time for me to move on.” I can tell there’s more to this, but she continues. “Maxine’s been the manager for years and has been doing most of the work, anyway. It just makes sense to make this official now.”
Beyond confused, I only respond with a frown and blink a bunch of times.
“We’ve made the arrangements,” Bill continues. “I’ve completed my will, but I didn’t want you hearing about this after. Which is why I need you both to put your issues aside. I want to die with peace of mind that you two can do this. Together.”
“With all due respect, Bill, I don’t think that’ll ever be possible.” When Maxine shifts her hurt gaze from him to me, it’s like a physical blow. The ticking sounds of the clock and the oven cooling drop on me as if the ceiling’s collapsed, caging me in.
I shove my chair back. “This isn’t happening.”
“Mitchell—” Dad begins, but I interrupt him with a raised hand.
“No, I get it. You’ve given up. That’s what you do. Makes perfect sense.” I glance at Maxine, who tucks her chin, refusing to meet my eyes. “But her and I co-running the inn? That’s never going to happen. Besides, what makes you think she deserves any part of it?”
“Fuck you, Mitch,” Maxine spits, and I actually recoil. She aims her icy, sharp glare my way. “Believe me. The feeling is more than mutual. There’s no way I want to be anywhere near you.”
“Well, good. It’s about time we’re on the same page about something.”
“No, we’re not.” She pushes away from the table and gets up, narrowing her blue eyes. “I don’t want to work with you because you don’t deserve any part of it.”
“Oh, that’s rich,” I say with a dry chuckle. “The last time I checked, this is my family’s business. My inheritance.”
“Please stop it,” Mom pleads, but the red haze surrounding me blocks her soft voice out.
Maxine titters, shaking her head. “Your inheritance? That’s a joke, right? You left, Mitch, and didn’t even look back. You don’t care about them. You don’t care about anything here.”
“Is that so?” I cock my head. “I’m back now, aren’t I?”
She throws her head back with a guffaw and applauds. “Oh, yeah. Bravo. You came back for the brewery. To be the center of attention. Not for anything else. Seriously, do you have any idea how much the inn is struggling?”
“Maxine, please,” Mom interjects, again, being ignored.
“That we’re swimming in debt and could get shut down any day?
” Maxine continues. She doesn’t wait for me to answer.
Not that I would know what to say, anyway.
This is all news to me. “No, you don’t. To you it’s a cash cow and another way for you to stuff your pockets, because that’s what matters, right? The money?”
“What do you mean it could shut down?” I glance at Mom, but she shakes her head, gives up, crosses her arms, and hunches over.
Maxine gives my parents a mirthful laugh. “You see? He doesn’t have a clue. You’re making a huge mistake letting him have any say in this.”
“They’re my parents. Where do you get off telling them what they should or shouldn’t—”
“Enough!” Bill yells, raising his hands, and though his voice is frail, his authority still bounces off the walls.
“Just… enough.” He takes a deep, raspy breath, as if strained by the outburst, then releases it with a heavy sigh.
“I won’t pretend to understand what happened between the two of you.
And I can’t understand how two people who were once inseparable can act like enemies.
But honestly, no matter the reason, I’m beyond caring at this point.
” He raises his head, spearing us with his severe, pale blue glare.
“My time is running out. Robyn and I need people we trust to be here for us. And I expect you two to do it without complaining.”
Deflated, Maxine sinks into her chair, letting her shoulders drop. “You’re right, Bill. I’m sorry.”