Tabitha picked up her fork. “We’re starting with roasted heirloom beets. It has whipped goat cheese, frisée, orange, pickled shallots, hazelnut crumble, balsamic, and honey.”
John continued to stare at the small plate of beets as ifwilling the root vegetable and accoutrements to turn into an appetizer of fried green tomatoes.
Tabitha sighed. “Just try it.” She gave Julien a pointed look before lowering her eyes to his own plate.
Message received. Julien stabbed a beet.
His dad watched him, dark, baggy circles under his still-sharp eyes. Exhaustion weighed on his shoulders, which had started to hunch over the last couple of years. The man needed to start taking better care of himself. At his age, he should be out on the golf course or cruising around the Caribbean, not commanding boardrooms and managing an empire.
Hoping the mouthful wouldn’t taste like dirt, Julien sank his teeth into the red disk. An explosion of flavors that were surprisingly sweet, tangy, and earthy revolved around on his tongue. He tucked the bite into his cheek so he could talk around the morsel. “It’s good.”
Skeptical, his dad nibbled on a small piece, his brows flying to his hairline in surprise before he shoved the whole bite in his mouth.
Tabitha gloated silently.
John swallowed and wiped his mouth, his gaze swinging over to Julien. “I know Caroline can’t go to the Children’s Book Creators Conference because of doctor-ordered bedrest with her pregnancy, but I thought we agreed that Gena was going to attend in her stead. When I asked Tomiko about the travel arrangements, she informed me airfare and hotel had only been booked for you and no one else. Care to explain to me what you were thinking?”
“Can we maybe not talk about work while—”
John interrupted his wife. “Who’s going with you if not Gena? She’s Squire’s acting acquisitions editor, Julien.”
“I’m aware, Dad.”
“—eating dinner.”
“Sorry, Mom.”
John didn’t apologize, but he didn’t press the issue either. They ate in heavy silence for a few minutes, no one bringing up any other topics to discuss.
John eventually pushed his half-eaten beets to the side. “Did you bring any real food, or do you expect me to exist on vegetables like a rabbit?”
Tabitha rolled her eyes, then pulled out three more containers filled with their main course. “Butter-basted freshwater trout with white beans, wilted dandelion, charred sweet red pepper salsa, and basil.”
“This food is going to kill me before my heart does,” John grumbled.
“Fish is good for you. It’s rich in omega-3 fatty acids and low in saturated fat, and studies show that eating fish regularly can lower the risk of cardiovascular disease.”
Julien watched his parents. His dad wasn’t the easiest person to live with on a good day, but he’d been extra cantankerous since receiving his prognosis from the doctor. He was a man who needed to feel in control and was struggling as he watched that slip through his fingers. His mother, God bless her, had always been able to curb his father’s hard edges and understand him in a way that no one else seemed to. She had the patience of a saint, but even she appeared to be nearing the breaking point with her husband’s stubbornness.
The tension in the room was palpable. If someone didn’t do or say something soon to defuse the atmosphere, Julien was afraid there’d be an explosion. Definitely not good for his dad’s heart. Or his mom’s, for that matter.
“You’ll never guess who I had an appointment with today,” he said before really thinking things through. His mom had said no work talk, but someone needed to say something, and Martha was the first thing he could think of.
Both of his parents turned to look at him.
He wiped his mouth and set his napkin down by the food container. “Martha Aldridge.”
“The gardener’s daughter?” John asked incredulously.
“Why did she stop by?” His mom was just as curious.
“Turns out she’s a children’s librarian over in Little Creek.” Julien edited out her reason for setting up a meeting. “I hired her as a freelance consultant for Squire.”
Both of his parents stared at him like he’d lost his mind.
“The imprint is in the red as it is. Where are you going to get the money to pay a consultant?” His dad’s tone bordered on accusatory.
“You put me in charge of Squire. Let me worry about the money.”
