Page 91 of Gin and Bear It

We drink to that, even though the idea of Dad ever having very healthy and happy years is up for debate. Then, we dive into the food. Fuck, it’s delicious. The kind of Southern meal I can’t get anywhere else, as authentic as they claim to be.

Mom asks Waylon how everything is going at the clinic, then Wes how things are going at the bar.

“And how about you?” Mom asks me. “How are you?”

I’m not sure whether she means in general, or just with the company. The company is the safer route.

“Good,” I say, and that’s true. “I’m in the marketing department now and it’s been my favorite so far.”

“They do good work,” JD says, breaking his silence. “That campaign for the mocktails you’ve been working on looks like it’s doing well.”

I don’t know what to say to that—is it sort of a compliment?

“And your band?” Mom adds.

I choose that moment to take a big bite. Mom still only knows the basics, and I haven’t updated her yet. At least I have good news.

“Things are going well with the legal battle. We have a meeting in Nashville in a few weeks, so hopefully we’ll be able to resolve everything. Might get our royalties soon,” I say.

“That’s great, Ashley,” Mom says with a smile.

“At least you’ll get a little something out of that experiment,” Dad says. The first thing he’s said this whole meal.

Nothing I do is ever right, is it? I’m working for the family business, which is presumably what he wanted me to do at some point. But he doesn’t have shit to say about that.

“Royalties pay out for years,” JD says. “It’s not insignificant.”

“I don’t need you to explain royalties to him,” I snap, then feel embarrassed. Then confused. Why is JD of everyone coming to my defense?

“Fine, I won’t say shit next time, then,” JD says. There’s the old him I expected. I’m still disappointed, though.

Fuck, I need to get it together. Why are my feelings being torn in a thousand directions?

“All I’m saying is that he could have avoided whatever legal stuff he has going on if he’d stuck with something reasonable.” Dad shrugs and butters a biscuit.

JD locks eyes with me, his jaw tight. I don’t want to draw whatever this is out any longer, so I just eat.

The brief dispute is awkward enough to taint the rest of the meal. Mom tries to fill up the silence with updates about her volunteer work and questions about Waylon and Bianca’s wedding coming up soon.

Once we’re done, Mom stands.

“Ashley and JD, you two will wash the big dishes. Together.” She gives us a pointed look. “Wesley, you’ll handle drinks. An after-dinner cocktail and some coffee. We’ll have it in the parlor. Waylon, please give Lady and Bubba a treat and a quick walk for a potty break.”

Those are the rules—Mom cooks, we clean up and get ready for dessert. But usually she doesn’t give us such direct instructions.

We can’t rebel against her, so we go to the sink. Wes goes to the corner of the massive kitchen where my parents’ bar cart and coffee machine are. JD starts washing, handing me dishes in silence to dry. Mom expects us to talk it out, but I don’t know what to say. I can’t even articulate my feelings right now anyway.

“Why’d you jump down my throat for coming to your defense?” JD asks.

“I don’t know,” I admit.

He scrubs some grease off a pan that held fried chicken, then hands it to me. I towel it off and put it on a mat to finish drying. He lets the silence sit, which gives me time to organize my thoughts.

“The words sounded sincere but I wasn’t sure if there was more to them,” I finally say. “Part of me still wonders why you’d come to my defense when most of our relationship has been nothing but conflict.”

JD nods, putting more soap on the sponge.

“I understand. And a lot of the origin of the conflict is my fault.” He scrubs another dish, his brows furrowing as he scrubs. “The only thing I can say is sorry, even though that’s not nearly enough. I was harsh on you when we were kids. I had a misguided sense of superiority when I should have realized you were hurting and lashing out because of it. I can see it now with your relationship with Dad.”