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It’s one of the last places I can picture my pretentious father stepping a loafer-clad foot inside, and my mother looks equally startled by our destination.
“Come on,” my father urges. “I’m starving.”
My mother and I trail after him reluctantly. The small restaurant is bustling with activity that swirls around the grease laden air we emerge into. My father flags down a waitress, who directs us to a small booth that contains some of the last available seats.
I drop on the cracked vinyl, and my mother sinks down next to my father rather reluctantly. The last time the three of us went out to eat together was for my birthday, and the mix of boisterous chatter and loud eighties music surrounding us is a stark contrast to the upscale steakhouse where that strained meal took place.
Another waitress comes over as soon as we’ve sat down, depositing glasses of water and menus on the metal tabletop. She looks to be close to my age, and she eyes me with an interest that seems a bit excessive, considering the fact I’m obviously here with my middle-aged parents.
“Afternoon, y’all!” she chirps, snapping her gum. “Any drinks besides water? Gathering you’re not locals, so I’m guessing you’ll need a minute on the menu.”
“I went to Lincoln,” my father informs her. “So I already know what I’ll be ordering.” He gives her a charming smile, and I have to resist the urge to roll my eyes. “But these two will probably need a few more minutes.” He gestures to my mother and me.
“No problem,” the waitress says. “I’ll be back in a bit.” She sashays away, and I drop my eyes to the laminated menu.
“What are you getting, Dad?” I ask.
“Their original burger,” he responds. “You should try it, son. Best burger I’ve ever had.”
I’m surprised by his response. Not only because he called me ‘son’, but because he’s talking as though he’s genuinely nostalgic. I always thought he was pushing Lincoln on me for the satisfaction of telling his business partners and clients I would be attending one of the most competitive schools in the country. For the continuation of his legacy. Looking at him leaning back against the cheaply upholstered booth, I wonder if that’s actually the case.
“You shouldn’t order a burger, Richard,” my mother comments. “You’re supposed to be watching your cholesterol.”
“Catherine, I have been. I even ate that broccoli casserole you made last week. One burger is not going to kill me.”
“Famous last words,” my mother retorts.
“What if I get a side salad?”
I view my parents through fresh eyes as I watch them argue over the health of my father’s heart. I’ve always wondered how the facade of a perfect family could be so important to my mother she’d be willing to endure my father’s infidelity.
But listening to her listing off the studies she’s read about reducing cholesterol, I wonder if that’s really the reason she’s chosen to stay with him. I figured love fled their marriage the same time my father’s eye started wandering, but watching them together now, I wonder if that’s truly the case.
If my feelings for Maeve have taught me anything, it’s that sometimes you love the people you shouldn’t. Because I do. Love her. Even though there are a lot of reasons why I probably shouldn’t.
Those reasons have never made sense, though, and they’ve become sillier and sillier the more time I’ve spent with Maeve. I have no reason to hate anyone from Glenmont, really. I don’t want to beat their team any less, but the rivalry with the neighboring town is meaningless. Pointless.
But I don’t know what to do about it. Don’t know how Maeve feels about it now. She’s more invested in it. She’s grown up with it. Her family’s invested in it.
I’m also worried. Worried she won’t pick me if she has to choose a side.
So I keep putting off bringing the subject up. I figure it will be an easier conversation to have once the football season has ended.
The same waitress comes back over a few minutes later to take our lunch orders. My mother orders a turkey sandwich, and I end up selecting the burger my father suggested to me. He smiles at me when I do.
But my father doesn’t order it.
My father orders a salad with grilled chicken instead of the burger he was praising, and for the first time since I discovered he was unfaithful to my mom, I wonder if he still loves her, too.
CHAPTERSIXTEEN
MAEVE
“Happy Birthday, Maeve!” My mother calls the greeting out as I appear downstairs, making her way over from the kitchen table to kiss me on the side of my head.
“Thanks, Mom,” I respond, heading over to the fridge and pouring some orange juice.
“Any big plans for the day?” she asks as I help myself to a bowl of cereal and take a seat at the kitchen island.
