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“Is Ryan here?”
“Yeah, Daddy, he’s out back with Luke.”
“That’s good. Let the boys have some time to hang out. I just wish Ryan would quit trying to be such a bigwig and take over the lumberyard instead.”
“Daddy, I’m taking care of the lumberyard. Ryan loves his job at the bank, and he got that big promotion, too. You know he doesn’t want to work out at the yard,” I said with forced cheerfulness. I was so tired of this conversation about how Ryan was the great hope who could fix everything. How he would be perfect at running the lumberyard, and how it was such a shame he didn’t want to. Because that just left me. Not enough. I couldn’t be my mom. I couldn’t be Ryan. I shook my head and sliced some cucumbers into the salad bowl.
“I know you do. And you work hard. But I know Ryan could handle it. It would set my mind at ease, knowing he had the reins. He understands all the financial paperwork because he works at a bank,” Dad said. I smiled tightly.
“Don’t you worry about a thing. I’m handling the lumberyard just fine. Sales are up because of the free delivery service I set up one day a week, remember?”
“I remember, but I think if your brother had a look at those receipts, he could tell you that it didn’t make us any money to deliver for free,” he said.
A lady doesn’t swear, especially in front of or at her parents, I reminded myself. A lady could not, for example, say to her daddy, Stop fretting about it. My jack-off brother is too busy complaining about his ex to anyone who’ll listen to even consider getting his manicured hands dirty at the lumberyard, which I’m running better than you did, you drunken sexist! A lady would never say anything like that. I just sighed and got out the new low sodium salad dressings. Nothing I did was going to be as good as what Ryan might have done if he’d done anything.
Dinner was good. My dad ate his meal better than he usually managed anything remotely healthy. I caught Luke’s eyes on me once, and I met his gaze, gave him a nod of thanks. He nodded back, the understanding clear between us. His presence made the evening social, which relaxed my dad some, and his grilling was different from the low-fat casserole recipes I’d gotten off Pinterest and my salads. So my father had a nice meal and good company. Ryan remarked that he would’ve thought a man working at a bar and grill could get better beef, but I kicked him under the table. I didn’t want Dad refusing to eat the turkey burgers because some doofus had drawn his attention to it. It had enough peppers and tomato on it to mask the milder flavor, and I’d personally squirted mustard on Dad’s bun so he wouldn’t think it was too dry.
“Next time you can do the honors,” Luke chirped. Any suggestion that Ryan would grill or otherwise prepare food was pretty laughable, but I kept that opinion to myself.
“It’s fine. It’s probably me. I haven’t had a burger in I can’t tell you when. Sometimes a man gets tired of New York Strip though, and wants a good old burger,” he said, sounding pompous to me. But I was irritable these days, and tired. So maybe he was just making small talk.
I dished up banana pudding after I cleared the table. Dad ate all of his, and I made a show of saying he shouldn’t have anymore because of his health—so he wouldn’t know it was low fat. I knew damn well he’d sneak in and get more in the night. I got started on the dishes while Ryan and Luke and Dad talked about football.
I turned to reach for a dish towel to dry a platter, so I’d have room in the dish drainer for the plates. I found that Luke was at my elbow, towel in hand, drying the platter already. I was surprised. Dad and Ryan never helped with the dishes. I shook my head, “You don’t need to do that. You boys just go on in the living room, and I’ll take care of this.”
“I’m not a boy. I’m a man. And I want to help. It might shock you to know that I cook and clean up after myself at the station.”
“Wow, both? Didn’t the Ministry of Southern Manhood take away your balls for that?” I teased.
“No. My balls are still there.”
“So, did you stop liking hunting and fishing and start wanting to crochet?” I laughed.
“I still manage to hook some bass when I have a chance to fish. I can beat Ryan’s ass at darts at the bar any day of the week. And last time I checked, I hadn’t glued any ribbons to my Braves cap or started on a quilt for my hope chest either.”
