I glance at Kendall. This means it will just be our parents, Jameson, Max, and Susan for dinner. She looks over at me and smiles reassuringly. Things have been going well between her and Jameson, and I figure if she can be at ease with this situation, then I should be as well.

Shortly after the movie Kendall and I make our way into the kitchen where I’m tasked with chopping vegetables for the salad. Kendall’s assigned with setting the table. Claps of thunder echo outside and the rain graces us with its anticipated appearance.

As I finish dicing a tomato, the doorbell chimes charging me with a nervous energy that has me spending far too much time trying to decide if I should go and answer the door. Mom looks at me from where she hovers by the stove checking on her lasagna with an expectant look that quickly morphs into confusion. I dismiss it and the doorbell, focusing on chopping a cucumber instead.

My dad clears his throat and makes his way to the foyer. I have no idea why I feel so nervous tonight. I know I’m being ridiculous and making this into a much bigger deal than it really is. I take a deep breath, willing myself to calm down.

Distracted by my little mental freak out, I completely miss what the three have said as my dad’s laughter alerts me that they’re in the kitchen.

“I hope y’all are hungry since your poor mom was called in. That means it’s just the six of us tonight,” my mom says, catching me up to speed. I notice her take a couple of steps, stopping beside me.

“It smells amazing in here,” Jameson says, taking a deep breath through his nose as I pile the cucumber into the salad bowl and reach for an orange bell pepper.

“It does,” I hear Max agree. “These are for you, Muriel, for having us over for dinner again.” The urge to look at him gets stronger, knowing he’s mere feet from me as I focus on gutting the pepper.

Mom jabs me with her elbow, and I glance over to see her eyes focused on the bar with a wide smile spread across her perfectly made-up face. I glance over to see what has made her so elated and my gaze immediately gravitates to Max. Our eyes lock for a quiet second before I look to my dad and then to Jameson standing beside him. Then my stare falls to the large bouquet of light pink flowers setting on the counter in front of Max. I look back to Max. He’s still looking at me.

“You got pink peonies?” Kendall gasps, descending the stairs. “How did you know?” When did you leave?

“They’re for Mom,” I instantly reply.

“It surprises me too.” Mom practically swoons as she scoops up the chunks of pepper that I chopped and drops them into the salad bowl.

“I understand the words you guys are saying, but they’re not making any sense, it’s like code,” Jameson says, looking around to each of us.

“Oh, it’s just ironic,” Mom answers, moving to place a tray of bread in the oven, “David has been gettin’ me flowers every Friday since we began dating, and when the girls were little they used to go with him to pick ‘em out. I always knew which girl accompanied him based on the flowers I received, each one had their favorite. However, when Ace went, I never got the same ones.”

“Until she saw those,” my dad interjects, pointing a finger to the vase of peonies. I stare down at the carrots that I just finished chopping, feeling slightly mortified by this story.

“These are your favorite?” Max asks.

I glance up, noting everyone’s attention is trained on me, and stop when my eyes meet Max’s. I nod.

Thankfully the timer for the bread goes off, breaking the moment. As my mom goes to retrieve the bread, my dad starts talking about an issue he’s run into with Clementine and signals for the guys to follow him to the den.

“Was that incredibly awkward for everyone, or just me?” I whisper to Kendall as inconspicuously as possible as she comes around the island to stand by me while I drop the remaining vegetables into the salad bowl.

“Just you,” she whispers. “Pink peonies!” She quietly squeals, gripping my arm as she does a small bounce on the balls of her feet. I brush her away and instantly hiss at her to be quiet.

“Come on, ya’ll, no more sports talk right now. We’re eatin’ dinner!” my mom calls, taking her seat at the far end of the table, across from dad’s seat.

“Ace, you fish?” Max asks, holding a picture of a seven-year-old me holding a halibut with my dad’s assistance since it was nearly as big as me and weighed more.

“You’re showing them pictures?” I groan, knowing full well there are at least a dozen pictures that could easily be classified as mortifying.

“Just that one. We were talking about fishing,” Dad answers as he takes his seat beside me with a grin. “Tell them about your fishing skills, Ace.”

I roll my eyes and laugh at the amused smirk on my dad’s face before I turn to Max and shake my head. “No, I don’t fish.” I reach for the picture frame Max still holds and set it on the table beside me, face down. “There’s a follow up picture to this one somewhere, as I bawled my eyes out, realizing the fish was going to die, and it was my fault.”

“But you eat meat?” Jameson asks.

“I know, it’s hypocritical. I just don’t deal very well with death. Later you can sit with Mom, and she’ll happily psychoanalyze the situation with you.”

“Why wait?” Kendall teases. I grab a chunk of carrot from the salad bowl and throw it at her, hitting her squarely in the chest.

“Kendall, no!” My Mom shouts quickly as Kendall reaches for a roll with every intention of retaliation. “There will be absolutely no food fights tonight!”

Kendall slowly lowers the roll to her plate. I know she hasn’t conceded—Kendall doesn’t know how to concede—so my attention continuously flickers to her as I listen to my dad.

“So, Jameson, did you grow up in Alaska?” I turn to watch Jameson’s reply, feeling slightly anxious about the subject of Washington coming up after the whole wedding incident. Before he replies, an olive plops into my lap and I turn my attention to Kendall and glare in warning. She instantly shakes her head, her eyes feigning innocence. She gestures to mom, who’s staring at Jameson waiting with rapt interest for his response. Her lips twitch as she fights a smile, and I narrow my eyes at her, waiting for her to turn and acknowledge me. It only takes her a moment before she does, and she widens her eyes in response, holding out her palms in innocence.

“Actually, I’m from Yakima, Washington. My parents own a fruit farm up there. I went up to Alaska to try something new.”

“I’ve never made it that far east. I’ve only ever been to Seattle. Is it pretty wet there?” Dad asks as mom begins plating pieces of lasagna, and I pass the salad bowl to Kendall. I quickly scrutinize her face looking for any trace of her being uncomfortable so I can change the subject, but neither she nor Jameson seem to flinch at the subject being posed.

“No, we’re on the other side of the mountains. Our summers are fairly similar to here, hot and dry. But it can get pretty cold during the winter.”

“Are you a skier?” Mom asks curiously.

“I grew up skiing with my parents, but then I started snowboarding when I was like twelve, and pretty much stick to that now. Do you guys ski?”

“No,” Dad says with a quick laugh as he shakes his head. “I can’t talk them into playing tennis. You really think I’m going to get them to go skiing?”

“I’d be up for hanging out in the lodges and drinking some buttered rum. Some of the snow clothes are pretty cute. Get some big scarves and boot socks.” Kendall looks over to Mom with a growing excitement.

“I’d be in there with you. I have no intention of strappin’ my feet to a board and sailin’ down any mountain to my death any time soon.”

“Oh, ma moitié, you’d start on a bunny hill, small falls.” My mom raises her eyebrows to him as if questioning his sanity, making Dad quickly change subjects.