Page 19 of Kiss My Glass
“Good call,” says Mister Play-By-The-Rules Nate. “Three cocktails and I might be bailing you out of a Turkish jail.”
“Turkish jail could be more fun than what we’re about to do,” I point out.
“Well, there’s one bright side.” Nate turns off the road and starts up our long driveway.
“What’s that?”
“They’re short-staffed at the riding center,” says Nate, as he parks outside the house. “Ava was too busy to come.”
Our mom, Ginny, is outside on the front steps, waiting for us. Dad Mitch will be inside because God forbid that he should show enthusiasm about meeting his two oldest sons. To be fair, he has mellowed a lot since his heart scare. But that’s like saying there’s been a little erosion on Mount Rushmore. He’s fundamentally the same rigid disciplinarian.
As I get out of the pick-up, I wonder what Frankie is up to today. Admitting to Chiara that I find Frankie attractive was strangely liberating. Like it removed a blockage and now I can access a bunch of other feelings I didn’t know I had. How much I admire Frankie’s strength, for example. Her determination. The way she takes no shit at all. I wish she was here now because I could use a dose of that myself. With Frankie as my wingman (though no doubt she’d correct it to wingperson), I feel like I’d have the confidence to meet Dad head on. Say what I really mean, instead of biting my tongue, so as not to upset Mom.
Ava was never afraid to go toe-to-toe with Dad, and he respected her for it. Even gave her a nickname, Little Missy, which wasn’t exactly complimentary, but it was more than he gave any of us other kids. Again, I wish Frankie was here. I get the feeling she had to battle to be recognized by her parents, too. It’d be good to have someone to be honest with about this stuff. Despite our competitiveness, Ava and Nate would both stand up for me if I asked them to. But they’ve got their own issues with Dad. I don’t need to burden them with mine.
“Nate! Danny!”
Mom kisses and hugs us both. She and I are the most alike in the family, with our fair hair and eyes the same shade of blue. Nate and Ava are Dad clones, but if it weren’t for the fact they both have the Durant cheekbones, Izzy and Max might be changelings. The twins have dark red curly hair like Irish Setters, and a far more secure sense of self than their older siblings. I guess there’s a certain safety in numbers being a twin, and maybe also in being the youngest. By that time, there are fewer parental faults to inherit.
“Come inside.” Mom hooks her arms in ours. “I’ve made cookies.”
Other people meditate or take St John’s wort. Mom bakes cookies.
“Mitchell!” she calls upstairs, soon as we’re in the house. “The boys are here!”
She ushers us into the kitchen because Dad will take his sweet time to come down. Mom sits us at the kitchen table and doles out the cookies (and side plates and folded cloth napkins, because we’re that kind of family).
“Coffee?” she offers.
“Yes, please,” we chorus.
Not that long ago it would have been glasses of milk. Okay, no, that was a long time ago. It’s just that whenever I’m back here, I feel like a little kid again.
“My cookie has more chocolate chips than yours,” says Nate, quietly.
“Yeah, but I’ll get to take the leftovers home because I’m Mom’s favorite.”
“Great to be home, isn’t it?” Nate says.
“It’s where the heart is,” I agree. “I can hear it beating behind the walls.”
“Nate. Danny.”
Dad has entered the kitchen. And though the words of his greeting are identical to Mom’s, he sounds more like he’s about to disclose that he’s cutting us out of his will.
“Hey, Dad,” I say. “How are you keeping?”
“Very well,” he replies. “I take no sugar, alcohol, wheat, dairy, or caffeine. If we all avoided those, most debilitating health conditions would be permanently eradicated.”
The cookies on our plates emit a radioactive glow, and the steam from our coffee turns toxic green. But it will take more than Dad’s lectures to stop Mom baking.
“Tea, Mitchell?” she offers him. “It’s organic and herbal, with filtered water.”
“Thank you, Ginny.”
Dad sits down at the table. Fixes his gaze on me.
“Nate tells us you’re helping him at the winery, Danny. Is your business in trouble?”
