“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.
“So, Max, have you decided which field of medicine you’re going to focus on?”
“I’m not positive. Right now it looks like either spinal or neurological.”
“We need new dinner guests, ones that make us look better,” Kendall teases.
I chance a glance at Max to see him still involved in conversation with my dad. I know Max is intending to apply for medical school this year. We’ve discussed this a few different times over the summer after he told me a story about fishing in Alaska and a really close call that his boat had encountered where he thought they were going to lose a crew member, and how that inspired him to help people the way his mom has. However, sitting here, hearing it again, it still catches me a bit off guard to take it all in.
“Ace has considered medicine,” Mom chirps, bringing me back to the conversation at hand. “She’s had some really excitin’ offers, but she needs to focus and make some decisions this year.”
I look up and try to give her a promising smile that seems to effectively placate her before turning my attention back to my lasagna. I slowly move a few bites around my plate, feeling a sense of unease at the mention of my impending decision. Discussing the future has a tendency to overwhelm me, and thinking of declaring a major this year makes me feel nearly nauseous. I’m only nineteen and obviously haven’t been exposed to all fields. How do I know what I’ll want to do in twenty years?
“She still has plenty of time.” I glance over at my dad giving me a reassuring smile as he reaches for his glass of wine.
I’m praying Kendall will change the subject. Usually she never goes this long without talking. But she’s staring intently at her salad, likely distracted with thinking of retaliation.
“So, Ace, where did this nickname come from? I hear we’re playing cards, and I need to know if there’s something I should be aware of,” Jameson asks.
“That’s a good question, I’ve never heard this. You’ve just always been Ace,” Max adds, tilting his head slightly as he looks at me with genuine interest.
“Oh that’s her daddy’s fault. He used to say everything was ace. It was his way of saying good. The girls all caught on, and when Harper was a baby she was always just the happiest little thing. She hardly ever fussed, and her daddy began calling her Ace, and it stuck,” Mom explains.
I look at my dad and smile as a cucumber sails down the front of my shirt. Turning to confront both my mom and Kendall, I see that they’re both working to suppress giggles.
“Seriously?” I eye my mom. She’s having a difficult time breathing. I shake my head and move the salad bowl away from their reach.
“What game are you guys going to play?” Dad asks, a small smile playing on his lips with amusement.
“I don’t know. They can choose,” I reply, looking at Max and then to Jameson. I catch sight of something flying through the air and am just able to lean back in time to see a chunk of tomato land squarely in the center of my dad’s chest, causing a smile to erupt on my face.
“Muriel!” He growls with a wicked smile. He tears off a chunk of bread from his roll and hurls it at her. Mom bursts into a fit of giggles and begins flinging the salad on her plate as fast as she can grab it. Saying my mother has bad aim is a gross understatement. Vegetables are flying, hitting everyone at the table. Many miss altogether and land on the floor.
Food fights are a fairly common occurrence in our house, but based on the expressions from both Max and Jameson, they’re not accustomed to spending meals hurtling their vegetables across the table.
My mom pauses, making my dad stop, and then she lunges forward, grabbing the salad bowl. She then turns her aim to Kendall and me.
“Mom, you always regret this!” I warn between giggles as I raise my hands to deflect the barrage of vegetables. Kendall and my dad are already throwing things back at her, while Jameson and Max are frozen, staring at us.
I pick up a small handful of vegetables from the table and throw them directly at Max’s chest. His jaw drops, making me laugh harder. I quickly scrimmage up another handful and chuck it at Jameson, turning before I can see his reaction as my mom begins throwing entire rolls in my direction. Bread and vegetables are flying as Jameson and Max join in.