This was the type of chaos I'd come to expect from working with my family. We knocked thefunright intodysfunctional.
I was gazing into my coffee and debating whether I had time to get a replacement for my backup burrito when one of the overhead lights went out. At first, I didn't register it, but Patrick made sure everyonenoticed.
"What the hell?" he asked, pushing out of his chair. He stood beside the table, his hands fisted on his hips and his irritated glare pointed at thechandelier.
"Are we adding this to your agenda?" Shannon askeddryly.
"Those bulbs were changed out in June for high efficiency ones," Patrick said. "They shouldn't be burning out within fivemonths,Shan."
"That might be the case but—what the fuck are you doing?" Shannon cried as Patrick boosted himself onto the table. At once, everyone reached for their beverages andlaptops.
"I just want to check something out,"hesaid.
"I do love watching people use my handcrafted furniture as jungle gyms," Sam said. "Really validates all the time I put into eachpiece."
Patrick moved to the middle of the table, reaching for the dimmed bulb. "Would you rather we spend the next ten minutes moving the table and getting a ladder up here?" heasked.
"Yeah, let's turn the lightoffbefore we start playing with electricity." Andy crossed the room and flipped the switch, and murmured, "Hello darkness, my oldfriend."
I had a Rage Against the Machine lyric ready in response but it took a backseat to the dim memories that were quick to emerge. They descended all at once, disjointed andshocky.
The shadowy booth flanked by erotic murals at The Magdalenae Room where I'd touched Alex and kissed her and whispered all the ways Iwantedher.
The taste of whiskey onherlips.
The heat of herperfectbody.
The feel of her dainty hands tangledinmine.
The knowledge that we'd wanted the same things and we'd—finally—wanted to make themreality.
"Get the fuck down," Shannonyelled.
Her words snapped me back to the attic conference room and out of my memories with a startle. I still didn't know how we'd gotten to the swishy cocktail lounge at the Dean Hotel in downtown Providence or why we'd gone there when the simplest, most logical destination would've been the inn. Looking back, I wanted to slap myself upside the head for continuing the great tour of Rhode Island when I should've been worshipping Alex behind closeddoors.
"I mean it, Patrick. Get the fuck down," Shannon repeated. "We don't repair the fixtures duringmeetings."
"Just calm down and give me a minute to figure out what's wrong," hereplied.
"Ohhh," Sam said. "Did you just invoke the calm downclause?"
"That does trigger the articles of ass-kicking," Tomadded.
"Listen, buddy. I don't think you know anything about electrical engineering," Matt said, rising from his seat. He climbed onto the table. "Let me takealook."
"You don't know anything about electrical engineering either," Shannon roared. "I'm not asking anymore. Get down right now before you crack your foolheadsopen."
"I'm never building you people another piece of furniture as long as I live," Sam muttered. "Not when you're using it for fucking boxjumps."
"Andy," Patrick called. "Grab me some needle nosepliers."
"No. Not unless we're cutting the power at the breaker," shereplied.
"Then cut the fucking power,"Patricksaid.
"No," Shannon yelled. "We're not doing anyofthat."
The debate raged on—in the goddamn dark—while I struggled to put the pieces of last weekend in order. There'd been a logic to it all, but I couldn't find it. What had I said, what had I done that turned a perfect night into a disastrousmorning?
