“I’d asked him to grab them for the table,” I gesture to the flowers in the center of the table and a smaller vase for Mom when she leaves. These flowers had cinnamon sticks in them. Mandy knew Mom loved cinnamon.
"So, Bo’s joining us?" she asks, like she hadn't orchestrated the entire dinner.
"You suggested this dinner."
"I suggested a family dinner." She turns back to the stove.
I open my mouth to tell her that she told me to make sure Bo came because he needed a good home-cooked meal, like I hadn’t been feeding him. I was. With that, the screen door opens, and Bo comes in with the chairs I’djust refinished, and Rowdy immediately abandons me entirely and goes to him.
“Traitor,” I mumble under my breath, and Bo hears me.
He sets the chairs down, clocks the room in about two seconds, and says, "Mrs. Williams. Mr. Williams," with a nod. Dad shakes his hand, and Mom pulls him into a hug like she didn’t see him just last week.
He'd brought in chairs. She looks at him like he'd brought roses.
I love my mother.
I serve dinner, and Bo gets the drinks. None of us drank, so sodas were the family norm. It started so quietly that I began to wonder if this was a good idea. Then Dad asks Bo about the banister in the entry, and the conversation flows after that. Dad had three helpings and is reaching for more mashed potatoes when Mom swats his hand.
“I am a man on the mend. I need food,” he proclaims, and Mom gives him a look and a carrot stick. He huffs and crunches on the carrot stick with a disappointed expression.
Bo had helped me start a new fence line yesterday, and while I was in the house cooking, he had finished it. He is a hungry man, and he could have all he wanted.
“So, Falon,” she feigns innocence. I know better.
"Did you finally finish the bathroom?” She takes another bite of potatoes.
"Yep. All done. New floor and subfloor, painted, and a new vanity with two sinks," I said.
"You did that yourself?"
"We did." I gesture at Bo. He shakes his head.
"Falon diagnosed the leak, pulled the vinyl, cut the damaged sections, and laid the new boards," he says. "I handed things to her and watched YouTube."
"That's not?—"
"It's accurate."
"If you mean falling through the floor as a diagnosis, then you're right, but the rest was a team effort."
Dad looks up. “You fell through the floor?” I can see the panic in his eyes.
"Only to the knee," I say quickly.
"She was hanging from the banister by her hands after that," Bo says, like he was reporting the weather. "About fourteen feet up."
Dad puts his fork down. "Falon Marie."
"I was fine."
"She was fine," Bo confirms. "Rowdy and I had it."
Rowdy thumps his tail from the back door at the mention of his name.
Dad shakes his head and picks his fork back up, and that is that. Mom is pressing her lips together to keep from smiling.
After dinner, Dad gets up and starts walking through the kitchen the way he always does, looking at the hardware, the shelving I'd built into the pantry, the window that used to stick. He stops at the shelving.
