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Darren stared at the contents of his refrigerator for a long moment and then shut the door with a sigh. He glanced across the kitchen at the calendar, though he knew perfectly well what day it was. With another sigh, more felt than heard, Darren opened the refrigerator again and took out a beer. He pulled the tab, not particularly caring that it foamed over his hand and splashed the floor. He let the door swing closed of its own accord, also not caring whether it did so or not, and took his beer, dinner for tonight at least, into the living room to watch TV.
* * *
The phone rang, jolting Darren out of his doze. On the TV screen, Jimmy Stewart was crowing his yearly nonsense about rose petals.
“Fuck you, Jimmy,” Darren muttered.
The phone rang again, and Darren struggled to remember where he put the damn thing. He found it beneath an old newspaper and flipped it open.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Darren, it’s Max. You got a minute?”
Shit. Max. The last person in the world he wanted to talk to right now. Why hadn’t he bothered to check caller ID?
“Um, sure Max. What’s up?”
“You okay, man? You sound sort of funny.”
“Yeah, I’m good. I fell asleep on the couch. What’s going on?” Darren lifted his beer can, felt the emptiness of it and groaned silently.
“Hey, listen. I’ve got a favor to ask of you.”
Darren went back to the kitchen for another beer and crooked the phone against his shoulder while he opened it. “What kind of favor?” Deep suspicion tinged his voice. A not particularly unwarranted suspicion, given the circumstances.
“Well….” Max hesitated, cleared his throat, and began again. “I was wondering if you… Maybe if you would—”
“Just spill it, Max.”
“Would you come with me to my parents’ house for Thanksgiving?”
Of all the possible things Max might have said, might have asked for, that had to be the very last thing Darren would ever have expected.
Max. Maxwell Alton Torreigne.A friend of the most casual sort for years, Max was a fixture as common as water and as comfortable as an old slipper. Max was who you called when you felt like seeing a movie or a game and didn’t want to go alone, knowing there were no strings attached. Max was the one you called for a ride when you got too drunk. You could rely on Max. He was dependable.
He was not, however, someone you spent a holiday with, and most especially not a holiday at the ’rents house. Was he?
For a moment, Darren had an irrational urge to stick his head out the kitchen window and howl with laughter.
“Darren? Are you there?”
“Yeah, I’m here. Did you say Thanksgiving, at your parents’ house?”
“Oh. Yeah. I’m sorry. You probably already have plans. I should have realized.” Max paused for the briefest instant. “My bad.”
“No, no, Max. I don’t have any plans as a matter of fact. You just surprised me, is all. What’s this all about?”
“I don’t know. Well, I do, actually. I haven’t been home in almost six years, and Ma’s been getting more and more insistent, constantly e-mailing me about what the family’s been up to, and this is the first year they’ve all gotten time off together, and so on.” Max sighed audibly. “I kind of wish they never got that damned computer. Ma’s like some kind of e-mail fiend.” His tone brightened, and he continued, “Anyway, I’m thinking that with the thundering horde, also known as my brothers and sisters, all paired off, according to Ma, I’d be the odd man out. I guess I was hoping you’d come with, so I didn’t have to deal with all of them giving me ‘the look’. You know the kind I mean.”
“Wait a minute,” Darren said. “You want me to come as your date ?”
“Oh, hell, no!” Max sounded truly amused. “I was thinking more as my bodyguard.”
Darren laughed, vaguely surprised by his own reaction. He could feel sadness lurking beneath the surface, but for that brief moment, the laughter
Darren stared at the contents of his refrigerator for a long moment and then shut the door with a sigh. He glanced across the kitchen at the calendar, though he knew perfectly well what day it was. With another sigh, more felt than heard, Darren opened the refrigerator again and took out a beer. He pulled the tab, not particularly caring that it foamed over his hand and splashed the floor. He let the door swing closed of its own accord, also not caring whether it did so or not, and took his beer, dinner for tonight at least, into the living room to watch TV.
* * *
The phone rang, jolting Darren out of his doze. On the TV screen, Jimmy Stewart was crowing his yearly nonsense about rose petals.
“Fuck you, Jimmy,” Darren muttered.
The phone rang again, and Darren struggled to remember where he put the damn thing. He found it beneath an old newspaper and flipped it open.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Darren, it’s Max. You got a minute?”
Shit. Max. The last person in the world he wanted to talk to right now. Why hadn’t he bothered to check caller ID?
“Um, sure Max. What’s up?”
“You okay, man? You sound sort of funny.”
“Yeah, I’m good. I fell asleep on the couch. What’s going on?” Darren lifted his beer can, felt the emptiness of it and groaned silently.
“Hey, listen. I’ve got a favor to ask of you.”
Darren went back to the kitchen for another beer and crooked the phone against his shoulder while he opened it. “What kind of favor?” Deep suspicion tinged his voice. A not particularly unwarranted suspicion, given the circumstances.
“Well….” Max hesitated, cleared his throat, and began again. “I was wondering if you… Maybe if you would—”
“Just spill it, Max.”
“Would you come with me to my parents’ house for Thanksgiving?”
Of all the possible things Max might have said, might have asked for, that had to be the very last thing Darren would ever have expected.
Max. Maxwell Alton Torreigne.A friend of the most casual sort for years, Max was a fixture as common as water and as comfortable as an old slipper. Max was who you called when you felt like seeing a movie or a game and didn’t want to go alone, knowing there were no strings attached. Max was the one you called for a ride when you got too drunk. You could rely on Max. He was dependable.
He was not, however, someone you spent a holiday with, and most especially not a holiday at the ’rents house. Was he?
For a moment, Darren had an irrational urge to stick his head out the kitchen window and howl with laughter.
“Darren? Are you there?”
“Yeah, I’m here. Did you say Thanksgiving, at your parents’ house?”
“Oh. Yeah. I’m sorry. You probably already have plans. I should have realized.” Max paused for the briefest instant. “My bad.”
“No, no, Max. I don’t have any plans as a matter of fact. You just surprised me, is all. What’s this all about?”
“I don’t know. Well, I do, actually. I haven’t been home in almost six years, and Ma’s been getting more and more insistent, constantly e-mailing me about what the family’s been up to, and this is the first year they’ve all gotten time off together, and so on.” Max sighed audibly. “I kind of wish they never got that damned computer. Ma’s like some kind of e-mail fiend.” His tone brightened, and he continued, “Anyway, I’m thinking that with the thundering horde, also known as my brothers and sisters, all paired off, according to Ma, I’d be the odd man out. I guess I was hoping you’d come with, so I didn’t have to deal with all of them giving me ‘the look’. You know the kind I mean.”
“Wait a minute,” Darren said. “You want me to come as your date ?”
“Oh, hell, no!” Max sounded truly amused. “I was thinking more as my bodyguard.”
Darren laughed, vaguely surprised by his own reaction. He could feel sadness lurking beneath the surface, but for that brief moment, the laughter
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