Charlie’s mother slapped the white table cloth, “Ah, You’re reaching! Use the manners I raised you with!” She giggled at herself.
“Mom, please pass the salad.”
“Love to, sugar lumps.”
Charlie groaned and busied himself with the Ranch, looking down at his food. Camden stared off in the distance as the slow chewing of steak ate up the conversation.Charlie’s mom tossed her silver fork on her plate in frustration. Father and son glanced at her simultaneously in surprise.
“This is ridiculous. If you two," she pointed, “would please just start arguing, ‘cause then I would have a clue as to what’s not being said!”
She stared Charlie down. He blinked.
“I’m thinking about getting the minivan repainted," volunteered Camden.
His wife swiveled her gaze, but Camden shook his head. Not now.
Rachel huffed. Okay. Charlie, reaching, placed the salad back.
"Oh, please let’s make it pink,” she begged.
Charlie’s green eyes grew panicky, “No way!”
“I think we’ll stick with red.”
“Thanks—” Charlie pursed his lips “Dad.”