Wilson Mooney Eighteen at Last (12 page)

“
Well now, what are we
going to do about that?” he teased before he leaned back to look in
my eyes. “Maybe she needs to send you to my room after dinner,” he
smiled gingerly.

Dinner was a whole
different story. It was going to be my penance for falling in love
with him.
Hmmm, maybe I could be sent up
to his room before dinner?

“
I really messed it up,” I
said as I snatched the towel from the counter and held up the
incriminating evidence.

“
There is nothing more
important than being together on your birthday.” Max yanked the
towel out of my grip and tossed it aside. He pulled me by the hip
with one hand while his other hand pushed my hair away from my
neck. “She isn’t going to care about a
dirty…filthy…makeup-caked…Wilson-ruined…hand towel.” He kissed the
bend between my collarbone and neck as he breathed each word
describing the ruined towel. He was so good at changing the
subject.

But then he stopped kissing me. A
silent, cool air replaced his lips, pulling me from the trance he’d
just inspired. I opened my eyes, he was staring at me
intensely.

“
Your hair’s
wet.”

“
I splashed water on my
face.”

“
That explains the hand
towel,” he smirked

“
Hey, that’s not funny,” I
snapped. The moment sagged leadenly between us.

“
You’re really upset about
a towel?” he asked.

“
I don’t want to
disappoint your parents.”

“
You’re not disappointing
anyone,” he said as he held my chin. Our eyes met. “You haven’t
been crying on your birthday, have you?”

“
No, I just wanted to
splash some water on my face, that’s all.” I felt a thick wall of
self-preservation build up between us as I shut down his
questions.

“
Wilson, Max…hello…are we
going to finish this game? Or are you guys going to forfeit?” Frank
hollered from the great room. His words provided the perfect excuse
to U-turn off the road we were about to head down. I looked at Max,
waiting for him to answer his father’s call. When he kept staring
at me, I took the lead.

“
Yeah, Frank, we’re
coming. There’s no way we are forfeiting on my birthday!” I scooped
up the hand towel and stepped past Max before I brought my hand
down to his. “Come on, let’s kick some ass.”

He smiled before he snatched the towel
from me. “I’ve got it. Meet you there.” He bent close and kissed me
delicately on the cheek.

Funny. I was the greatest at changing
the subject, and he was the best at moving away from my issues. He
knew I didn’t want to dwell on anything that would change or ruin
my time with him and his family. I watched him run through the
kitchen before I stepped into the great room where we were going to
make Goldstein history with Max and me beating his dad and sister
at pool.

“
Ah, there you are,
where’s your worse half?” Frank teased. His eyes glistened like
Max’s, his smile warm.

“
Come on, Dad, we all know
he couldn’t compete, so he sent Wilson in here to surrender.”
Camille swung her hand in the air with her invisible white
flag.

“
Actually, I sent Wilson
here to finish the game.” Max came strutting from the kitchen.
“Right, sweetheart? It’s time for some new blood to rule the pool
table.” He snatched his cue from the holder on the wall before
swooping in for a winning kiss.

“
Ahhh…sure,” I
answered.

“
Well then, whose turn was
it before we stopped?” Frank humbled himself.

“
That would be Wilson. She
knocked the nine-ball into the right corner pocket before the Lemon
Fizzies fiasco,” Camille piped up.

“
Yeah, I bonked the yellow
ball into that pocket.” I pointed to the corner where the ball
dropped in.

“
Okay, Wilson, so it’s
your turn. And no help this time, Bucko.” Frank turned to
Max.

“
Hey, I showed her how to
hold the cue stick; that’s all,” Max answered with his hands in the
air.

I held the long, smooth stick straight
against my chest. I remembered to bend, relax, and rest my aiming
hand on the felt. I slid the wood against my fingers, my grip
tight; I aimed to get the solid green ball into the center basket,
right side, affording myself one look at Max before I hit the white
ball. I watched it knock into the green ball, creating a chain
reaction of all the other solid and striped balls huddled in a
clump around it, causing them to scatter across the table. Crappily
enough, my green ball didn’t drop into the basket; but I was
excited to see the black eight ball fall right in. I turned to Max,
proud that I knocked a solid into the side basket thingy. Frank and
Camille cheered while Max scrunched up his nose.

“
That was good, right? The
solid black ball was one of ours, right?” I was confused by Frank
and Camille’s celebration.

“
No, sweetie, you want the
eight ball to be the last ball you knock in after all the other
solids. But hey, on the bright side, you are really getting the
feel of using the cue stick.” He came over and kissed the top of my
head.

“
Great, I just lost the
game for you,” I pouted. I looked over at Camille; she was
assembling all the balls in the triangle and Frank was running the
blue chalk square over the tip of his pool stick.

“
Okay, another game? This
time, Wilson, you’re on
my
team, Camille, you’re with Max. You gotta win one
game on your birthday,” Frank winked before he smiled at
me.

My heart swelled and
fluttered. He liked me. Maybe Camille had to deal with the dinner
inquisition when she’d brought Dan home, but for me, maybe this was
my big test. If I could pass being Frank’s partner, then maybe
I’m
in
with the
Goldstein family.

“
Ah, come on Dad. you and
Camille won fair and square. You two are still the champs. Let’s
call it a game and see if Mom needs help with dinner,” Max
said.

“
Are you kidding me? The
last time I was Max’s partner, he cost me two hundred and fifty
bucks. Remember that? When we played the Vaughns? It was you and me
against Emily and Jeff,” Camille whined.

“
Well, we aren’t playing
for money. Unless you want to,” Frank interjected.

“
Yeah, but that isn’t the
point. I don’t feel like playing another game. And besides, Wilson
might be tired.” Max looked at me.

Suddenly I was on the
spot.
What should I say?
Frank wanted me to play pool.
Maybe if I get in good with him I can avoid the anxiety of
the dinner inquisition.
But then Camille
didn’t want to partner with Max, and Max didn’t want to play any
longer, and all the while, here I was filling in for Calvin. So
what was I supposed to do? I’d never been in a situation like that
before. A family divided, pressured by a game that was supposed to
be a tradition.

Standing around the pool
table waiting for someone to make the first move was as torturous
as watching Cindy fake her friendship with Jacky Burlington. Worse
yet, the people around the pool table were waiting on
my
decision to play pool
as Frank’s partner or not.

God, if only the phone
would ring for Frank. Or Dan would call for Camille. Or, better
yet, maybe a meteor will crash into the earth.
I needed something to break the bitter standoff.

Max pulled his iPhone from his pocket.
I didn’t hear it chime or ring so when he started texting, I
assumed it must be a ritual he used when he wanted to avoid arguing
with his father.

“
Frank, could you come
here please?” Nancy called from the kitchen.
Thank God!

“
Sure, honey,” Frank sang
back to his wife before he gave Camille and Max a disappointed
look.

Camille, bent out of shape, tromped
off upstairs.

“
Geez, that was beyond
awkward,” I whispered to Max.

“
Yeah, my dad and sister
both have a pretty competitive streak.”

“
Well, what about you? You
don’t seem to be that competitive.”

“
No, I’m more like my mom.
That’s why I couldn’t work with my dad. I’m not cut-throat; it’s
just not in my character,” Max said plainly.

“
Is Calvin more like your
mom or your dad?”

“
Oh, man, Calvin is a
perfect mix of both of them. In business, he is like my mom—not
competitive at all; but when it comes to family, he’s super
protective. I think he and my dad fight so much because they are
both are very stubborn. He’s punishing my dad, you see. That’s, why
he isn’t here.”

“
Well, doesn’t he know
it’s only punishing your mom?” I asked.

“
He knows. I’ve told him
it hurts Mom. It’s just not in him to let my dad win, and in turn,
my dad can’t let him win.”

“
Wow, that totally sucks.
I feel bad for your mom—having to deal with being torn between
them.”

“
I’ll give him another day
or two, then I’ll call,” he mumbled.

I could tell Calvin’s actions had
affected him. His energy tanked when we talked about his brother. I
could almost see the muscles in his shoulders tighten and his
demeanor become hopeless.

“
Wilson, Maxi...dinner is
just about ready,” Nancy sang from the kitchen.

“
Okay, Ma,” Max answered.
He grabbed my hand and pulled me up against his chest. “You ready
for dinner?”

I felt my gut twist and a chill flash
across my skin. I wasn’t ready for Frank’s inquisition. What if I
failed?

“
Sure,” I answered
reluctantly. “But didn’t we just eat lunch?”

“
That was just a sandwich
a couple of hours ago—besides, my family likes to eat dinner
early.”

Max suddenly became giddy then, like
he was in on something I wasn’t privy to. He pulled me along,
taking care not to go too fast, as he led me into the dining room.
We sat down at the colossal table for twelve. The velvety, brown
chairs were plush enough to sit in for hours and listen to stories
of his childhood. The table was so beautiful—five large, gold
chargers framed glistening, white dishes with etched silver lines
on the edges. Crystal goblet-style wine glasses were paired with
each setting; the larger one held perfectly folded, black cloth
napkins. Silver candles sprouted from crystal candle holders, the
flickering flame casting shadows that danced and toiled across the
deep red walls. The gorgeous crystal chandelier hung low and shone
dimly with a slight glow, just enough to make everything
elegant.

“
Here, sweetheart,” Max
whispered as he pulled out my chair; he was such a gentleman. I
loved how he was always so thoughtful. He bent down to kiss the top
of my head.

“
Thank you. Wow, this is
so beautiful.” I could feel the excitement bubble in my throat as
he tucked his body into the chair next to mine.

“
Well, you deserve the
best eighteenth birthday. It only happens once, you know,” he
whispered and teased me.

Frank came shuffling in with a
hand-woven basket filled with sourdough rolls and a bottle of
sparkling apple cider. Camille carried in a hickory bowl with an
amazing salad, overflowing with walnuts, chunks of feta, red
onions, tomatoes, and croutons. I couldn’t stop my mouth from
watering. Finally, when Nancy walked in with the main dish, I knew
Max must have told her my favorite foods. She maneuvered through
the dining room, carrying the giant bowl, and adjusted her grip
before placing it on the table. She had made spinach and cheese
ravioli in marinara sauce. I was overwhelmed.

“
Happy Birthday, Wilson,”
Nancy sang the words before everyone else chimed in with their
birthday wishes.

“
Thank you so much; wow,
this is an amazing dinner,” I said.

“
Oh, well, it is my
pleasure, sweetie, I hope you like it,” Nancy answered.

The ravioli were so ginormous, I had
to cut them into four pieces. The filling melting past the cut
edges was thick with the perfect mixture of ricotta, parmesan, and
spinach. And the sourdough rolls just dissolved in my mouth. When I
looked at Max he smiled a wide, toothy smile, and I knew he had
more planned.

“
Wow, Nancy, where did you
find such huge ravioli?” I asked.

“
Well, I fell in love with
these ravioli when we were in Venice. When Maxi told me you loved
Italian food—particularly spinach and cheese ravioli, my personal
favorite too—I knew I had to find them for you.”

“
Wow, I’ve never been to
Venice Beach; I’ve always wanted to go.” I shoved another fork full
of ravioli in my mouth.

“
Oh, not Venice Beach in
California; my mom’s talking about Venice, Italy,” Camille
corrected me as she filled her mouth with ravioli.

I choked and coughed up
the food I struggled to swallow.
Did I
just hear her right? Venice, Italy? Did they really order them from
Italy?