Since I’d almost forgotten she was there, I came back with the absurd and defensive, “How do you know Max?”
Mentally I banged my head on the nearest wall when her pleasant face clouded over in confusion. “Um. Well, we’ve never actually met before, to be honest. I married his dad’s younger brother two years ago. I didn’t realize there was such...drama in the family, so I emailed him an announcement about the wedding.”
Oh, she’s an aunt by marriage.
“And he wrote back?”
“Yeah. I’ve been updating him about Michael, mostly.”
“That was nice of you.”
“It’s the least I can do. I’ll never understand the dynamics here. Sometimes it’s like stepping through a minefield.”
“Yeah, I can already tell Mr. Cooper’s a character.”
“Who, Charlie? It’s okay, honey. You can say it. He’s a jackass. Don’t get him started on his addiction, by the way. He’ll talk your ear off about his stupid chips.” I must’ve looked blank because she added, “He joined AA a few months back, after his dad got really sick. So he’s got sobriety tokens now, three months’ worth. Luckily Jim doesn’t have the same problems as his brother or his dad, may he rest in peace.”
“Jim would be your husband?” I guessed.
“Right, you don’t know anyone. Let me help.” She took my arm and hauled me back to the chapel, where she kept me pinned to her side naming strangers.
Yeah, there’s no way in hell I’m remember any of that.
It was nearly eight when Max and Michael came back in, so they must’ve had a good talk. I’d rarely seen Max smiling so wide, and pleasure washed over me at playing any role in this reunion. There weren’t many people left, just close family, by this point.
Mr. Cooper scowled when he saw his sons together. “Okay, closing time. You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here.”
That sounded more like last call at a bar than a suitable farewell at a viewing, a wake or whatever Christians called this deal. I much preferred Jewish services. But the stragglers cleared out in response to Mr. Cooper’s impatient gestures, leaving a middle-aged man who looked a bit like Max with an arm around Carol—that had to be Jim—me, Max, Michael and their dad.
There was a lot of awkward staring until I said, “Can we get some dinner?”
Mr. Cooper snorted. “Better feed her. Asses like that don’t grow themselves.”
Max had been spoiling to punch his father all night, and while I shared the impulse, I wasn’t ruining this service or going to jail. “Wow. Well, thanks for noticing...but it’s slightly inappropriate. Try to stare at butts closer to your own age. Max, you hungry?”
“I could eat,” he said, seeming surprised.
“Where are you headed?” Michael glanced between us, obviously angling for an invite. I could read the subtext, if Max was too pissed at his dad to catch on.
“I’m not sure. What’s good around here?”
“The diner over on North Broadway isn’t bad. It’s cheap and tasty. I don’t eat there often when I’m in training, though.”
“You look like an athlete,” I admitted.
“Is it the chair that gave me away?” He had a sporty, streamlined model.
“Frankly, it’s your whole upper body.” Which, from Max’s death glare, might’ve been a weird thing to say, but his little brother was fit.
“What did I say about the flirting? He’s still in high school, for shit’s sake. You’re gonna end up in a mugshot.”
Michael laughed. “Stand down, bro. I’ll let you know if I feel sexually threatened.”
“You want to take point, show us how to find the eats?” I suspected he must have a ride.
In reply, Michael jingled his keys. “No problem. Follow me.”
Somehow I mustered the last echo of a good upbringing and said good-night to Mr. Cooper without a sneer. I put some more warmth into it when I spoke to Jim and Carol, then we rolled out. Max was quiet as we got on the motorcycle. I didn’t try to talk to him; there would likely be a lengthy deconstruction in the room after we ate. The snarl of the engine drowned out my growling stomach, at least.
The diner was small, a hole-in-the-wall place on the corner of Broadway and a cross street whose name I couldn’t read. On the bike, we didn’t have to worry about parking, though. Michael stashed his retrofitted Scion down the block; I watched as he rolled down the rear ramp and closed things up. Max moved like he’d go help out but I grabbed his arm.
“This is his life, you know? I’m sure he hangs out with his friends.”
“Yeah. I just... I can’t square it in my head. Last time I saw him, he was hooked up to tubes, frail as hell. Now he’s—”
“Fine.”
“You’re such a perv, Kaufman.”
I punched him in the arm. “Not what I meant and you know it. Did you seriously think he’d be sitting in bed, pale and sad for, like, five years?” At the flicker of his eyes, I raised my brows. “God, you mentally had him dying in a Victorian tuberculosis ward, didn’t you? You watch Tombstone too much, I’ve always said that. And Doc Holliday looks nothing like Val Kilmer.”
“What’re you guys talking about?” Michael asked.
“Westerns,” I answered before Max could get awkward. “What’s your favorite?”
Max kept quiet as we found a table and moved a chair so Michael could wheel up. The resulting conversation carried us past ordering, and Max eased up once we switched to action flicks, something he had a lot to say about. He and Michael discussed the underappreciated genius of John Woo, then moved to the interesting stuff currently being filmed in Hong Kong. I added less than nothing to the convo, but since I had chicken tenders, I didn’t mind. The fries were homemade, fresh cut, and the coleslaw was decent; I ate it so I could pretend the veg would counteract all the fried goodness. In the immortal words of Max’s dad—gotta feed dat ass.
But midway through dinner, Michael said, “We should really talk about something Courtney cares about, too.”
“Kaufman’s fine. You are, right?” Max turned to me with a raised brow. He had nice ones, thick enough to make a statement, not wild enough to give him an evil-genius air.
“Yep. I could go for pie, though. Is it any good here?”
“Do you like pecan?” Michael asked.