“How does Uncle Boone think Tampa Bay will do this year?” he asked, between enormous bites of a Belgium waffle dripping with strawberries and whipped cream.
“He’s hopeful, as always,” Sarah answered, reaching over to place a restraining hand on Brennan’s arm to stop him from flicking any more bacon bits across the table at Tessa, who—judging from her annoyed expression—had had enough.
“What?” Brennan demanded, pushing Sarah’s hand off his arm.
“Stop,” she corrected him under her breath.
“Why?” he asked, preparing to launch another bacon bit from his spoon.
“It’s not appropriate,” she answered firmly, taking the spoon from him and tucking it onto the far side of her plate. “Boone had a great spring training—” She broke off as Brennan flung a strip of bacon with his fingers. “Brennan!”
“What?” he said innocently, smiling at her so broadly that his dimples flashed on either side of his wide mouth. Boone had the same dimples. Ella had inherited them, too.
“Knock it off,” she whispered. “You know how to act at the dinner table.”
“But this isn’t the dinner table. It’s breakfast.”
Sarah’s eyes widened, and before she could say anything, Meg suggested that the kids who had finished eating clear their plates and be excused.
All the kids but JJ left, carrying their dishes with them. JJ reached for another waffle and doused it with mounds of strawberries and cream.
“Starving,” he said cheerfully, cutting the waffle into quarters and stuffing one into his mouth.
“Boys,” Meg said indulgently, leaning back in her chair.
Sarah lifted her coffee, which had gone cold a long time ago. She wrinkled her nose as she drank it. “Exhausting,” she said. “I don’t remember JJ being this hyper at this age.”
“JJ was busy,” Meg said. “And so we learned to tire him out before he tired us out. By the time he was in first grade, he was playing five sports a year, and some of them overlapped.”
“Not my call,” Jack interjected. “I didn’t think it was necessary to have JJ play so many sports, but Meg disagreed.”
“I never made him,” Meg corrected. “JJ loved anything to do with a ball. Football, basketball, baseball—he wanted to do it all.”
“But it was up to us as parents to provide some guidance,” Jack retorted.
Meg’s brows tugged. “We did provide guidance. And we’re still providing guidance—”
“Really? Because it doesn’t feel like it. Seems to me we’ve allowed the kids to do whatever they want in life. The girls have had no exposure to art or culture—”
“That’s not true,” Meg interrupted. “Tessa dances. She eats, sleeps, and breathes art.”
“Fine, but they don’t play instruments.” Jack shrugged. “And JJ doesn’t do anything but play sports.”
JJ stabbed his fork hard into another wedge of waffle. “You make that sound like a bad thing, Dad, but I like playing sports.”
“You would have benefited more from music lessons. Would have helped make you a well-rounded person.”
JJ shrugged as he chewed. “I’m happy the way I am,” he said, around his food.
“I just want you to know that I’d do it differently next time,” Jack said, looking at JJ, acting as if JJ was the only one in the room. “I wouldn’t acquiesce to your mom so much. I’d make sure you learned the things I wanted you to learn, the things you needed to learn—”
“Next time?” Meg interrupted, eyebrows arching ever so slightly.
Incredibly uncomfortable, Sarah glanced from Meg to Jack, thinking now would be a good time for someone to make a joke, ease the tension.
“Our kids aren’t academic,” Jack added. “I would have liked to have one child who cared about art, literature, history, culture—”
“Hey, Dad,” JJ said, swallowing his bite and waving his fork, “you know I’m still here, right? I can hear everything you’re saying.”
“I’m not blaming you, JJ. It’s not your fault you don’t know anything about the world but what you’ve learned off the Cartoon Network and ESPN, because we’ve allowed it to happen. I’m just as guilty as your mom. I should have stepped up earlier, insisted you learn something of the world, something that mattered.”
JJ wiped his mouth with his napkin. “Sports matter, Dad. They’re a metaphor for life. They symbolize man’s struggle to survive and the need for people to believe in something and to belong to something. And yes, I did say ‘metaphor’ and ‘symbolize.’ I may like sports but I’m not an idiot. I’m taking three AP classes right now and getting A’s in almost everything, so lay off. Your bad mood is just bringing us all down.” Then, with a nod at his mom, he stood up, lifted his plate, and carried it to the kitchen.