I'd Do Anything

“Fuck.” Trisha grumbled, collecting burning hot Brussels sprouts off the stove top and throwing them back in her pan. She had been trying to do the fancy pan flip and it resulted in a vegetable explosion.
The doorbell rang and Trisha tucked hair behind her ear and looked at the time. It was too early to be her parents. She sighed and hurried through the living room. The whole apartment smelled like food.

Trisha threw open the door and stopped. “Max?”

“Hey!” he grinned.

“What are you doing here?”

“Well, I go back to practice tomorrow. This is effectively my last night of freedom.”

Trisha frowned. “Are you sure you should be playing? After last night, Ottowa’s out for blood.”

It had been two weeks since Max and Trisha had spent the day catching up. Playoffs had officially started with the slash heard ‘round the world. Trisha occasionally saw Max at the bar, and once or twice he had walked her home just to make sure she was safe. But for the most part she was up to her elbows in ink and glossy comic book pages.

“Can I come in?” he asked.

Trisha looked at her watch. “I mean, I have plans, but – “

“Oh, hot date?” he teased, pushing past her. “You know they have to pass my inspection first.”

Trisha rolled her eyes and shut the door, knowing it was useless trying to get rid of him now. “Hmph, without you around for the past ten years I’ve actually managed to make something last past the one year mark.”

He saw the kitchen table set for three. “Oooh, a hot triple date. Getting into that swinger lifestyle, huh?”

Trisha groaned and pushed past him for the stove, grabbing a spatula to turn her vegetables. “I hate you so much.”

“Then why’d you let me in?”

“Honestly? I didn’t look through the peep hole before I opened the door.”

“…Bitch.”

The doorbell rang again, and Trisha sighed and went back through the apartment. Max stayed put at the kitchen table. The air smelled of vinegar and garlic and chicken.

Trisha looked through the peep hole this time, making sure Max hadn’t invited anyone to invade her apartment. Luckily, it was her actual guests. She opened the door.

“Allo, Mama. Papa.” She greeted, leaning forward to kiss her mother.

Maria and Stefan Gaines smiled at their only daughter as she stood aside to welcome them into her house. They tried to meet like this at least once a month, which was hard even if they lived in the same city. Trisha was always busy, and Maria and Stefan both worked long hours as well. So they did dinner at one of their apartments.

<<Cherie.>> Stefan smiled. <<Cava?>>

“Ah…” Trisha frowned. <<Nous avons un invite inattendu. >> (We have an unexpected guest.)

<<Qui est-ce que?>> (Who is it?)

But Maria was already across the room, eager to see who was in the kitchen. When she saw the tall hockey player, she shrieked. “Max! C’est toi!”

Stefan raised his eyebrows at his daughter, and she sighed. “Yes, it’s Max.”

Trisha led her father into the kitchen, where Maria was already asking Max a thousand questions. He cheerfully answered, keeping up as best he could. Once upon a time, Maria had been like a second mother to him. She even drove him to games now and then, when his parents were busy.

Trisha silently set out an extra setting at the table. She had been planning on eating the extra chicken and any other leftovers for lunch tomorrow, but at least now she had them for her extra guest. Soon she set out the meal – lemon chicken, herb rice, and sautéed Brussels sprouts. Everyone sat down and dug in.

<<Cherie, c’etait excellent.>> Stefan praised. <<Qu’est-ce que tu utilises dans les choux de Bruxelles ?>>

“Stefan.” Maria laughed. “Max is at the table again. en anglaise.”

“Oh.” Stefan blushed slightly. “Sorry.”

Maria was originally from Chicago, and English was her first language. But moving to Montreal when she was twenty resulted in complete fluency. For Stefan, it had always been a little harder. He had lived in Montreal his entire life, except for the five hears they had lived in Connecticut. He spoke English fluently, but couldn’t switch the way his wife and daughter could.

“It’s alright.” Max said, remembering how painful dinner conversation could be for Stefan. “I’m taking French lessons, actually. It will give me practice.”

Trisha laughed. “You learn something? That’ll be the day.”

“You’re just upset that you can’t make jokes about me at the dinner table anymore.”

“Be nice, you two.” Maria joked. “I’ll ground you.”

“Mama, we’re twenty-eight. You can’t ground us.”

“Oh, just you wait and see, young lady.”

Dinner was over quickly, and Maria helped her daughter wash dishes while Max and Stefan sat in the living room and talked.

<<Ou-etes vous que vous rencontres ? >> Maria asked. (Where did you see him ?)

<<La barre. >> Trisha replied. (The bar)

Maria swiftly dried a pan and put it in the correct cabinet. <<Vouliez-vous le voir?>> (Did you want to see him?)

<<Non.>>

<<Pourquoi? Qu’est-ce qui passé?>> (Why ? What happened ?)

Trisha shook her head. <<Mama, il est dans la passé. Laisse-faire. >> (It is in the past. Let it be.)

Maria sighed, but decided against pushing her daughter. That usually only ended in huge blow-out fights anyway.

Meanwhile, in the livingroom, Max finally asked the question that had been bugging him since Maria and Stefan had walked in.

“Stefan, can I ask you something?”

The older man nodded.

“Why did you move back here?”

Stefan smiled sheepishly. “I’ll be honest with you Max, I missed this city. I think Maria and Trisha did too, in their own ways. But with Trisha out of the house, I made the call. But it worked out for the best, didn’t it?”

Trisha grabbed the plate of pastries she had bought earlier and carried them out into the living room.

“Not home made, but they’re pretty good.” She promised, setting them down and sitting next to Max on the couch. Her mother sat across from them in the loveseat next to Stefan after putting down a pot of coffee. “Now, stop hounding Max. How have you guys been?”

Maria shrugged. “Work is work. Life is life. Long and exhausting. You know.”

Maria worked for Chase Bank, and that was what had moved the family to Connecticut in the first place. Stefan was a classically trained chef, who upon the return to Montreal opened his own restaurant. Both positions required long hours.

“I finally have a full staff.” Stefan said. “I can take time off now!”

Maria and Trisha looked at each other, and burst out laughing. Stefan taking time off. That would be the day.

Soon, it was time for everyone to go home. Trisha stood at the door and watched her mother pull her shoes back on. She was still chatting happily to Max.

“Patricia.” Stefan called softly.

She turned to her father.

He began speaking in rapid French, knowing that even if Max could understand he wouldn’t be able to keep up. <<Ta tante est a l’hopital a nouveau. Tu dois lui rendre visite.>> (Your aunt is in the hospital again. You must visit her.)

Trisha swallowed heavily and nodded.

Stefan kissed his daughter’s forehead. <<Tu es une bonne fille.>>

<<Bonne nuit, papa>>

Trisha said goodbye to her parents, listened to Max promise to see them again, and watched them leave. Max smiled at her. “Thanks for dinner.”

“I’d say anytime, but then I’d never get rid of you.”

He laughed and pulled her into a hug. “Salty as ever. Later, Trish.”

“Bye Max.”

Trisha shut the door behind him and leaned against him, closing her eyes tightly. She had forgotten how much her parents loved Max. She was half convinced that her mother had their wedding planned.

She would never tell her mother that once upon a time, she had thought like that too.