Crash (Crash 1)

Raising a finger, dad gave the lemon butter sauce one final whisk and turned off all the burners. I wasn’t sure how he was able to time an entire meal to the same second, but I was sure this was a phenomenon that skipped a generation when it came to me.

Turning around, he wiped his hands off on his apron . . .

Oh God, how had I forgotten the apron? Jude’s eyes bulged, but he recovered so quickly I was certain dad hadn’t even noticed. Not that he would have cared if he did. The apron had been a present from Italy, Rome to be exact, and depicted the sculpture of David in his glory, in all his glory, hanging down in anatomically correct places.

“Hey, Jude,” Dad greeted, looking quite pleased with the whole transaction.

“Mr. Larson,” Jude greeted, extending his hand. “Nice apron.”

Shuffling the spatula into his other hand, dad shook Jude’s. “I like you already,” he said, wiping a streak of flour from his cheek. “Great name, exquisite taste in culinary attire,” he continued, before looking down where Jude’s hand still enveloped mine. “And you like my daughter. You’re a smart man, Jude.” Winking, dad spun back towards the stove, unleashing a whisking, flipping, and stirring frenzy.

“It’s not hard to recognize something special when life’s thrown a lotta shit your way,” Jude said.

“I’ll raise my hands to the sky at that,” dad said while I worked on confirming my feet were planted to the ground. Something about the way his eyes went all soft when he looked at me and said special was doing a job on me. “Lucy in the sky,” he said, over his shoulder. “Why don’t you forward the disc a few tracks and we’ll play Jude here his Beatles theme song?”

“No,” Jude said abruptly. Dad and I both paused, looking over at him. “My mom worshipped the Beatles, hence the name,” he said, the tension gone from his voice. “I’ve heard that song enough times to last three lifetimes.”

Dad studied Jude awhile longer before shrugging. “Well, I won’t torture you with it any more, then,” he said. “But it’s a great song to be named after. Possibly the second best,” looking over at me, he smiled, “right after Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds.”

“It’s a song about letting drugs mask the pain of life,” Jude said. “I think mom was still loopy from delivering me when she named me.”

Dad studied Jude again, like he was trying to put his finger on something he couldn’t quite pinpoint. “It’s also a song about love,” he said, “and letting that love in when we need it most.”

Jude paused, something so strong going through his mind it was visible on the planes of his face. Finally, he shrugged his shoulder. “Well, whatever it is, it’s just a name.”

“A good one,” dad said, waving a spatula at him. “What’s your last name, Jude?” Dad glanced up as he plated the chicken.

“Ryder, sir.”

“Hmm,” Dad’s forehead wrinkled. “Name isn’t familiar, but you have a face that I feel certain I’ve seen before.”

Jude’s hand tensed around mine. “I get that a lot.”

“Did you grow up around here?”

“I grew up everywhere,” Jude answered, his hand clenching tighter.

“Jude’s family bought the Chadwicks’ place,” I interjected, not sure if it was more for Jude’s or my hand’s benefit. “Maybe that’s why you recognize him.”

Dad mulled this over as he spooned sauce over the plates. “Maybe,” he said to himself. “Maybe not.”

“Can I help you, Dad?” I asked, pulling Jude with me. I was sure if I let his hand go, it might be the last time I’d have it in mine again.

“These two are ready to be set,” he said as he finished saucing the other two. “One thing is for sure, son,” Dad said, patting Jude’s face. “Whether I’ve seen it or not, that is one good looking mug.”

I was used to being embarrassed by my parents, kind of came standard when your father was on the bad side of crazy and your mom was the poster woman for the ice queen, but this was hitting an all time high. Dad, all but stroking Jude’s cheek, dancing around the kitchen wearing the na**d bust of an ancient statue, grinning like he was mad as a hatter.

If Jude still wanted to see me tomorrow after tonight’s ordeal, he could handle just about anything else I threw at him. I hoped.

Glancing up at Jude, I found him looking at me, staring at me like he couldn’t help it. Maybe that’s because I could have updated my heritage from Caucasian to Tomato Red.

Peeking back at the door, I looked back to him with expectation. I wouldn’t have blamed him either. As a blood relative of this family, I wanted to escape through that door more than a dozen times a day.

Shaking his head once, he leaned his head down until I could feel his breath hot against my neck. “You can’t get rid of me that easy.”

I was fighting a bad case of full body chills off, but I managed a quick, “Darn.”

“Mags!” dad hollered up that stairs, managing to jolt the hell out of me and rattle the china cabinet at the same time. “Dinner’s on!” He paused at the bottom of the stairs, expecting an answer to which I’d known for a long time he’d never receive. The only human being on earth mom neglected more than myself was my dad. Another second passed before he turned away and headed towards the table where Jude and I were taking our seats.

ng a finger, dad gave the lemon butter sauce one final whisk and turned off all the burners. I wasn’t sure how he was able to time an entire meal to the same second, but I was sure this was a phenomenon that skipped a generation when it came to me.

Turning around, he wiped his hands off on his apron . . .

Oh God, how had I forgotten the apron? Jude’s eyes bulged, but he recovered so quickly I was certain dad hadn’t even noticed. Not that he would have cared if he did. The apron had been a present from Italy, Rome to be exact, and depicted the sculpture of David in his glory, in all his glory, hanging down in anatomically correct places.

“Hey, Jude,” Dad greeted, looking quite pleased with the whole transaction.

“Mr. Larson,” Jude greeted, extending his hand. “Nice apron.”

Shuffling the spatula into his other hand, dad shook Jude’s. “I like you already,” he said, wiping a streak of flour from his cheek. “Great name, exquisite taste in culinary attire,” he continued, before looking down where Jude’s hand still enveloped mine. “And you like my daughter. You’re a smart man, Jude.” Winking, dad spun back towards the stove, unleashing a whisking, flipping, and stirring frenzy.

“It’s not hard to recognize something special when life’s thrown a lotta shit your way,” Jude said.

“I’ll raise my hands to the sky at that,” dad said while I worked on confirming my feet were planted to the ground. Something about the way his eyes went all soft when he looked at me and said special was doing a job on me. “Lucy in the sky,” he said, over his shoulder. “Why don’t you forward the disc a few tracks and we’ll play Jude here his Beatles theme song?”

“No,” Jude said abruptly. Dad and I both paused, looking over at him. “My mom worshipped the Beatles, hence the name,” he said, the tension gone from his voice. “I’ve heard that song enough times to last three lifetimes.”

Dad studied Jude awhile longer before shrugging. “Well, I won’t torture you with it any more, then,” he said. “But it’s a great song to be named after. Possibly the second best,” looking over at me, he smiled, “right after Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds.”

“It’s a song about letting drugs mask the pain of life,” Jude said. “I think mom was still loopy from delivering me when she named me.”

Dad studied Jude again, like he was trying to put his finger on something he couldn’t quite pinpoint. “It’s also a song about love,” he said, “and letting that love in when we need it most.”

Jude paused, something so strong going through his mind it was visible on the planes of his face. Finally, he shrugged his shoulder. “Well, whatever it is, it’s just a name.”

“A good one,” dad said, waving a spatula at him. “What’s your last name, Jude?” Dad glanced up as he plated the chicken.

“Ryder, sir.”

“Hmm,” Dad’s forehead wrinkled. “Name isn’t familiar, but you have a face that I feel certain I’ve seen before.”

Jude’s hand tensed around mine. “I get that a lot.”

“Did you grow up around here?”

“I grew up everywhere,” Jude answered, his hand clenching tighter.

“Jude’s family bought the Chadwicks’ place,” I interjected, not sure if it was more for Jude’s or my hand’s benefit. “Maybe that’s why you recognize him.”

Dad mulled this over as he spooned sauce over the plates. “Maybe,” he said to himself. “Maybe not.”

“Can I help you, Dad?” I asked, pulling Jude with me. I was sure if I let his hand go, it might be the last time I’d have it in mine again.

“These two are ready to be set,” he said as he finished saucing the other two. “One thing is for sure, son,” Dad said, patting Jude’s face. “Whether I’ve seen it or not, that is one good looking mug.”

I was used to being embarrassed by my parents, kind of came standard when your father was on the bad side of crazy and your mom was the poster woman for the ice queen, but this was hitting an all time high. Dad, all but stroking Jude’s cheek, dancing around the kitchen wearing the na**d bust of an ancient statue, grinning like he was mad as a hatter.

If Jude still wanted to see me tomorrow after tonight’s ordeal, he could handle just about anything else I threw at him. I hoped.

Glancing up at Jude, I found him looking at me, staring at me like he couldn’t help it. Maybe that’s because I could have updated my heritage from Caucasian to Tomato Red.

Peeking back at the door, I looked back to him with expectation. I wouldn’t have blamed him either. As a blood relative of this family, I wanted to escape through that door more than a dozen times a day.

Shaking his head once, he leaned his head down until I could feel his breath hot against my neck. “You can’t get rid of me that easy.”

I was fighting a bad case of full body chills off, but I managed a quick, “Darn.”

“Mags!” dad hollered up that stairs, managing to jolt the hell out of me and rattle the china cabinet at the same time. “Dinner’s on!” He paused at the bottom of the stairs, expecting an answer to which I’d known for a long time he’d never receive. The only human being on earth mom neglected more than myself was my dad. Another second passed before he turned away and headed towards the table where Jude and I were taking our seats.