Sunday Brunch

Writer's Cramp Entry 06-30-25 690 words. Mandatory brunch with Dad and his new wife.

Sunday Brunch

It was another mandatory gathering with Dad and his new wife. There had been a few pre-wedding, 'get to know you' events with relatives from both sides. Then of course there was the usual wedding stuff. A few weeks after the wedding we were all summoned to watch the wedding video. Weren’t we just there? That was the day we agreed, her relatives and ourselves, that it had gotten to be a bit much.

This event was Sunday brunch. My son and I drove 45 minutes on slushy roads to meet Dad, his wife Julia and one of my sisters, Sue. My other sister made a credible excuse so she wasn’t there. Not fair. You know, if we have to… forget it.

A good (free) meal is always welcome but in this case it weighed against a relaxing morning with my son. Sunday is the one day of the week where I don’t have to get up, get in the car and go. Given any real choice Joey and I would be home making eggs, snacking on dry cereal and watching TV or playing a game.

Dad can still do that to us. An invitation from him is more like, “Come inside and do your chores!”

We met in a crowded restaurant inside the Hilton. Dad isn't rich but he can splurge now and then and I suppose he was still celebrating. This place is nicer than usual, there are white table cloths, flowers, freshly cleaned carpet and padded chairs.

So here we are. Dad wants to show that he’s raised good kids. Julia wants to impress and be accepted. Neither of those things were necessary because by this time we know each other, not well but well enough. My sisters and I like Julia, Dad certainly does. That box is checked. As far as us being good kids, well, it is as it is. Sue and I want to get through the meal with no drama.

Inside the restaurant we were seated quickly and started small talk. A family was seated behind us and all of a sudden there was a crying baby in a high chair taking the stage. Everyone in the room politely ignored it except of course Dad who brought the waiter over and asked if he could do something about the crying. What? Give it a bottle on the house?

With coffee and orange juice all around we discussed our respective weeks. My son told them about starting soccer.

As we got up to go to the buffet someone celebrating a birthday came in with her friends. It’s clear their party-mode was on full throttle which provided my sister and I a few snickers. Joey was wide-eyed. Before Dad could say anything about this particular annoyance the maître’d deftly dealt with it and the room went back to normal.

The buffet was one of the best I’ve been to. What made it memorable was not just that it had 3 chefs but how good they were. Ours prepared french toast and an omelette for the couple ahead of us. She smoothly handled multiple requests without a motion wasted. The eggs and french toast were perfectly done. All three chefs knew their craft and did it with such an efficient grace that if they were on ice skates the arena would be full.

Joey chose bacon, white toast and eggs over easy. I went for a veggy omelette. Sue had french toast with fruit.

Back at the table the waiter checked on us and that’s when things were briefly weird. Julia, a Midwesterner, starting talking with an English accent explaining how she just flew in from England and how dreadful the flight was. It surprised us, my sister and I shared a look and Joey laughed. Even Dad was surprised. When the waiter moved on Julia explained, “Just having a little fun.”. No harm no foul, it just seemed out of place and a little pretentious, maybe a little dishonest.

That was that and we ate and listened to Dad and Julia’s plans - something about putting up new curtains in the bathroom.

My sister and I were the perfect children, Joey was the perfect child. Dad and Julia impressed. We know Julia a little better now and the meal was fantastic. Nevertheless, I was glad to get home.

Word count: 690