Family Dinner

Previously: Jeannie takes a quiet minute to make dinner.

Photo and Graphic by Annie Wilson

6:45 PM - Sunday, November 2, 2014

Nob Hill, San Francisco

Jeannie pulled the meat thermometer from the porchetta and thought it needed another 5 minutes. Fergus was suddenly sitting at attention right in her line of sight as she closed the oven door. He looked at her with his sweet golden eyes and gave her a huff. 

“Okay, I’ll get you some dinner.” Jeannie found his bowl and scooped up some kibble from the bin in the pantry while Fergus watched her from his seat by the oven. “Oh - I see. Kibble isn’t good enough for you? Okay.” Grabbing a big spoon, she opened the oven again and retrieved a spoonful of pan juices from the porchetta and drizzled them over the kibble. “This is hot. Give it a minute.” She said, as he followed her across the kitchen to where his water dish sat on the floor by his bed. Placing the food dish next to it, Fergus gave her an excited whimper. “I know. You’re a good boy, Ferg.” She scratched his head. He sniffed the dish slowly and began to taste.

“You talk to him like he’s a person.” Chris said, watching her from the hallway door. He looked fresh and handsome, in a sweater and a classic navy peacoat. 

“He is a person — and he’s my favorite person these days.” Jeannie said archly, moving back to the stove to stir the risotto. Chris moved in to stand behind her, reaching up to move her hair gently over her shoulder, exposing the side of her neck which he began kissing ever so softly.

“I thought I was your favorite person.” He whispered. Jeannie tried to ignore the shivers he was creating over her skin.

“Hmmmm. Well, this morning you were in the top 5 and now you’re in the top 3.” She said softly, concentrating on moving the wooden spoon through the thickening rice.

“Really, I’ve moved up two seeds in a day?” He nuzzled her neck softly, pulling on her hip.

“Well, you reminded me of how good you are with your hands...and lips.” She admitted in a whisper.

“Top three?” He whispered, “who’s ahead of me?”

“Fergus. And my Dad.”

“Interesting that neither of them can talk to you.” Jeannie twisted to look at him.

“Why do you think they’re my favorite?” She raised a brow at him. “Talk is cheap, Chris.” He gave her a small smile.

“Now you tell me.” Jeannie noticed a large wrapped bundle he was hiding behind his back.

“Is that for me?” She said nodding her chin at whatever he was hiding.

“Yes. I wanted to apologize for this afternoon.” She tilted her head at him.

“I don’t think either one of us needs to apologize for anything at this point. We said what we had to say.” 

“I know, I just…” He shrugged and pulled the bundle forward to show her. It was a florist bouquet of dahlias — a bright, colorful mix of late-season dahlias.

“Christopher.” She whispered, her heart pounding.

“Oh no…my legal name.” She looked at him, eyes welling. She looked at him for a long moment, remembering.

“These are the first flowers you ever gave me.”

“I know that.”

“And where did you find dahlias in bloom in early November?”

“I know a guy.” He smiled. Jeannie laughed at him and bit her lip. Spoon in hand, she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him softly. 

“Thank you.” She whispered. “They’re so…they’re perfect.” She kissed him again and giggled.

“What?”

“Think you can do anything with those…?” She gestured to the failed attempt of the orange roses on the table. Chris raised his eyebrows and started to take off his peacoat. 

“Stand back. The professional is here. Where are your scissors?”

“In the pantry drawer.” It took Chris all of five minutes to trim and arrange the roses perfectly, and did the same for the dahlias. His hands were quick and precise, moving so fast you could hardly follow them. Working at the flower mart since the 8^th grade certainly gave the man some hidden talents. “You’re wasted in mergers and acquisitions, you know.” Jeannie said over his shoulder. Chris grinned.

“What’s happening in here?” It was Brandon leading the way with four bottles of wine, his wife, Orla, following with a large salad bowl covered in a dishtowel, and two pink bakers boxes. 

“Whatever it is, it smells divine.” Orla said, beaming at Jeannie. “I made that salad with the endive and chicories, I thought it would go well. And two pies - apple and pumpkin. Tis the season.” Jeannie squeezed her. Brandon and Orla met at Boston College, and when she moved home to Dublin to pursue a masters at Trinity, Brandon followed her. Maevy always joked that Orla was the only proper Irish person in the whole family. Jeannie adored Orla, and was pleased to finally have a sister when the two got married about three years before.  “But I didn’t bake ‘em — I left that to Bi-Rite.” 

“Perfect. Their pies are insane.” Jeannie admitted, pulling the porchetta out of the oven. She tented it in foil and turned the heat off under the risotto. She stirred in butter and parmesan and immediately covered it with the pot’s heavy lid. Dinner was ready. 

“Who wants a cocktail?” Brandon offered, moving into the pantry where the booze was stored. A chorus of “Mes” went up. Jeannie didn’t say anything. She’d have some wine but that would be all. Tomorrow was going to be a long day. 

“Sounds like I’m right on time.” Everyone turned to see PJ coming into the kitchen, empty-handed, of course. Jeannie’s next-oldest brother, Peter, who went by “PJ” to distinguish from their father, always seemed to arrive in time to take the choicest bits of a meal, the best sip of every wine, while always leaving behind a cutting remark or acid take on whatever was being discussed. Where Brandon, Orla, Jeannie, and Chris were good friends, they often omitted PJ from their plans.  Jeannie couldn’t remember when that had started, and certainly no one had ever mentioned it outright, it just was easier that way. Easier, and calmer. PJ never seemed aware of the wake of discontent he left behind him, or maybe he was so used to his own discontentment that he just spread it around to everyone else freely. Jeannie could never figure out if he was a mean person or an unhappy person, or maybe both, and why this was the case. 

“Of course you are.” Jeannie said under her breath. “Did you see Dad?” She asked PJ, while Brandon started shaking a cocktail. 

“Yeah, I saw him.” PJ said, challenge in his brown eyes. Where Brandon and Jeannie had the green-gold of their father’s eyes, PJ had their mother’s eyes. And yet where Maevy’s were a rich, warm brown, PJ’s always seemed flat and hard. “It’s not like he can talk, you know. Not sure what I’m supposed to do.” Jeannie rolled her eyes and turned back to the cabinets, pulling down plates. 

“How’s Orrick these days?” Chris ventured at him from across the kitchen. PJ was already climbing his way through his law firm and seemed very proud of his success. Jeannie always wondered what his colleagues thought of him. 

“It’s good.” PJ’s eyes narrowed at Chris. “You’re back in the game, Rossi?” PJ tossed his head toward Jeannie. “I thought you two were done.” Brandon came in and handed Chris a Manhattan. Chris took it and smiled slyly at PJ.

“Oh, nothing you need to worry about, PJ.” Chris told him, sipping his drink. Jeannie moved next to him, Chris automatically handing her the cocktail to her to sip. She took a good sip, the bourbon coating her mouth with its warm sweetness. She immediately handed it back to Chris. PJ watched the two of them, eyes narrowed. Brandon offered PJ a drink next, which he took and gulped halfway down, not even waiting for a toast. Jeannie saw the oven clock say it was just past seven.

“Dinner’s ready, everyone.” She offered, trying to be cheery despite the eternal day. “I’ll go get Dad and Clara.”

The porchetta and risotto were a hit, so was the roasted broccoli. Orla’s salad was the prefect counterpoint - the bitter greens and lemony dressing was just what was needed to offset the rich dinner. Brandon had opened some Pinot Noir which completed everything. 

The judge sat at the head of the table, Clara, his weekend nurse on his left. He’d already had dinner before, since he was on a feeding tube, but insisted on coming to the table to see everyone and hear all the talk. His eyes were bright as he watched everyone enjoying themselves, he even had a few sips of the wine. 

“So, Jeannie,” PJ began. Here it comes. Jeannie knew whatever he was about to say was meant to bait her somehow. Since she had failed the bar and joined the police, PJ had all sorts of barbed comeuppances thrown in her direction. “What was it like being on parade on Friday? Is that hard, standing in the street all day?” The parade. Jeannie had to run through her mind to remember that it had only been two days since the World Series Parade; it felt like two years. She blinked.

“Hmmmm,” she considered. “I’d kind of forgotten about the parade. That feels like it was ages ago.”

“Because of the case you’re on?” Brandon offered quietly. She nodded at him. PJ looked around at them, confused. 

“You’re on a case?” PJ was incredulous. 

“Yes.”

“How?” PJ asked, a sneer forming on his face.

“The Captain detailed me to a case, that’s how.” PJ rolled his eyes, scoffing.

“Of course.” PJ spat at her.

“What the hell does that mean?” Jeannie’s ire rose.

“It means that you always get the special treatment wherever you go, so why should the PD be any different.” Jeannie stared at him, as a shocked silence descended over the table. She kept her breathing under control, focusing her anger. PJ leaned back in his chair, awaiting her response. She wanted to flip the whole table and punch her brother’s face. Chris, gently placed his hand on her thigh under the table, seemingly sensing her internal conflict. He always said she was at her most dangerous when she got still and quiet. She felt like being dangerous. “What, nothing to say?”

“It’s been a long couple days, PJ.” She said quietly.

“Can you tell us anything about it?” Brandon prodded. “I know you said before that you couldn’t really —”

“Legally, yeah, I can’t.” She said.

“Legally?” PJ piped up. “Who the hell isn’t a lawyer at this table? Oh…right, you’re not a lawyer.”

“Fuck you PJ.” She said, her eyes blaring. A slow, awful smile started to spread over PJ’s face. “You know, I wonder why you even show up to family dinner, you just make it a point to be absolutely awful every time you do.” Jeannie’s voice was low and clipped. Chris squeezed her knee. “You’re disrespectful, entitled, and a complete asshole. You show up, you eat, you drink, you piss all over everything and everyone, and then you leave, and no one misses you.” The table was silent. Orla set her fork down and leaned back. PJ’s smile faded. No one ever called him out on his shit behavior, so he had it coming. PJ stared at her and drained his wine, again. 

“Wow, Jeannie.” PJ said, his eyes flat. “Look at you, all upset.”

“Peej —” Brandon began. 

“Stay out of it Bran.” PJ snapped. 

“Who’s upset?” Jeannie shrugged. “I just stated the facts.” She stared at him blankly. “You’re a boor, and a jerk, and an asshole - oh, sorry, I already said that. Bully? Can I add that instead? Yeah, bully. I just suggest that if you expect to show up here once a month for a free dinner that I make, then I think you need to change your attitude. In fact, change your whole goddam self, because all of us are sick of you. And if you can’t do that, then don’t bother coming again.”

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” PJ said, dangerously. Suddenly glass shattered at the other end of the table. All eyes swung to end where the judge’s eyes flared. He’d knocked his Waterford goblet to the floor. The shards sparkled below the baseboard against the wall. Jeannie instantly thought of her mother and how much she loved her Waterford. She’d have been devastated to lose one. The judge typed into his iPad and Clara leaned over him, reading it.

“Mr Pete says: Peter you need to be respectful at this table. Your sister works very hard and you need to respect her.” PJ leaned back, sighing, his anger rolling off of him. “Mr Pete says: All of you need to love each other. Peter - if you cannot be kind, Jeannie is correct. Do not come here.” 

Looking at her father struggling to type his words, Jeannie felt her tears welling again. She grabbed Chris’ hand on her knee and looked at him. Her rock. She pursed her lips, and ventured a look back at PJ, who was staring at his plate. Jeannie knew PJ had too much respect for their father to create more of a scene. 

“Y-you’re on a case, Jean?” Orla ventured timidly from acrosss the table. Jeannie looked at her an nodded.

“Can you tell us anything at all?” Brandon asked, next to her. Jeannie glanced at her father, who nodded slightly. Jeannie took a deep breath. 

“Um…high level?” Her voice sounded strange. She looked up at the ceiling, trying to breathe. How do you begin to explain the last two days? “Um, I’ve been detailed to a case….uh, it’s - it’s complicated. It’s…” She rolled her lips again. “A - um, a high school girl was found dead in the Presidio yesterday morning.” She began, explaining to Orla. “We were brought in to help secure the area and do a grid search, and while we were there, the Captain detailed me to the team that’s investigating. It’s under the US Park Police since it’s in the Presidio, but they called the FBI to help, and the Captain volunteered me too.” She shrugged. Everyone across the table stared at her, stunned.

“How old was she?” Orla asked.

“She was 17.” Jeannie offered weakly. Chris’ head snapped to look at her; she felt his eyes looking at her with concern. “Beautiful, creative, smart, a great athlete. Her parents are…” A tear finally escaped down her cheek, thinking of Carole and Spiro Thomas, “well, they’re lovely. They’re people we’d be friends with.”

“How did she die?” Brandon asked softly.

“We don’t know yet. We’re going to find out tomorrow, I think.”

“She was in high school? Where?” Orla again.

“She went to Academy. All the kids - they’re all in private schools. Academy, Holy Heart, Xavier…”

“Xavier?” PJ asked suspiciously, looking at her from under his brows.

“Yes.” Jeannie looked directly at him.

“I’d say, find the boyfriend.” Orla said.

“Well, she didn’t have one. But her ex was there and he doesn’t remember a thing. And he goes to Xavier.” Jeannie added this quietly. “Other than all that,” she breathed, “I really can’t say more. I think it may hit the press this week. We hope not, but…it’s likely.” 

“So those two guys are the Feds?” Brandon asked. “We ran into Jeannie with her team at the Balboa this afternoon.” He explained to their father. 

“Yeah, Paco and Mark. Paco is cool. He grew up on a reservation in the Central Valley. He is super calm and clear-headed. He really intuits people in a way. Mark is a tech guy. He’s basically a hacker. He’s taking on all of the computers and phones and all that.”

“And you?” Brandon asked.

“I led the interviews today and tomorrow I start building the timeline.” Jeannie blinked at him. 

“Wow, look at Jeannie.” PJ said again sarcastically. “Keep this up and someday you’ll get elected DA.” He poured another dose of wine into his glass and sipped it. “Of course, you’d still have to pass the bar.”

“Well, PJ. We know you’ll never get elected to anything in this town, because no one likes you.” She said simply. She looked at the table and took a deep breath. “Excuse me.” She said softly, standing up. It was enough. The whole day - it was all enough. She went into the kitchen, put a leash on Fergus, and shrugging into Chris’ peacoat, took the freight elevator downstairs from the kitchen, and walked out to the dark park across the street. The night was perfectly cold and clear — exactly what she needed.