Ethan still looked worried. “Okay, but seriously, tell me if that changes.”
~~~~~
“What do you normally order when you’re here, Maxmillian?”
Maxmillian adjusted the collar of his sweater as he perused the Applebee’s menu again. “I don’t have a particular go-to. Do you have a recommendation?”
Beside him in the booth, Ethan groaned beneath his breath.
“I’m a fan of the spinach and artichoke dip, just like Ethan,” his father said, leaning forward eagerly to point out the item on Max’s menu. “I could eat the whole thing by myself.” He gave Max a conspiratorial wink behind a shielding hand. “One day, when Jeannie’s not looking, I’m going to.”
“I heard that,” Ethan’s mother murmured. She sent a fond smirk at her husband before leaning into Max’s shoulder and doing her own pointing at his menu. “Are you lactose intolerant? Because if you are, there’s too much cheese in that dip for you and I think you should pass so you won’t be uncomfortable.”
“Mom...” Ethan groaned. He palmed his face. “Max is old enough to know what he can and can’t eat.”
“I know that, honey, but restaurants are so tricky sometimes. They add butter to everything, did you know that? Even to steak! Why on earth would you add butter to meat like that?” Shaking her head, she set her menu aside and folded her forearms atop the table.
“There’s a shrimp and sirloin combo that might be right up your alley,” Ethan’s father said with a knowing nod. “You probably eat a lot of surf and turf in Las Vegas, I imagine. This one comes with fries, so it’s not too shabby.”
“Tempting,” Max agreed.
“Dale, does Maxmillian look like he eats fries?” Mrs. Winter studied Max with appreciation. “He seems very health-conscious. Are you a vegetarian, Maxmillian? I didn’t even think to ask!”
He smiled reassuringly at her. “I enjoy all types of cuisine, not to worry.”
“He’s a foodie, remember?” Ethan told his mother in a low voice, as though it were a secret. “That means Max will try anything once. He’s got an open mind.”
“That’s important,” she said with evident authority. “Picky eaters force everyone to order from Burger King. I’m glad you boys aren’t like that.”
Max studiously ignored the way she kept looking between him and her son, knowing that if he looked up, he’d catch her smiling at them. It was slightly embarrassing to be the subject of her obvious affection, but also...nice.
He and Ethan had landed in Indianapolis a few hours ago and driven their rental car into the outer suburbs where the Winters lived in an older, modest two-bedroom home. Coming to Applebee’s for dinner was the first thing Ethan’s parents had suggested they do. Max got the impression a visit to the restaurant was reserved for special occasions in their lives. He found it quite charming to be worthy of it.
He ended up ordering the salmon, though when the appetizers arrived he made sure to sample the dip and praise it accordingly. Mr. Winter beamed as though the recipe was his own. Max took it as the man’s stamp of approval.
The restaurant wasn’t to his tastes, but he wasn’t such a snob that he would refuse the food and more importantly, the company. Getting to know Ethan’s parents involved more than treating them to comped casino buffets while he worked at the office. He wanted to know the people who had helped form his husband and he wanted to understand what they hoped to get out of his marriage to their only son.
“There was talk of throwing a party the night before the ceremony, at the bingo hall,” Mrs. Winter told him in between bites of her pasta. “I don’t know if that’s appropriate. Would it be terribly rude? I’m afraid I’m not up to speed on the etiquette.” She smiled wanly, clearly embarrassed. “I should have done more homework, I’m sorry.”
“It doesn’t matter if there are ‘rules’ for weddings, Mom. Max and I are non-traditional from the start, so don’t worry about whether anything you want to plan is appropriate or not. Just do what you like.”
“I agree,” Max told her. “This is a personal event, so please, make it personal. Neither Ethan nor I will have any issues with what you’d like to do.”
“But you must have some preferences,” she pressed uncertainly. She paused, bowtie pasta on her fork. “Don’t you want to make this special for you, too?”
Realizing his error, Max smiled gently at her. “Of course. I didn’t mean to leave you with the impression that we don’t care.” He rested his hand over Ethan’s, though only briefly. He was aware they were in a conservative area and didn’t want to draw any negative attention to the Winters. “We care very much about formalizing our union in front of our families. I only meant that the two of us aren’t concerned with the details, and that our primary concern is that you and my parents find enjoyment from the ceremony. That means a great deal to us.”
“Just seeing Ethan at the altar with someone who loves him...” Mrs. Winter trailed off, her eyes shiny. “That’s all Dale and I want in the end. The rest is just for the neighbors, I guess.”
“Oh, come on, Mom. Admit you’ve been having fun figuring out the decorations and choosing the cake.” Ethan grinned at his mother. “I give you permission to live vicariously through me, though I draw the line at choosing a garter. That’s for Max’s eyes only.”
“Ethan!”
“You don’t draw the line at the dress?” his father asked, eyebrows raised. He once again sent an exaggerated wink at Max, as though the two of them were on the same team. Max hid his amusement behind his napkin.
“I’m ignoring everything you just said, Ethan, except for the part about the planning.” Mrs. Winter shook her head in exasperation. “Marcela and I are taking our duties very seriously, you should know. You may say you don’t care, but you will care when you have to look at photos of your special day for the rest of your lives. It’s important, Ethan. I need to get this right for you.”
“Mom, I get it, and I love you for caring so much. But trust me on this—and I speak for Max, too—we will be thrilled with absolutely anything that happens. Whether we end up having KFC in the park, or we’re all dolled up in a fancy hall drinking cider and Budweiser. The last thing we want is for any of you to become stressed about it. That’s why we stopped by. To make sure you’re having fun and not getting worked up needlessly.”
“Well, it has been a little challenging,” she admitted before sending an apologetic look at Max. “Your mother and I don’t get to connect nearly as often as we’d like. The time zones make it hard and well...we have slightly different opinions on some things.”
Max didn’t doubt it. His mother was a dominating force when it came to household affairs such as decorating and entertaining. During many of the social events held at their homes, Max had felt as though he were an interloper who dare not make a mess. His mother knew exactly what she wanted and made sure she got it. Stacked up against Jeannie—Max felt nothing but sympathy for Ethan’s mother. Presenting her own opinions must feel like arguing with the Queen.