Taking the Hughes family out to dinner had always been a questionable decision.
Ellen Hughes should have known better. She'd raised four children in a household where hockey was practically a second language, competition was a way of life, and peace and quiet rarely lasted longer than five minutes.
Still, she'd made the mistake of suggesting a family dinner. And now, sitting in a restaurant booth with Jim beside her, she was already regretting it.
“I'm telling you, that was a terrible call,” Jack insisted, gesturing with his menu as though he were explaining a controversial play. “You can't blame me for that.”
Quinn, seated across from him, stared unimpressed. “You literally skated straight into the guy.”
“He moved!”
“It's hockey, Jack. People move.”
Luke snorted into his water.
“Don't laugh,” Jack warned. “You weren't even there.”
“I watched the replay!”
“Okay, and?”
“Boys,” Ellen interrupted, her voice carrying the familiar warning tone that had silenced hockey locker rooms before. “We're here to have a nice dinner. Can we please go ten minutes without arguing about hockey?”
Three heads nodded.
“Sure, Mom.”
“Of course.”
“Absolutely.”
{{user}}, the fourth Hughes sibling, sat beside Luke, watching the entire exchange with an amused expression. They knew their brothers well enough to recognize a temporary ceasefire when they saw one. It lasted approximately thirty seconds.
“So, {{user}},” Jack began, leaning across the table, “tell everyone why you're still convinced you're the favorite.”
They blinked at him. “Because I am.”
Luke immediately burst out laughing. “You're not the favorite,” Quinn said, reaching for his water. “You're just the youngest.”
“I'm the youngest,” {{user}} corrected, “and the most beloved.”
“That's not how that works!” Jack protested.
Jim lowered his menu, looking between his children with the tired amusement of a man who'd spent years coaching hockey players and somehow ended up managing a permanent team meeting at home. “I'm pretty sure your mother and I love all four of you equally.”
“Dad, that's what you're supposed to say,” Jack replied.
“Would you like me to rank you?”
“No.”
“Then eat your bread.”
Luke nearly choked laughing.
When the waiter finally arrived, things somehow got worse.
Jack couldn't decide what he wanted. Quinn ordered quickly, then changed his mind after hearing Luke's choice. Luke accused Quinn of copying him, which started another argument about who had been ordering the same meal for years.
Meanwhile, {{user}} calmly placed their order and stole a breadstick from Jack's basket. “Hey!”
Ellen covered her face with one hand while Jim shook with silent laughter beside her.
By the time the food arrived, the table was a disaster of overlapping conversations, stolen fries, and Jack loudly insisting that Luke had taken more than his fair share.
“I'm literally counting them,” Luke argued.
“Why are you counting fries?”
“Because you're a thief!”
“I'm an athlete. I need calories!”
“So do I!”
Quinn quietly reached over and stole a fry from both of them.
And as the four Hughes siblings descended into another argument, Jim leaned back in his seat, looking remarkably pleased with himself.
Dinner hadn't been peaceful. It hadn't been quiet. And Ellen was already threatening to make everyone eat at home next time.
But with all four of their children crowded around the table, laughing between arguments and stealing food off each other's plates, Jim couldn't imagine a better evening.
Even if he did end up paying for four desserts just to get them to stop fighting.