Chapter Text
Dad stood in the freshly cleaned kitchen, washing his prized bakery pans by hand with loving affection in the sink. They were far too precious for the dishwasher. He heard laughter from outside and glanced up through the window to see the boys chasing each other, while Rose sat underneath the shade of a tree, earbuds in her ears, writing away in her journal. John was clutching his stomach, his face red with laughter as he pointed at Dave. Dave lunged at him in retaliation for whatever it was, and Dad smiled, knowing that John had successfully pulled a prank yet again. He watched the children wistfully for a moment, dwelling on the fond memories he had from when he was a boy.
Then his attention was drawn back to the kitchen by the sound of someone with a very lazy, relaxed walk, and then the protesting creak of the poor kitchen table as he put his feet up on it again.
"Mr. Strider, it would be very kind of you to refrain from putting your feet upon furniture not appropriated for that task," Dad said, keeping his voice even and calm. Dad was not easily perturbed by anyone; he was known in the office for keeping and even keel even under the most stressful of circumstances, and people looked up to him as a model of proper behavior. He prided himself on his patience; it was always his greatest skill as a father, and now as a husband and stepfather, as well.
But Dave's older brother hit a nerve in him that simply rubbed him the wrong way, every time. Dad never showed that he felt that way, especially not in front of the boys, because Dave was his son's best friend and he didn't want to jeopardize their relationship by having a problem with Dave's family. So, while in normal circumstances he would have relegated Mr. Strider to the "polite social graces only" category, for John's sake, he put up with him. And for Dave's sake as well; he could only hope that by showing Mr. Strider an example of excellent fatherhood, that some of it would somehow rub off on him.
"Tell ya what," his voice irritatingly smooth and always under control, "I'll make you a deal."
Dad did not acknowledge that anything had been said. He continued to calmly wash his pans.
"You call me Bro like I want, and I'll stop doing inappropriate, dirty things to your furniture, like you want."
If Dad was the sort of character to ever grit his teeth, he would have done so at that moment. But he was above such deplorable conduct. His only visible response was his ears turning slightly red with annoyance.
"Alright, Bro. You make a good argument. Now would you please place your feet..."
But when Dad turned around, Bro's shoes were already planted firmly on the kitchen tiles, as if they had always been there. It always unnerved Dad how quickly the man could move, and he wondered silently to himself what innocent reasons he could have for needing to move with such ninja-like quickness. He decided that there were none.
"You're a bit early for picking up David."
"Dave," Bro corrected, his annoying face inspecting his own fingernails through those very tacky sunglasses, hidden under that ugly, dirty baseball cap. Dad understood that both he and Dave had sensitive eyes. He had no problem with their medical need to wear dark glasses at all times. But at least Dave wore the good, sensible shades that John had picked out for him; Bro just looked like some punk kid off of the corner. Which was exactly what he was. He hadn't even shaved that morning, and by now his stubble was unsightly, even though it was blond.
"Yes. Well, as I was going to say, I was planning on having to feed him and so I made some extra servings for dinner, if you'd like to stay."
"Homecooked meal? Awesome. Thanks, Dad."
Dad smiled, feeling a bit better, before he wondered if Bro referred to him that way out of "irony". Dad frowned.
He went back to washing the pans and then went on to other chores to pass the time. At precisely a quarter to six, he heard her car pull into the driveway and he smiled as his very classy, darling wife walked in the front door, her arms full of grocery bags.
"Oh, let me help you with those," Dad said, offering to take the bags from her. She smiled in her measured way from under her perfectly styled blond hair and leaned over to give him a peck on the lips. He glowed a bit at her affection and carried the bags into the kitchen like any good gentleman would do, while Bro sat in a chair and watched them like the lazy bum he was.
Half an hour later, Dad called the kids in for dinner and they all came running through the back door.
"Uh uh uh!" Dad gently scolded, and all three of them looked up at him with guilty eyes as they turned around and removed their dirty shoes.
"That's better," Dad said, smiling warmly, ruffling the hair on each of them as they walked into the kitchen. "Wash your hands, kids, and then come sit down for dinner."
Dad whistled as he set the good table in the dining room, as the kitchen table was too small for company. He carefully set up six placings, and then smirked to himself as he sneaked over to the windowsill. He reached behind the curtain and pulled out the white rose he'd bought earlier that day, at set it at the head of the table, on his lovely wife's plate. A beautiful rose for a beautiful lady.
They all came in for dinner and sat down as he set the steaming lasagna casserole in the center of the table. Mom looked up at him and smiled sweetly as she lifted the rose off of her plate and set it reverently aside. Dad's face practically glowed. If anyone knew how to subtly please a lady, it was he.
"Dad, Dad!" John said, his mouth full of food as a chunk flew out in his excitement.
"Swallow first before speaking, John," he said calmly. John tried to chew quickly and swallowed a bite that was too big, then started again.
"Dad, I did it! I pulled my new prank on Dave, and you were right, he fell for it! I was like 'hey Dave, want a nickel?' and he was like "Not if it’s another fucking prank, Egbert..."
"John, please watch your language at the dinner table," Dad gently corrected. John nodded quickly and then dove right back into his story, a lengthy tale that included a squirting nickel, disappearing ink, a false quarter with both sides as heads, and various other knick-knacks, and ended with he and Dave wrestling on the ground and John getting a bruise on his stomach, which he stood up to show everyone.
Throughout all of this, the family interjected their personal commentary and questions about the story, even Rose rolling her eyes at "masculine immaturity". That is, everyone except for Bro Strider, whose face never cracked an inch with any emotion, and whose comments remained sarcastic, foul, and under his breath.
Dad was relieved when he finally left. He sighed as he shut the door and cleared the table, John talking with his usual bubbly enthusiasm as he helped his father. Dad regarded his son fondly, proud of the fact that he was so responsible for his age.
That night, as Dad and Mom lay in bed reading with their bedside lamps, he confided to her his annoyance at Dave's brother.
"He is just so irresponsible. I love David, but sometimes his language is so crass, and I know where he gets it from..."
His beautiful wife put a gentle palm on the back of his hand.
"Try not to let it get to you, dear," she said. "He's going to be a part of our life for as long as John and Dave are friends, which will probably be many years."
Dad nodded. He reached over and turned off the bedside light, leaned to give his lovely wife a peck on the cheek, and then lay down to sleep. As a last and final insult, he got no rest, as every one of his dreams was plagued by the deplorable character of Bro Strider.