Page 53 of Maxwell

Under normal circumstances, Maxwell would laugh and accept the compliment, but due to what was happening in his life with Jasmine, the comment didn’t sound complimentary.

“You’re staying for dinner, aren’t you?” Rose asked. “Rodolfo, is there enough?”

“Yes, ma’am. There is plenty.”

“We’re having breakfast for dinner because that’s what the kids wanted,” his mother explained.

“Rodolfo told me,” Maxwell said.

His mother looked at him with an assessing gaze and opened her mouth to say something but then apparently changed her mind. “Looks like dinner’s almost ready. Go find your father before he injures himself running around with those kids. Let them know it’s almost time to eat and they need to wash up.”

Maxwell handed back his niece. “Yes, ma’am.”

He found his father and the kids upstairs in the wide hallway. His father was on the floor, wrestling with Damon, Jr., Tracy, and their three-year-old brother.

As soon as his father saw him, a smile broke out across his face. “Maxwell!”

“Uncle Maxwell!” the kids shrieked, running toward him.

“What are you guys doing? Beating up Abuelo?” he asked, giving them all hugs in turn.

“Yes,” Tracy said, giggling.

Holding on to the wall, Benicio pushed carefully to his feet with a groan.

“Dad...” Maxwell said in a disapproving voice.

“I know, I know. I should not be down on the floor with them. Your mother has already given me the lecture,” Benicio said in accented English.

He was still an imposing figure in his sixties. Tall, broad-shouldered, his gray hair and beard neat and trim.

“She told me to come find you. Dinner’s almost ready and we need to wash up.”

“You heard your uncle,” Benicio said, with a clap of his hands. “Everybody use the bathroom downstairs. Vamos!”

The kids raced ahead of them.

“I remember a time when we weren’t allowed to run down the stairs or run through the house, for that matter,” Maxwell remarked as he and his father followed at a slower pace.

“Different time, different rules,” his father said, a twinkle in his eye.

The family gathered in the dining room around the long table. Rose cut the toddler’s food into small pieces with an efficiency that came from years of practice. The meal lasted almost an hour, with Benicio telling funny stories—some of which Maxwell wasn’t entirely sure were true. They talked, laughed, and in between, Rodolfo appeared twice to bring out more food. The lemon cake was a hit, and by the end of the meal, the tension Maxwell carried when he arrived had almost completely disappeared.

Coming home always did that for him, including when he was in college or doing his residency. Being around his family always made him feel better.

Afterward, the kids wanted to watch Zootopia for the millionth time, so Maxwell helped them carry pillows and blankets to the theater room downstairs, which accommodated four people in each of the four rows. Junior and Tracy sat at either end of the second row, with their younger siblings between them and two huge tubs of freshly popped popcorn—thanks to Rodolfo—being passed back and forth. Maxwell didn’t know where they got the appetite after eating dinner.

He settled in the back with his father, stretching out his long legs. A few minutes into the movie, which had the kids riveted, Maxwell leaned toward his father.

“How are the wedding plans going?” he asked, keeping his voice low.

His father’s expression shifted into something akin to mild exasperation. “You know your mother. She wants something intimate, small, and meaningful. I explained to her that after everything, we should have a big celebration.”

“You want a big event,” Maxwell said.

“Of course. The event should match the occasion. I have work to do, convincing her my idea is the better one. But I will eventually wear her down. She always comes around when she understands that I am right.”

Maxwell was hard-pressed not to burst out laughing. “Does she know that’s what you do? Wear her down?”