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https://www.patréon.com/emperordragon
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Chapter 45— Operation: Survive the Lunch
By noon, we were parked in front of Sam's house. Jay killed the engine and stared ahead like he was about to get a root canal. Manny straightened his shirt for the fifth time, and Gloria looked as radiant as ever, like she was attending a gala rather than a backyard barbecue.
Me? I was mentally prepping like I was entering a war zone.
Deep breaths. This is just lunch. Just two families colliding like tectonic plates with likely some awkward small talk and marinated meat.
I rang the doorbell.
The door opened, and there was Sam. She looked amazing—white sundress, hair pinned up, that smile that could stop time—but there was a twitch at the edge of her lips, the kind that only I could spot. She was nervous.
I stepped forward and gave her a hug—not one of those half-hearted side hugs, but the kind that says we're in this trench together. She squeezed back, and for a second, everything felt okay.
Sam with a smile steps aside and says. "Hi! It's so nice to see you all—welcome. Please, come in. My parents are really looking forward to meeting you guys. Lunch is just about ready, so make yourselves comfortable."
We followed her into the house and out to the backyard. It was like a Norman Rockwell painting collided with a cooking show. Ron was at the grill, flipping ribs like a seasoned pro. Diane was fussing with cutlery and cloth napkins at the table, somehow looking elegant and intimidating at once.
Sam peeled off with Gloria and Manny to help Diane. I could already hear Gloria complimenting Diane's earrings in Spanish, and Diane replying with a graceful laugh. I clocked Sam glancing back at me, a quick eyebrow-raise. Our plan was in motion.
I nodded and made my way to the grill with Jay.
Ron noticed us. "Jay Pritchett, right?"
"That's me," Jay said, extending a hand. "You must be the guy behind the smoke."
Ron grinned and gave a firm handshake. "That's right. Ron Smith. Been barbecuing since before they started putting kale in food and ruined everything."
Jay actually chuckled. "I like you already."
Well. That was... unexpected.
Ron gestured to the grill. "I'm doing a mesquite blend today—gives the ribs a bold finish."
Jay leaned in like he was being shown state secrets. "That's how you do it. Oak's overrated. Mesquite's the king."
They started talking wood types and dry rubs like two old generals comparing war medals. I stood there, slightly stunned, but also relieved.
I turned around and caught Gloria and Diane laughing over something, and Sam threw me a thumbs up so subtle it might've been a twitch to anyone else.
We were winning this battle.
Ron pulled up the grill lid with a flourish. "Alright, folks," he called out. "Time to eat!"
Game on.
The food hit the table like a ceasefire treaty—sizzling ribs, corn still wrapped in husks, grilled vegetables, and a bowl of something green that only Diane seemed enthusiastic about.
We gathered around, plates in hand, and found seats across the big patio table. The awkward tension Sam and I had prepared for like two anxious diplomats? Nowhere in sight.
In fact, it felt… easy.
Diane was mid-story about Sam's rebellious middle school phase—something about a glitter bomb and the vice principal's office—while Gloria laughed so hard she had to put down her fork.
"I like this one," Diane said, pointing her fork at Gloria. "She gets it."
Gloria beamed. "She reminds me of me when I was younger. Only I would've used real explosives."
They both burst out laughing again.
Meanwhile, Ron and Jay were locked in a passionate discussion about charcoal density.
"No, no—what you want is that slow burn. Kingsford's fine for beginners, but real flavor needs real wood," Ron said, holding court like a seasoned professor of backyard science.
Jay nodded. "And none of that gas grill garbage. That's not cooking. That's pushing a button."
"If I wanted to push a button, I'd order takeout," Ron said, and they both chuckled.
I watched in mild disbelief. Was this... harmony?
Sam leaned in close to me and whispered, "Did we just pull off a miracle?"
I whispered back, "We might've broken the laws of social interaction."
She smiled, one of those quiet, private ones that makes everything slow down. For a second, I forgot we were sitting in a suburban backyard between two barbecue titans and two extroverted powerhouses.
Conversation flowed like lemonade on a summer afternoon. Manny and Sam were debating classic literature, Gloria and Diane were trading stories about stubborn men, and Ron had even convinced Jay to try his homemade hot sauce—Jay turned beet red, but he didn't complain. That said everything.
And through it all, I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop, but it never did.
The uncomfortable lunch we'd braced ourselves for never came.
No judgment. No awkward silences. Just the unexpected, undeniable warmth of two families enjoying a Saturday together.
As the sun began to sink behind the trees and plates were scraped clean, laughter echoed across the yard.
Jay and Ron sat back in their chairs, arms crossed, wearing the same smug expression. If someone had asked either of them if they were becoming friends, they would've denied it with such vigor you'd think the question was offensive.
But there they were. Laughing like old war buddies.
And for once, everything was exactly as it should be.