I own nothing, however I have big plans to fake it and make so many millions off of this that I will be able to pay off all dissenters. That's my plan. Really.
(Sarcasm again)
The food smells Heavenly.
All of his favorite dishes, and some that he has forgotten ever existed, are spread out before them.
It's not really dinner and not really breakfast. It seems to be more of a smorgasbord of culinary delights, nothing gourmet, you understand, but the real, hearty, homemade fare he enjoyed throughout his childhood. Fresh eggs that had been laid only hours before, stacks of pancakes so tall they seem to defy the laws of physics are swimming in syrup and hand churned butter from cream that has probably spent more time inside a cow than out of it, feather-light biscuits in rich gravy, all adorn the sturdy table he remembers so well. The dining hall on Serenity is only a pale reflection, but it was the best he could manage given the circumstances.
His mother interrupts his musing. "You gonna keep tryin' to catch flies with that mouth, or are ya gonna sit yourself down so we can say Grace?"
Well, there's not much he can say to that, so he does as he's told, taking the seat just to the right of his mother. Rick sits opposite him, looking more than a bit uncomfortable.
"I'm sorry," Rick begins, "Have we met before? It's not that I don't appreciate all this, but I don't like to eat when I don't know the hostess."
"At least some folk round here have a smattering of manners!" Mal's Ma exclaims, her harsh words softened, as always, with her signature grin. "My name is Elizabeth Reynolds, but most everyone 'round here just calls me 'Aunt Betty'."
"I don't," Mal says, joining in the teasing, "and I've got more cause than anybody!" Realizing that he had gone too far when he saw the spark in her eyes, he prepares to backpedal. She doesn't give him a chance.
"There's more to being a mother than Birthin' boy, and don't you forget it! My brother, God rest his soul, entrusted you to me, and you will keep a civil tongue in that mouth of yours at my table, dong ma?"
"Yes, Ma'am." He tries to keep the sullenness out of his voice, he really does, but something about her scrutiny tells him that he doesn't quite manage it. When she lets him off the hook with a sharp nod he releases a breath he didn't realize he had been holding. There is something to be said about social niceties, if only to spare him a tongue-lashing every now and again. Mal's lucky, the last hand who crossed Liz Reynolds at the dinner table slunk back to his bed with no supper and tears in his eyes, and he was no boy neither.
"May I say Grace?" Rick asks, surprising Mal. He doesn't seem like the religious type. A quick glance at his guest convinces Mal that he's just trying to smooth things over a bit, and. somewhat miraculously, it works. His Ma's eye crinkle as she smiles at Rick, all trace of anger gone.
"That would be lovely, Mr. Castle," she answers, the very picture of serenity. "Thank you."
Rick folds his hands in an oddly formal manner before he begins, but the prayer is one he knows all too well. Mal's heart aches again as Rick intones the familiar words.
"Lord, grant me the Serenity to accept the things I cannot Change. The Courage to change the things I can, and the Wisdom to know the difference."
"Amen," Mal finishes, the habit so ingrained that the word escapes before he can stop it.
"Amen," his mother echoes, and they sit in silence for what seems like an eternity, but must only have been a few seconds. Mal shifts uncomfortably in his seat and the spell is broken.
"Let's eat!" his mother exclaims.
And they do.
I know, it's short, again, but I figured that something was better than nothing. My laptop finally died so I have to share this computer with my three boys (2 sons and a hubby). I'm never sure when I'll be able to write. I'll do my best though.
Anybody catch my big reveal?
Thanks for reading!
