18.

Days, weeks, months had gone by, and Maxwell Sheffield still had not even a fraction of an idea about what had happened in the kitchen that early Sunday morning in April. Fran was not any closer to telling him either, but then again why should she? After all, he didn't remember the incident and telling him would only bring them further apart, not closer together.

It was August now and Fran was feeling extremely depressed. She had recently broken up with Julian after a fairly long, roughly four-month long relationship (that was on and off again) which was pretty much the longest she has had in quite some time. Julian had turned out to be a complete and utter control freak. He didn't seem to be that way at first either. He acted like a caring gentleman, but after dating for such a long time Fran saw his true colors. He was soon telling her what to do, where to go, who to talk to, how to dress, how to act and other really demanding things. And after their past couple of vacations to some beaches during the summer, Fran also noticed that he had a reoccurring, wandering eye for other woman. A girl can only take so much, ya know. Plus, the way things were going, she would have ended up being in an abusive relationship or an unfaithful one with Julian cheating on her.

At least Fran got a nice summer glow out of all of this from the days she soaked up the sun.

"Miss Fine, please don't tell me you're still upset after breaking up with Julian… it's for the best, really," commented Maxwell as he entered the kitchen and saw Fran sulking around.

She pulled a gallon of Edy's French Silk ice cream out of the freezer and grabbed up a spoon out of the drawer. She walked over to the small table to sit down before she spoke to him.

"Who's best, yours?" she asked cattily, even though it was more of a statement then a question.

"Oh, Miss Fine!"

He took a seat next to her while she shoveled the frozen treat into her mouth like it was going out of style.

"What? It's not like you were ever happy with Julian dating me in the first place!" said Fran, her mouth full of ice cream, but she didn't care. "You never even gave me an ounce of friendly support."

"Well, I knew he was a Neanderthal from the start," admitted Max.

Fran turned to look at him.

"So glad you felt the need to inform me!" said Fran.

"Oh, it's not like you would have believed me in the beginning if I told you," replied Maxwell snidely.

"And why is that?" she asked in a foul tone, flicking her spoon in her hand off to the side, questioningly.

"You'd think I was jealous and was just saying things."

"Well, maybe because most of the time you are!"

Maxwell felt as taken aback as if Fran had just slapped him across the face.

"Is that so?!" asked Maxwell loudly, standing up.

"Yeah!" Fran declared, standing up too.

"Well, it just so happ—"he began to retort.

Maxwell didn't get to finish his sentence, for Brighton had entered the kitchen and he didn't like to make himself look bad in front of his own children.

Brighton knew he interrupted some kind of argument, for there was a feel of tension hanging thick in the air. However, he hoped that if his Dad was still frustrated enough, he wouldn't bother debating his question of permission and would just say "yeah sure."

"Hey Dad—" started Brighton, twisting his Yankees baseball cap to the side.

"Not now!" shouted Maxwell at Brighton as he got up and left the room.

"What was that about?" asked Brighton, curious.

"Your father and I were just having a little tiff over something stupid, but of course I was right and he didn't want to admit it," explained Fran.

"I guess this wasn't a good time to try and ask him to get me tickets to the Nirvana concert? Me and Jeremy wanted to go."

Fran hated telling Brighton "no," but she knew she had to.

"No and besides young man, you both aren't old enough to attend a concert by yourselves. Not to mention, it's in Jersey."

"But Fran, that isn't fair!" protested Brighton.

"Honey this isn't Burger King, you can't have it your way!"

Brighton rolled his eyes.

"Aw, Fran, that's sooooo overused! You got that from Heathcliff Huxtable on the Cosby show!" whined Brighton.

"So maybe I did. I can't help drowning my sorrows in TV among other things, but the meaning is still clear, is it not?" questioned Fran, firmly.

"Yes," droned out Brighton.

"And do you think your father would say anything different?" asked Fran.

"No," replied Brighton, defeated.

If Fran wasn't going to cave, neither was his father. He should have known.

"Gosh Fran, you're such a mother!" kidded Brighton, his voice still showing his disappointment for not being able to go to the concert.

"Thank you," said Fran, yanking him to her with one arm and then affectionately ruffling his hair.

"Aw, Fran!"

Brighton pulled away but smiled at her before he left the room.