Lemonade Stand
"Did you notice that my parents limited themselves to a mere twenty complaints about every facet of our lives at breakfast this morning? Such laudable progress. I guess people are never too old - or maddeningly insufferable - to evolve." Logan grinned at his wife, who knew him well enough to see the wistfulness behind it. Logan wasn't one to reminisce about the past or fret about the future - that was the more cerebral, thoughtful Rory's domain - but having a child of their own had dredged up some heretofore buried memories about how his parents had treated him throughout his youth and continued to denigrate him during their annual visit despite the fact that he had become a surprisingly stable, responsible adult. Granted, he still pulled the occasional goofy stunt with his friends and merrily watched cartoons alongside their seven-year-old daughter, but he had worked to mature into a decent husband and father while some of the peers he had grown up with found themselves in either white-collar prisons or rehab.
"Well, some of Mitchum and Shira's criticisms were valid," Rory conceded, wrapping her arms around his waist and pulling him in for a tight hug. She had never been one to effusively express her affection prior to meeting Logan, but her infectiously life-loving, adventurous and sneakily sweet husband had proven to be the exception to all her previous rules. "I really am among the worst cooks on earth, though the insinuation that I was deliberately trying to poison them was a tad much..."
"Any jurors who had spent even a few seconds with my parents would let you off," Logan assured her, diplomatically declining to comment on her culinary skills one way or the other. "And prepare yourself for another deluge of insults disguised as "helpful advice" once they see that Sophie and those terrifying but amusing little friends of hers set up a lemonade stand."
Rory frowned in thought, and Logan could practically see her trying to discern the potential downsides of a lemonade stand as she mentally compiled one of her infamous pro/con lists. "Forbes magazine advised everyone in their tax bracket to avoid investing in citrus?" Rory guessed.
"My mother believes that lemonade stands are utterly common," Logan drawled, imitating his mother's phony patrician accent. "Something run by people of a different and vastly inferior class."
Rory grinned. "We could serve the lemonade in those weirdly overpriced champagne flutes they brought us and watch your mother tremble in horror as the neighborhood kids accidentally knock them all to the pavement."
Logan's grin was wider this time. "You come up with the sweetest suggestions, Ace. My dad is staunchly anti-lemonade stands as well, by the way. He doesn't think they yield enough of a profit margin and apparently remind him of some memory he's tried to repress. A kid next door and I set one up when we were about the age Sophie is now, and my father immediately tore it down and started raging at us like we were distributing crack to the entire neighborhood."
"You know you're nothing like him, right?" Rory asked earnestly, cupping his face with her hand. "You're a far better father. And better husband. And better employer, even though I still don't understand your exact job. And, let's face it, a better all-around human being."
Logan shrugged and found himself glancing down at their kitchen floor. He had been justifiably accused of arrogance a few thousand times, and it's true that Rory's environment and DNA had combined to make her far more sensitive and modest than he would ever be, but love and life had humbled him. Rory's achingly sincere compliments were now the only ones that mattered to him, as they were based on a profound knowledge of who he had chosen to become rather than the careless, hard partying playboy his parents still believed him to be. As someone who enjoyed a challenge, he had tried hard to live up to Rory's lofty expectations just as he had once proudly lived down to his parents' subterranean ones.
"I wasn't exactly the easiest kid," Logan admitted. "Pretty much the antithesis of the angel you were then or that Sophie is now."
"I was just sort of cast into the role of resident angel like you were relegated to the part of devil," Rory said thoughtfully. As the top and presumably only literature professor in their community, Rory had eagerly accepted a request to help write a play for the local junior high, and Logan had noted with amusement that most of her metaphors now tended to be theater themed. "And you and I both played those narrowly defined parts until we convinced each other we didn't have to. I love that we're allowing Sophie to write her own script, even if it means rebelling by...cue horror movie score...setting up a lemonade stand."
They strolled hand in hand out to their front yard, where Sophie and a few friends from the neighborhood were diligently pouring cups of lemonade despite not having any customers yet. "Should we go choke down a glass and then give them a favorable review on Yelp?" Rory asked. No sooner had they stepped out into the blazing July sun that Logan's infamous father Mitchum came striding out from the side door, making a beeline for Sophie's lemonade stand with the ruthless determination that still intimidated people decades older than his granddaughter.
"It's a good thing I still have the number of that defense attorney from my cringe-inducing youth," Logan muttered, "because if my dad yells at our daughter, I'm going to have to commit assault."
"A jury will let you off too," Rory replied loyally, but she bit her lip nervously as they approached. "Um, Mitchum, maybe-"
"Why in the world would you set up a lemonade stand?" bellowed Mitchum.
Sophie cocked her head, gazing at him for a moment with huge blue eyes before formulating a reply. She had inherited her father's bravery and exuberance along with her mother's tendency to observe before speaking and eagerness to keep others happy - or at least sane.
"I saw it on a show from like a million years ago, maybe even 1995, and we thought it would be fun," she offered softly.
"I'll tell you why - it's because you have real gumption and initiative, Soph! You've clearly inherited my entrepreneurial spirit. May I have the honor of becoming your first customer?" Mitchum knelt down and accepted the proffered glass of lemonade with a hearty thank you, exclaiming how delicious it was even as he winced while gulping it down.
Rory and Logan exchanged looks of surprise that morphed into smiles. Mitchum, still kneeling down to be at his granddaughter's level, looked back and forth between his son and granddaughter with something suspiciously resembling real affection.
"As a wise man once told me," Rory mused, spontaneously kissing her husband, "I guess people are never too old - or maddeningly insufferable - to evolve."