Dinner continues and Heather's .

Dinner came to a stop, almost before it had even started. Everyone sat there with their mouths open in shock. Some were left holding forkfuls of food. Others were mid–chew. Everyone was staring at each other. Zack’s earlier flogging-the-bishop comment had stunned those who had heard it, but this one had floored them all. Kurt was the first to speak.

“That man. Is my hero,” he informed everyone, “I think you bit off more than you can chew with that one, my dear cousin. You may want to break out a white flag and start waving it.”

He let out with a loud laugh that triggered a similar response from just about everyone at the table. Heather was laughing, but with bright crimson cheeks. Gavin slightly chuckled, but had a worried expression on his face. Victoria was not impressed at all. Chloe took note of her dissatisfaction. She would have to talk to her best friend about his interactions with Heather and how they were not helping him woo his secret crush.

After a few more seconds of laughter, dinner resumed. Five minutes after that, Zack reappeared and sat down to eat. Zack noticed that Heather had sat at the head of the table and the only seat left vacant was the one to her left. As he sat, the conversations renewed.

“So Zack, my cousin tells me that you’ll be playing hockey for the Irish next year,” Kurt spoke.

“Well, not exactly playing. I have to walk-on next year and hope that I can impress them.” Zack replied.

“No scholarship? That’s too bad, especially if what I read in the newspaper clippings about your high school career is true. Any idea why they didn't scout you?” the newcomer asked.

“Not sure, I mean my coach sent out scouting videos to all the colleges I applied to. Some made full-scholarship offers, and others only made partial ones, but I really I want to play for Notre Dame.” Zack answered.

At about this time, Heather decided that it wasn't quite time to call it quits in her battle with Zack, so she began to play a small game of footsie with him under the table, for no other reason than to throw off his conversation.

“So why the Fighting Irish?” Kurt inquired.

“My dad. He went there. My mom is from there. That’s how they met.” Zack smiled.

“And what’s he do for a living?” Kurt questioned, “if you don’t mind me asking.”

With that, all conversation stopped. Everyone looked nervously at Zack. Despite it being almost five years, he hadn't spoken about his dad much.

“Kurt,” Chloe said as she waved her hand and shook her head slightly at him.

“No, it’s okay, Chloe. He doesn't know, and I need to talk about it. My dad passed away, Kurt.” Zack said solemnly.

“Oh shit, dude, I’m sorry,” Kurt apologized, which caught Heather off guard.

“Don’t be. I’m quite proud of him. He was a school teacher and a volunteer firefighter. After Nine-Eleven, he and a bunch of guys from his fire house volunteered to go to New York and help out. He spent almost three weeks working on the debris pile, trying to find people. Because of that, he ended up getting all sorts of infections and cancers. He died almost five years ago.” Zack informed him, as a tear rolled down his face.

“Well, I’m sure he’s proud of you, too, buddy,” Kurt said as he stood up, “ladies and gentlemen, a toast: To Mr. Bishop, a true American hero.”

“Here! Here!” the small group agreed as each lifted their beverage and drank to the memory of Zack’s father.

The group continued to eat and drink, until most of the food was gone. As the meal ended, everyone sort of stayed at the table and had a few more drinks. The evening was subdued and no one became intoxicated. One at a time, the group cleared their places and returned to the table.

“DAMN, Gavin! That was good,” Victoria complimented the chef for the evening.

“Thank you. It’s called salmagundi. It’s an old English dish, popular with pirates and highwaymen.” He responded.

“Pirates? Arrgh!” Kurt chimed in, which drew a laugh from everyone.

Gavin continued, “It was traditionally made with everything from pickled herring and lamb to turtle meat and calf’s feet, cooked in a spicy port wine and seasoned with whatever the cook had at his disposal, and laid out with whatever vegetables were available. Since we had none of the traditional ingredients, I used chicken, sirloin and shrimp instead. I took the meats and marinated them in a strawberry daiquiri wine cooler before we left home. I then let them simmer in the same broth, with egg, onions, and bell peppers. For the presentation, I laid the meat out on a salad bed of about six different types of lettuce, carrots, cucumbers, celery, and peanuts. After that I grated some sharp cheddar, pepper jack, and mozzarella cheeses on top. For a dressing, I strained out what was left of the marinate over top of the dish and sprinkled some croutons and crushed white pepper to top it off.”

“Well, Gavin, the C.I.A. has themselves an excellent chef in the making,” Ashley stated.

“Wait! The CIA? I thought you were going to the Culinary Institute of America, Gav?” Brandon replied, which brought a small chuckle from Victoria.

“C.I.A. stands for Culinary Institute of America, dear,” Ashley giggled into her boyfriend’s ear.

“Oh. Sorry,” he said, dejectedly, “It was good, Gavin.”

“Cheer up, yah lug head. I thought the same thing the first time I heard him say that,” Zack falsely confessed as he elbowed Brandon gently.

Zack nudging his friend back into the conversation gave Heather an idea.

“Hey Zack, can I ask you a question about hockey?” She asked as she stood to her feet.

“Sure, Roomie, what is it?” He replied as he opened a bottle of beer and tossed the cap on the table.

“Is butt-checking legal?” She asked as she turned around.

“What?” Zack said as he turned his head towards her in disbelief.

No sooner had he turned his head, Heather thrust her hips backwards and caught Zack right in the face with her buttocks.

“BUTT-CHECK!” She exclaimed.