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3rd POV
"Hey." Georgie approached George, who was preparing the smoker for the brisket.
George looked up, a wide grin on his face. "Hey, we're smoking this baby all night! I can't wait to dig into this meat," he said, grabbing a few logs for the fire.
"What? You're the one smoking the brisket. I'm going to bed soon," Georgie replied with a shrug.
George frowned. Clearly, he had hoped to trick Georgie into keeping him company all night.
Georgie sat down at the table, watching as George continued tending to the smoker. His gaze drifted toward the covered motorcycle in the corner of the garage.
"What happened to that bike?" Georgie asked, nodding toward the tarp-covered Harley Davidson.
George followed his line of sight and sighed. "That's my old bike. No idea why it won't start anymore." He waved it off and returned to his brisket preparations.
"…Can I have it?" Georgie asked.
"Over my dead body." George deadpanned.
"Tsk."
George paused, looking up. "Why? You want that bike?"
"Not really," Georgie admitted. "But it's a damn cool bike. Seems like a waste just letting it sit there. You could sell it after fixing it up, or at least keep it for nostalgia."
George stared at the fire, making sure the wood burned evenly. "Look, the reason I never fixed it or took it to a shop is because—"
"Money, right?" Georgie interrupted.
"…Well, that's one reason. But the real reason is you guys."
George shifted awkwardly, then sighed. "Riding a bike is dangerous. I didn't want to risk it and leave you all behind."
Georgie nodded. "Sure. But an accident is an accident, Dad. You could trip in the bathroom and die like Memaw would said. You could get tackled in football and die. Life doesn't give warnings."
George took a deep breath. "Sure, but riding that bike? That's like kissing death with your arrogance. It's like the wind becomes your best friend, carrying you wherever you want."
For a moment, he was lost in thought, remembering the past.
Then, Georgie suddenly stood up.
"Where are you going?" George blinked, snapping out of his daze.
Georgie disappeared into the house. "…Wasn't this supposed to be a father-son moment?" George muttered to himself.
He took a sip of his beer, only to see Georgie return—this time carrying his guitar.
"Well, it's always better with a radio or a guitar, right?" Georgie smirked and looking at him until a girl voice ring on his ear.
"What are you guys doing?" Missy's voice chimed in from behind them. She had seen Georgie carrying his guitar and assumed he was about to sing again.
"What are you doing, young lady?" Georgie asked playfully. "You need eight hours of sleep to stay as pretty as you are."
"It's okay. I'm already pretty," Missy replied smugly, ignoring his comment.
"Oh yeah?" Georgie reached over and pinched her nose teasingly.
George watched his children, a warm smile tugging at his lips.
In his heart, he was thankful for this version of Georgie.
The reckless, stubborn kid had somehow grown into someone mature, almost overnight.
Maybe God had changed him.
Maybe that dream he had about the Pearly Gates had really been something divine.
Whatever it was, George could only be grateful.
For the first time, he felt like he had succeeded as a father.
"What are you guys doing?"
Mary's voice suddenly interrupted.
She stood behind them, Sheldon trailing behind her.
"Ugh… why do I have to be out here?" Sheldon grumbled.
"I don't want to donate my blood to these filthy mosquitoes!"
Missy smirked. "Then you should go to sleep," she teased, waving her hand dismissively, "Like a little kid." And said quietly but Sheldon hear it cause he have Vulcan Hearing.
Sheldon groaned but plopped down next to Georgie, wrapped in a thick blanket.
"Haha, you really don't have to be here," Georgie chuckled.
Sheldon ignored him, staring at the fire instead.
George watched as his family slowly gathered around him, warmth spreading through his chest.
Mary stood by his side, observing the chaos—Missy teasing Sheldon, Sheldon grumbling back, Georgie laughing as he tried to separate them.
It was a simple night.
But for George, it felt special. Well, Until he hear another woman voice who disturb him with this warmness.
"Can I join you guys?" A voice came from behind them.
Connie stood there, holding two beers, She handed one to George.
"I know you've already gone past your beer limit for the night," she admitted. "But… consider this my apology."
She glanced at Georgie, waiting for his approval. "I approve for tonight." Georgie said, giving her the go-ahead.
George squinted at the beer on the table, then at Connie. "…What's the catch?"
Connie wasn't the apologizing type.
This wasn't normal.
He narrowed his eyes, skeptical.
Connie sighed, staring at the brisket.
"Because of this," she finally said, motioning toward it. "This stupid brisket recipe started a fight—and it hurt Mary and the kids."
George scoffed. "You and I both know this isn't about the brisket recipe. Even Georgie knows that."
Sheldon's head snapped toward Georgie, "…It's not?" he asked, confused.
Missy looked at Georgie as well.
Georgie simply shushed them, "Let them talk first." he whispered.
George ignored them, standing up to check the brisket.
"It's not about the recipe," he admitted. "It's about you and me."
He carefully placed the meat inside the offset smoker, then turned back to Connie.
"Connie, you've had plenty of chances to give me that recipe," he said firmly. "But you never did—because you still see me as an outsider."
Mary opened her mouth to argue, but—
"I did," Connie interrupted.
Her voice was sharp, annoyed, but there was something softer beneath it. "Damn right I did," she added, her tone lowering. "I never thought you were good enough for my daughter."
She turned to look at Mary, her face unreadable.
"You came riding in on that stupid motorcycle…" Connie exhaled sharply. "…Just to knock her up." She scoffed.
"Tell me, George—what mother would ever accept that?"
Mary was slightly taken aback by Connie's words. Her eyes instinctively shifted toward her children—particularly toward Georgie.
She worried that he might have taken offense or drawn some hint from what Connie had said. But instead, Georgie just gave her a reassuring smile.
He wasn't bothered at all.
Missy, on the other hand, listened intently, eyes flickering between George and Connie.
"Ooh, this is some juicy gossip," she whispered—only for Georgie to pinch her cheek.
"Be cool," he muttered. "This is Dad and Memaw's moment."
Missy pouted, rubbing her cheek, while Sheldon simply sighed—as if silently mocking her for being a immature child.
George took a deep breath, looking at his family. Then, he sat back down, "…I know. I understand," he admitted.
He turned to Missy, "I have a daughter too. I understand how you felt." His voice was softer now.
"I wouldn't want her bringing home a guy like that, either."
Georgie—seated right beside Missy—pulled her into a side hug. "…Should I buy a shotgun?" he joked, only to receive a sharp glare from Mary.
George glanced at Georgie and gave him an approving thumbs-up.
"But I've changed a lot since then," George continued.
"I always treated your daughter right. I've done my best for my family. I love my family." He met Connie's gaze, "…Including you."
Connie stared at him.
This time, there was no hostility in her expression.
Finally, she sighed. "…Alright."
"You're right."
Then, she turned to Georgie, who was still smiling at her, "…You're damn right I love this family."
She looked back at George.
"…George, I'm sorry."
Her voice was genuine.
George felt it.
This wasn't just an empty apology—this was something he had waited years to hear.
"That means more to me than the damn recipe!" George said, smiling sincerely.
He grabbed the beer Connie had given him, raised it slightly in a toast, and took a sip—his smile never fading.
{My brother said this was never about the brisket recipe. It was about my father and Memaw's relationship.
At first, I didn't understand why a brisket recipe would be so deeply tied to their bond…
But after hearing Dad finally express his feelings, I realized something—
Sometimes, the biggest things hide behind the smallest details.} — Adult Sheldon.
Sheldon furrowed his brow, watching George and Connie laugh together. "…Does this mean Dad doesn't need the brisket recipe anymore?"
His voice was loud enough to stop the moment.
"…What?" George blinked, looking at him.
Georgie facepalmed.
So close.
Missy let out a sigh, as if Sheldon had just ruined a perfect ending.
"Sheldon, how do you know Memaw's brisket recipe?" Mary asked, narrowing her eyes.
Sheldon adjusted his posture. "Memaw told me."
"What?!" Connie's head snapped toward him. "I never told you that!"
"Yes, you did," Sheldon corrected, his voice completely flat.
"February 14th, 1982. Valentine's Day. The night Mom and Dad went out for their dinner date."
George sighed, rubbing his temple hearing that, "Sheldon… you weren't even two years old."
"Are you seriously telling me you remember Memaw's brisket recipe?" and he look at Sheldon face seriously.
Sheldon's expression didn't change, "Yes. I have eidetic memory, remember?"
His tone was pure sarcasm.
Georgie sighed. "Alright, alright." And he look at them, "The main issue is resolved—we all know Dad and Memaw are good now."
Then, he turned especially to George, "And you don't need the recipe, Dad. The brisket you smoked tonight? It can compete with Memaw's."
He said it with full confidence.
Memaw smirked. "Oh, really?" She leaned forward, "Then tell me—what recipe did you come up with?" she challenged.
Georgie simply shrugged.
He didn't care about the recipe.
Because in the end… this was never about the brisket.
He calmly listed the ingredients.
Memaw listened, her face unreadable.
Then, she turned to Sheldon.
"…Did you tell on him?"
Sheldon stared back, completely expressionless. "How could I?" he asked. "I just recovered the memory this afternoon."
"He's right, Memaw," Georgie added. "Even though Sheldon has an eidetic memory, the memory of your recipe was buried deep. It needed a trigger to resurface." Sheldon nodded at Georgie's said.
"THEN HOW DO YOU KNOW MY RECIPE?!" Memaw shouted, completely panicked.
George froze, his eyes wide.
Then, slowly, he turned to Georgie, who simply shrugged.
"Ohhh!!!"
George whooped, raising his hand.
High-five.
"Well," Sheldon muttered, analyzing Georgie's version of the recipe.
"It's slightly different from Memaw's… but the core ingredients are almost identical."
George beamed, his confidence in his brisket skyrocketing.
He turned toward his offset smoker like it was his baby.
"Ohhh, my baby…" he murmured, running a hand over it.
Mary groaned, rolling her eyes looking at him like that.
Connie huffed—because, annoyingly, Sheldon was right.
The core of the recipe was the same.
But Georgie had experimented with a few flavors.
"Fine. We'll see tomorrow whose brisket is better," Connie declared, taking a long sip of beer then—.
"Cooper!"
A voice called out from across the yard. Herschel, their neighbor, peered toward them.
"What the hell are you all doing?" he asked, but his voice was hushed as he glanced back at his house—clearly checking to see if his wife had heard him.
"Herschel," George greeted, still glowing from his brisket revelation, "Come join us!."
"…Can I?" Herschel whispered, looking nervous.
George smirked, "Your wife doesn't know you're out there, does she?"
"Not exactly… I was just heading to check on the chickens, and then I heard all of you," Herschel admitted, "…Hold on. I'll be right over there." Then, he disappeared.
George chuckled, shaking his head, "Herschel's coming." He said to his family with huge smile on his face.
"HERSCHEL!!!"
But his Smile disappeared after hearing a woman's voice screamed from the distance.
Silence.
Then—
"…Ohhh boy."
They all knew what that meant.
The Sparks family was about to crash the party.
George and Mary exchanged awkward glances, "…Well," Georgie laughed, clapping his hands together, "The more, the merrier!"
Mary raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure?"
"Yes!" Georgie grinned. "I bet Bobbi and Billy will join too."
At the mention of Bobbi, Missy scowled, "…Bobbi…" she grumbled.
On the other hand—
Sheldon paled.
"…Bobbi!" he whispered, looking horrified. He turned to Mary, "Mom, I'm exhausted. Can I go to bed now?"
Mary opened her mouth to respond but before she could—
"George!" The man finally arrived—grinning, but looking like a man who had just accepted his fate.
And behind him, Brenda Sparks, Bobbi Sparks, and Billy Sparks following after Herschell.
George sighed, "Herschel. Brenda."
"…George," Brenda greeted back.
Yeah.
Tonight just got a lot bigger.