THE CHOICE

TWO

JACK WEAVED HIS WAY THROUGH a labyrinth of city streets and traffic lights, before hitting the 610 Bypass that would take him away from downtown Houston and toward Jacinto City where he, his wife Madison, and their two-year-old son Connor made their home. One day they'd finally bite the bullet and purchase something bigger, maybe in the newly-constructed Hundred Willows Community on the other side of the city.

A low growl came from Jack's stomach. He put a hand on it, remembering he hadn't eaten anything for several hours. But that was a quick fix. One phone call to Door Dash and he'd have a hot order of Applebee's pulling up in front of the house right as he was coming into the driveway. Madison wouldn't be home from her yoga class until after nine and the babysitter would've already given Connor his dinner hours ago. In fact, the two of them were probably sitting on the couch right now eating popcorn or ice cream sundaes and watching Paw Patrol.

Jack placed his dinner order and closed the app on his phone, growing even hungrier as visions of applewood-smoked ribs and loaded mashed potatoes danced in his head. He was coming up on the interchange where I-10 meets 610 when his phone beeped and lit up. It was an email from the boss himself. He got off at the very next exit, pulled into a Shell station, and checked the email. Any other time, even a work-related email would've waited until he got home or wherever he was going. But Max Donaldson didn't email him very often, especially after hours. Something was up.

The email was short and to the point. "Let's do lunch tomorrow. My treat. 1pm. Brennan's." Jack quickly tapped out a reply. "I'll be there, sir."

He sat his phone back on the middle console and stared out the windshield for a few seconds, wondering why the invite to lunch. He wasn't afraid of getting fired. Donaldson wouldn't take him to a restaurant to do that. It wasn't his style. Max was more the type to come in your office at the end of shift (after he'd suckered a full work day out of you) and fire you on the spot, and then pontificate for ten minutes straight, outlining every little reason why your tenure at Maxwell Sales Solutions was coming to an abrupt halt.

Jack shook his head, clearing his thoughts. A different notion popped into his head-his Door Dash order. He pulled the gearshift into drive and continued on his way, once again lost in wonderment at exactly what it was Max wanted to tell him. What was so important that it warranted a free meal at one the swankiest restaurants in the Houston metroplex?

Maybe it was something huge-maybe even something that would mean more money in Jack's pocket. Then again, it could be nothing at all. And if it turned out to be nothing at all, at least he'd get some grilled oysters and pecan-crusted catfish out of the deal, and Jack was completely okay with that.