I tip my head to hers, resting in her comfort. “I’m having dinner with my family. It would mean a lot to me if you would join me.”
She looks up with a smile at my invitation. I can’t believe I ever hesitated to let her into my life. I want her seeping into every nook and cranny of me.
“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”
“Cannery River” by Green River Ordinance
Present Day
“DO YOU THINK I look all right? Am I dressed okay for dinner with your family?” Celia asks as she turns for me on her front porch. Her yellow skirt billows around her knees as she twirls. She clasps the top button of her white sweater and looks up at me for approval. I eye her from head to toe, taking my time before answering. I can’t help it; she’s so damn cute when she squirms.
“You look beautiful. Well, except for one thing.”
“What?” She looks down at her body and smooths her dress nervously, searching for what’s out of place.
“I think you have a little something right here.” I bend down and bury my face in the crook of her neck. My hands wrap around her tiny waist, and I pull her into me. She giggles as I lightly run my lips over her delicate neck, up to her ear. “You steal my breath.”
“Oh,” she whispers, and I feel her body relax as she falls into me.
Yes, Tink, fall into me.
I swat her ass playfully, and her body jolts at the contact. When her surprised eyes meet mine, I can’t help but grin. “I especially like your glitter dust, although I think you’d sparkle without it.”
“Why thank you,” she says, with a tiny curtsy and a flip of her skirt.
“And the little girl shoes are hot.”
“They’re called Mary Janes.” She rolls her eyes as she swings her purse over her shoulder.
“Whatever they’re called, they make you look innocent and naughty at the same time. I see lots of spankings in your future, Tink.”
The fire in her eyes says, “Bring it on.”
We drive to my grandparents’ house with the constant chatter of the world according to Celia Lemaire. She talks about how she wishes Adam would introduce Sara to his children. She tells me how worried she is about Alex. She just knows something is bothering her, but can’t put her finger on it. She tells me all about her phone calls from Audrey and how much she’s enjoying being in Chicago for training. I’m starting to notice the only thing Celia won’t talk about is herself. I know very little about her past. When I prompt her, she only gives vague answers and then changes the subject. She’s become quite the mystery to me.
When we arrive, Mom and Granny are sipping sweet tea on the front porch rocking chairs. If I know them at all, it’s of the Long Island variety. Granny calls sunset “tea time,” which is another way of saying, “Pour your old grandmother a stiff drink.” And it’s deserved; she’s endured Sarge for the last fifty years.
Celia’s halfway up the front porch steps before I round the truck to open her door. Mom jumps up, arms outstretched, and they both let out a squeal. She envelops Celia in a bear hug, tipping side to side while she squeezes.
“Come here, girl. Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes? How are you? How’s Eddie?” Mom peppers Celia with questions, and she answers them as quickly as she can, equally excited to see my mom again.
I catch up to them about the time they reach Granny’s rocking chair. I slide my arm around Celia’s waist and tuck her into my side. My possessive gesture earns a scowl from Mom.
“Good to see you, too, Mom. Yes, I’ve been quite well,” I say, feeling a bit dejected. Where’s my hug? Where’s my squeal?
My comments earn me a swat on the back of the head, followed by a hard tug of my arm. Once I reach lip level, Mom gives me a loud smacking kiss on my cheek, then she wipes away the remnants in classic Mom-style.
Granny stands and crooks her finger at me. I bend down so she can cradle my face in her delicate, wrinkled hands. Her eyes shine with such love and pride. Under her gaze, I feel tiny pricks of heat and moisture in my nose and behind my eyes. I sniff to beat it back, because I’m a man, damn it. I scoff in the face of teary-eyed bitches. Do you think Clint Eastwood cries when his grandma hugs him? Exactly.
“Granny, I have someone I’d like you to meet,” I say as I clear my throat and shake off the girly feelings.
“I see that,” Granny says with a smile as she turns her attention to Celia and grabs her hand. “My daughter speaks very highly of you, Miss Celia. I feel as if I already know you.”
Celia unwraps her arm from my waist and encloses Granny’s outstretched hand between both of hers. “Maybe you do,” she whispers back with a tiny smile.
Granny pulls Celia toward her and wraps her in a hug. I hear the familiar screech of a hearing aid, and Granny’s hand flies to her ear.
“I’m so sorry, dear. This hearing aid could wake the dead.”
“Don’t apologize. The sound doesn’t bother me at all,” Celia says. Now I know she’s just trying to be polite, because that noise is shrill enough to make you piss your pants.
“Where’s the old man?” I ask, almost hoping he’s out somewhere and won’t be able to make it. I know it’s wishful thinking, though, because he doesn’t get out much anymore. I wish I didn’t feel that way, but it’s hard to know what kind of mood he’ll be in lately.
“He’s resting,” Mom says, a frown tugging at her lips. “We had a rough day.”
“Oh, did we?” I raise my eyebrows in question.
“Why don’t we all have a seat and enjoy this sunset. It’s tea time, Cain,” Granny says with a slightly raised voice, effectively stopping the current conversation. “Grab glasses for you and Celia inside, will you? Dear, you must taste my sweet tea. I add just a smidge of peach and a slightly bigger smidge of vodka.”
“That sounds tasty.” Celia’s giggle filters through the foyer as I walk inside to get the glasses.
Granny’s table is covered with dishes, and I swear I’ve entered my personal nirvana. Crawfish fettuccine, homemade garlic bread, salad, and a chocolate cake the size of a small country stare back at me, and I rub my hands together in anticipation.
“Granny, from the bottom of my growling stomach, I thank you,” I say as I reach for the garlic bread to pass it around the table.
She leans over and swats my hand, and I pull it back with a scowl. “Boy, you know better than that. Lila, sweetheart, will you please say grace?”
“Of course, Momma,” she says, and we all join hands. I lace my fingers through Celia’s, and she gives me a quick squeeze. “Lord, we are humbled by your blessings. Thank you for my loving family, beautiful new friends, and—”
I hear the footsteps approaching before I see him. Sarge saunters into the dining room and lays his hand on the base of Mom’s neck.
“Lila, sweetheart, that’s a fine story you’re telling, but we’re all starving to death. Wrap it up, sweets,” he bellows with a laugh, not caring much if everyone else joins in.
Mom plasters a smile on her face, acting unfazed by the interruption. “And we thank you for this delicious food to nourish us. Please watch over us and those we love. In God’s name we pray.”
“Amen,” we all say in unison.
Sarge stands still behind Mom, his hands squeezing the back of her chair and eyes each of us, one by one. He stays on Celia for a moment before darting his eyes to me with a smirk.
“I see our boy brought company. Anyone going to introduce me?”
“Sarge, this is my friend, Celia,” I say evenly, unable to get a read on his mood.