Page 98 of All the Ugly Things
“Not so old I still can’t whip you for calling me old.”
“Please. You’ve never whipped anyone. You’re too soft.” He poked his dad in the ribs and stepped back.
This was a normal family, filled with misfits and love and loud laughter and probably messes that didn’t always get picked up immediately after making them without consequences.
It wasn’t entirely foreign to me. Most of my friends in high school, especially Kendra, came from families like this. Not all. Many were far less than perfect. Some I wouldn’t have wanted to trade my own family in for. It’d just been so long since I was around normalcy, my skin started to itch, like I was draped in a cheap wool sweater.
“As soon as these yahoos stop arguing over the bread and get it cooking, dinner will be ready,” David said. “Can I get you something to drink?”
A half-emptied wine glass sat on the counter, lipstick print that matched Jenna’s mouth color on the rim. Two other glasses were out, filled with what looked like beer. “Water, please. Thank you.”
“I’ll get it,” Hudson said. His hand settled at my lower back, gently guiding me toward the barstools close to Brandon. “Have a seat. Relax,” he whispered into my ear.
Tension in my shoulders and neck relaxed at the soft command. I hadn’t realized I was so tense, but as I scooted onto the stool, it left me with a gentle whoosh.
Right.
Family.
Dinner.
Normal Sunday things.
I could do this.
He returned with two water bottles, sliding one in front of me and uncapping his own bottle.
Next to me, Brandon capped the garlic salt, but I took it from him. “More garlic,” I said. “Jenna’s right.”
She laughed, that boisterous contagious sound, and slapped her hand to the counter. “I love you already.”
“Word to the wise,” Brandon said, smiling down at me. “Jenna is always right. Or at least she believes she is.” He shot his fiancée a wink, filled with intent even I, as inexperienced as I was, could see the playful wickedness in.
“You know what they say. Happy wife, happy life.”
“That’s the truth,” David said. “Is that bread finally ready yet, or are we going to be waiting until tomorrow to eat dinner?”
I gave the garlic salt shaker another pass over the bread. “It’s good now.”
* * *
I expecteddinner to be as lively as the dinner prep time had been.
I couldn’t have been more wrong.
As soon as the oven timer went off, signaling the bread was done, David told us all to take a seat. Jenna and Brandon slid into chairs across from Hudson and me, David at the head of the table sandwiched by the guys.
Then, everyone descended on dinner like vultures, terrified they might never eat another meal again. Instead of laughter and conversation, there were mumbled, “Oh damn, this is good. Keeps getting better. More bread.” That last from Jenna.
Said multiple times.
The girl could eat her weight in carbs at a single meal, I was certain.
Through it all, there was little talk of work. Instead, there was teasing about the golf season over, banter over the football season and predictions on who would make the Super Bowl.
According to Jenna, that was the Carolina Rough Riders—because she loved their teal and blue uniforms. Also, because according to her, the quarterback Beaux Hale had the best ass in the NFL and was from Des Moines, so he was a hometown favorite.
Brandon smiled indulgently at her as she explained all this, shaking his head as if he found her favorite team based on colors and hometowns adorable and absolutely acceptable.
