He shrugs. “I don’t need to vote. Trick’s food is the best, hands down. This is not to say I won’t eat the other stuff, just that Trick’s food is superior.”
“But Trick and Nolan aren’t caterers, Babe.” She rubs his back in slow circles, as if to console him.
“Maybe they should be,” he mumbles.
It takes a few minutes to get everything situated. And a few more for Betsy to pass out the ballots (yes, she made ballots) and explain the system (yes, there’s a system), but soon, we’re all filling our plates and gathering around the table to eat.
There’s chatter as we talk sports and work as well as share our opinions on the food.
“Sweet Jesus. Did anybody else try the bourbon-glazed ham? I’d sell my left nut for it,” Dunc announces.
“No one wants your left nut, Dunc,” Nick assures him.
“Speak for yourself, Nicky.” Betsy smacks him in the arm.
Dunc shoots Nick a shit-eating grin. Something tells me these two are more like brothers than friends. And more like teenagers than grown men.
“And yes,” she continues, totally ignoring the way Dunc and Nick bicker. “The ham is really good, but the spring veggie risotto is amazing.”
“Yea, the risotto gets my vote,” Gavin agrees.
Bets shoots him a look. “We don’t say our votes. This is not the Goddamn Iowa caucuses. We vote privately and individually. And we write that shit down. We don’t shout it all over the place.”
Nonplussed by his wife’s reprimand, Dunc steals a forkful from her plate. “Is the risotto really that good? Looked too vegetable-y for me.”
“Oh, my God, Dunc. Vegetables won’t kill you.”
“You sure about that, Nick? I don’t see any vegetables on your plate.”
“Are you high? I have three different kinds of potatoes on here.”
“Yea, but potatoes don’t really count as vegetables. They’re starches.”
“They grow in the ground, Dunc. That’s veggie enough for me. And they’re smothered in this—what is this sea of deliciousness?”
“It’s a creamy garlic sauce. And it’s killer. But did you try the sweet potatoes with cinnamon sugar? They’ll make you give back things you never even stole.”
“Molly’s right,” I agree. “The cinnamon sugar ones are the best. And my sister has a sweet tooth, so they get my vote.”
“Oh, my God.” Bets rolls her eyes. “That is not how the voting works! Everybody has a ballot with their name on it! They are labeled and color-coded!”
I put my hands up in mock surrender. I do not want to piss this woman off.
“You know, we really shouldn’t have to choose between potatoes,” Nick reasons casually, a ballsy move for someone who’s sitting right next to Betsy.
At her glare, he continues, “For real, Bets, hear me out. Potatoes are maybe the greatest food ever. Top three for sure. So why narrow it down to one selection? Why not offer multiple potato options?”
“Like a potato bar!” Dunc sounds like he just won the lottery. “Nicky, you’re a fuckin’ genius.”
Bets just shakes her, and I smile at her in silent appreciation for dealing with those two knuckleheads all the time.
“Hey, Simon, How’s Elaine doing?” Gav asks. “I looked this Hyperemesis Gravidarum stuff up, and it sounds awful. Any idea if or when it will let up?”
For his part, Simon looks miserable. I haven’t known the guy long, but he’s always fully invested in a conversation. It seems the wheels of his mind are always spinning, always trying to figure something out. And right now, he just looks defeated.
“She hit sixteen weeks yesterday, so it’s possible the symptoms could ease up in the next few weeks. Of course, it’s also possible they could continue right up to delivery, so…” He shrugs, looking lost without his partner.
“But,” he pastes on a smile for our benefit, “we can find out the gender at the next appointment, so that’s pretty cool.”
