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“Guess I’ll go ahead and stock up on the Jim Beam just in case. Hell, maybe it’ll be to toast with.” He’s answering right back, letting me know that whether this goes right or totally fucked ten ways from Sunday, he’ll be here for me, celebration or consolation.
“Get the good stuff just in case.” I’m not sure if it’s just in case I need to drown my sorrows or lift it in a toast, but good whiskey is always the right option.
“Pass me the fried okra, will ya?” Luke begs.
Mama Louise ain’t having it. “You’ll wait your turn and it’ll get around to you soon enough.”
He whines about it being his favorite, but he’s just mouthing. We ignore him and continue passing tonight’s dinner platters around the table family-style, everyone taking what they want because there’s always plenty.
At least now there is. At first, when we all started eating dinner together, Mama Louise wasn’t sure how much to make to feed the additional mouths around her table. Some nights, we had mass quantities of leftovers, and others, we were fighting for the last roll.
Somewhere along the way, she figured it out and now it’s just right. Enough seats around the new table on the back porch under the fans with room to grow, as she calls it, and enough food on the table for folks to eat their fill.
Mama Louise outdid herself tonight with roast chicken, fried okra, and scalloped potatoes. When everyone’s got their plate, we dig in.
“Sure is good, Mama,” James says as he shovels his food in his mouth. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he’s afraid someone’s going to steal his plate right off the table with how fast he’s inhaling his chicken, swallowing with barely a second to chew. Truth is, he and Sophie have to eat in shifts, one eating while the other feeds their little girl, Cindy Lou, and then trading so they all get a chance to eat.
The sentiment is echoed around the table, and as hungers begin to get fed, conversation starts back up.
“And I’ll be able to bring back organic dried lavender from the farm we’re going to. I think I’m going to do a line of sleepy time products, soap and lotion. Maybe that’ll help with Cindy Lou?”
Shayanne’s been giving her daily plan for her trip just like I knew she would, so my missing her ‘big news’ was actually no big deal. She was over the moon to discover there’s a small family-owned lavender farm near the horse Luke’s going to see.
Sophie looks at Shay gratefully. “That’d be great. Can you put a rush order on that?”
Cindy Lou is the cutest baby ever, I reckon, but she’s never been a good sleeper. And with James having to get up early to drive out to the ranch and Sophie being on call all the time for Doc Jones’s vet practice and finishing up school, they need their sleep and have resorted to trying any and everything. Desperate times call for desperate measures, I guess.
But as they switch roles and James takes over feeding Cindy Lou her pureed baby food, he coos at the blonde little thing whose hair sticks straight up no matter what they do. “It’s a good thing you’re cute, isn’t it? Isn’t it? Or Daddy’d have to put you in the back yard so he could get some shut eye.” His threat is delivered with the sweetest smile in high-pitched baby-talk, so I’m pretty sure he’s kidding.
“She’ll sleep eventually,” Mama Louise predicts. “Nobody goes through life on a few hours here and a few hours there.”
Sophie mutters, “I am.”
I can see the tiredness settled on her shoulders and the faint blue tint under her eyes. But even so, she laughs at her own joke, her smile genuine.
James puts his arm around Sophie’s shoulders and pulls her in to lay a sweet kiss to her forehead. She closes her eyes, melting into him for the quick moment. When she opens them again, his eyes lock on her though he talks to his mother. “Mama, you think you might be up for babysitting tonight? Or tomorrow? Or anytime soon?”
Katelyn answers first. “We can! We’d be happy to have her over tonight and get those baby snuggles.” Her husband, Mark, seems to have a different definition of ‘happy’ because there’s a rumbling in his chest that sounds like an actual growl. But Katelyn bats her eyes at him and he quiets. She’s a full-on magician, I think.
I grew up with Brody and am therefore inordinately used to grunts and glares as a form of top-notch communication, but Mark Bennett is a whole ‘nother level of Neanderthal. If I were a betting man, I’d wager that Katelyn has a tattoo somewhere that says Property of Mark Bennett—Touch & Die.
