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Not that I’d ever gamble after Dad’s shitstorm with that particular vice. Or see Katelyn naked to know what marks she might have. But Mark, for all his gruffness, is transformed by the slightest look or softest touch from Katelyn.
Katelyn blows Cindy Lou a kiss with a big “Mwah! You wanna stay with Auntie Katelyn tonight, sweet girl?”
Cindy Lou smiles, kicking her pink-striped sock-covered feet, and then returns the kiss. Except it’s more like she blows a raspberry, and orange baby food goes everywhere, getting all over James and dribbling down Cindy Lou’s chin.
“Sum of a bifch!” he shouts in shock, disgust wrinkling his brow. “Oh gawd, it’s in ma mouf! I ’eed a ’apkin!”
We’re all fighting back laughter as Sophie, who hasn’t missed a beat of her own dinner, hands him a paper towel. To his credit, he wipes his daughter down first then scrubs at his own face.
“Language,” Mama Louise corrects.
You’d think she’d give up on that by now. We’re all pretty rough around the edges, even though we have some decent manners. The language rule just doesn’t seem to be one that stuck . . . to any of us. Hell, I’ve even heard the girls go off worse than any of us boys before, depending on the topic and their level of excitement or fury. Mama Louise’s fighting a losing battle on a sinking ship, but she combats every instance in her presence and says what we do when she’s not around is something we’ll have to make our own peace with.
“I think it was warranted, Mama. Do you know how gross those carrots are? Blech,” he argues his case, but Mama Louise isn’t swayed in the least as she purses her lips at him.
“Bet you’ll feel differently about your language, and everyone else’s” —she doesn’t look around the table, but we all hear the admonishment— “when that little girl starts repeating every word you say like a magpie.” She reaches over with a bare finger and wipes a bit of orange gunk out of the babe’s hair, smearing it on the paper towel James laid on the table. “And I’m happy to babysit. Not to be too crass, but I’m happy to get those baby snuggles myself so that maybe I can get another grandbaby soon. Cindy Lou wants a sibling or a cousin.”
She looks around the table this time, measuring each of us.
Mark steps up to the plate first. “Mama, you know we’re not ready so quit pestering us. You make Katelyn feel pressured.” I glance at Katelyn, whose eyes are deceptively steady. I don’t think she’s the one feeling pressured.
Mama Louise tsks. “Don’t be pawning your own nerves off on your sweet girl. We all know you’re too much of a stubborn mule to share her with a baby just yet. But I have hopes that one day, you won’t be such a selfish boy.”
I can’t help but crack the smallest of smiles at Mama Louise calling Mark a boy. He’s not as big as me, but he cuts an intimidating figure at over six feet of ‘I’d rather kill you than talk to you’ attitude.
But Mama Louise is right. I don’t know the dynamic Katelyn and Mark have, but they are deeply wrapped up in one another. It’d be cute if it weren’t so sickening.
Of course, then there’s James and Sophie, who are playful and sweet and so in love, it’ll make your teeth hurt from sugar overload. James takes the wind out of Mama Louise’s sails too. “Mama, one day . . . maybe. But right now, if you’ll take Cindy Lou tonight, I have grand plans of taking my wife to bed, curling up under the sheets, and sleeping for eight hours straight.”
Nobody thought that was where that sentence was going to go, but Sophie looks at James like he just promised her a trip to the moon or a night filled with orgasms.
Mama Louise looks at Luke but then winks at Shayanne. Mama Louise is a good mother figure for Shay, one I don’t think any of us really knew she needed. She was so young when Mom died, but Shay has always been one to tackle the world so we all thought she was fine. Really, she was, but she’s gotten close with Mama Louise and it’s done her good. I know they talk a lot about Shay’s businesses and her plans and dreams. So whatever Mama Louise already knows must answer her question about Shay and Luke.
Which leaves her with us Tannen boys as options.
Technically, any kids we may or may not have wouldn’t really be her grandchildren. But I don’t think she’s ever met someone she didn’t instantly take under her wing, whether they want it or not. As evidenced by the three tall, dark, and handsome assholes perched around her dinner table, she’s pretty much adopted us. She isn’t Mom, but I suspect that the next generation of Tannens will call her Grandma . . . and that won’t be a bad thing.
