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Yoko grinned. “Think you can trick me? Turn your hand the other way.”
Maggie indeed was holding her hand in the opposite direction. “Dang. I can’t put anything past you.”
Yoko handed Maggie a small wax-paper bag. “Here. Just for you.”
Maggie ripped the bag open like a little kid who just got a surprise. “Dumplings!” She popped one in her mouth. “Yum!”
“They’re called gyoza. Show some respect, please,” Yoko teased. She handed Maggie a large basket.
“Yikes. What’s in here?” Maggie grunted.
“A few pounds of chicken. Some beef. Some shrimp.”
“Geez, you’d think you were feeding an army.”
Yoko stopped in her tracks and eyed Maggie up and down.
“Alright. Alright.” Maggie lugged the basket to the back door.
Charles greeted them. There was a yapping of approval from the dogs as well. “Let’s have that.” He took the basket from Maggie. Yoko followed with another. The clanking of bottles was the tip-off that there was sake in their future.
There were lots of hugs and a cacophony of remarks and questions: “So good to see you!” “What’s happening?” “How’s Abner?” “Harry?”
Then came a multitude of answers.
“Harry is at a training camp for the next six weeks,” Yoko offered her husband’s whereabouts to the group.
“Abner is at a geek convention. Oops, sorry, Zoe,” said Izzie.
“Nikki and Jack are in Toronto, Kathryn in Atlanta,” Myra explained.
Charles addressed Yoko. “Let me help you with all of that.” The two of them began unpacking the food.
Fergus handled the sake. “Very nice.” He held up a bottle of Shichida Junmai Ginjo. “From the southern part of Japan.”
“It is!” Yoko exclaimed. “And it should be served cold.”
“Most definitely,” Charles agreed.
“Most people drink it warm, but that’s really used to disguise cheaper grades,” Yoko added.
“This one is clearly not a cheaper grade, dear girl,” Fergus said with approval. “I’ll pop them in the fridge in the butler’s pantry.”
“No taste testing, old chum,” Charles admonished.
Yoko took the marinated packages of chicken, steak, and shrimp from the insulated basket as Charles set an oversized grill across the six-burner stove.
“Smells divine,” Charles said as the aromas of ginger, garlic, scallions, and soy sauce wafted from the containers.
“Old family recipe,” Yoko said. “I brought skewers to make it easier.”
Lady gave a soft woof, followed by her pups and Rufus signaling another car was about to pull into the driveway.
“Must be Alexis,” Myra said. Her dogs had an individual bark for each of the Sisters. It was far superior to a Ring doorbell. Myra and Annie stood in the large opening of the twelve-foot-wide French doors that separated the atrium from the kitchen, surrounded by Maggie, Izzie, and Zoe. A tall, stunning African-American woman stepped over the threshold. She resembled the model Iman.
More hugs, kisses, questions, greetings, and a little barking filled the space.
“Just in time to set the table,” Annie said. The women began the routine of setting the table, as Maggie explained Zoe’s role as napkin folder. Zoe fell into rhythm as if she had done it before. The aroma of teriyaki on the grill permeated the air.
