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Chapter
Nineteen
“So, it’s your birthdays next week,” Maddie said to Marley and Presley. The two of them had finished work early and when Marley heard Pres was heading straight to their parents’ place to pick Delilah up, he’d tagged along, looking inordinately pleased at the prospect of a free dinner.
“The anniversary of you shitting the both of us out,” Marley said, grinning. “Congratulations, Mom.”
She rolled her eyes. “I did not… do that.” It was funny how she couldn’t bring herself to swear. When they were kids, Pres and Marley used to have bets over who could make her curse first. “And anyway, I was about to offer something nice. How about we have a cookout? The weather is good and Dad has a new grill he wants to try.”
“So you’re inviting us over and Dad will do all the work?” Marley said. “Sure.”
“Dad doesn’t do all the work,” his mom said, shaking her head. “We all know that the women do all the work for the cookout and the men get all the glory. We marinade the meat, we prep the salads and the veggies, we put out the plates and the silverware and the cups and the drinks. The guys just slap some steaks on the grill and then somehow they’re Michelin starred chefs.”
Pres’ lips twitched. His mom wasn’t wrong. He’d seen how hard she cooked for them all. “Why don’t we do it at my place?” he suggested. “I can do the work.”
“On our birthday?” Marley frowned.
“Mom did all the work on our actual day of birth. Why make her do it again?”
“I always did like you better.” Their mom winked and patted his cheek. Marley started to laugh because she’d never played favorites. Between Pres, Marley, and Hendrix there had always been more than enough love to go around.
Cassie was right. They’d lucked out in the parent department.
“Honestly, I’d love to do it here. And you boys can always come over early and help set up,” she told them.
“It’s a deal.” Pres nodded.
“So we just need to decide who to invite. Family, of course. And some of the guys from the fire station?” She looked at Marley who shrugged.
“Sure.”
“And the band?”
“If you invite Alex to the cookout you’d better buy extra steaks,” Pres said. “The guy is little but he can put it away like nobody else.”
“That’s because he can’t cook for shit,” Marley pointed out. “Remember that time he tried to make a lasagna to impress a girlfriend?”
“I do.” Presley nodded. Marley had been on call that day. When the fire department had been called out and raced to Alex’s apartment his day had been made.
He’d never let their bassist live it down.
“And Cassie, of course,” their mom said smoothly, glancing at Pres from the corner of her eye.
“Of course.” Marley bit down a grin. “Mom, never apply to the secret service. You’d make a terrible spy.”
“What?” Her mouth opened in the perfect image of innocence. “She’s a band mate, too. That’s all I meant.” She turned to look at Presley. “Unless she isn’t just a band mate?”
“She’s also Delilah’s teacher,” Pres said, his voice full of amusement. “So I guess she isn’t just a band mate.”
Marley started to laugh, as their mom sighed, looking exasperated.
“I’ll ask her,” Pres promised.
“And will she come as your band mate or…” she trailed off.
Pres glanced at her fondly. Their mom had never been the best at being surreptitious. “She’s a good friend. That’s how she’ll come.”
Marley snorted.
