Thekitchenbrigadeconsistedof Mom, James, Jessica, and me. We’d pushed the tables together so everyone could fit: Poppy, Lily, Victorine, Daniel, Berron, and the Princess of Arrows. Since Lily was present, everyone pretended to be normal.
Or as normal as they could manage.
Poppy had a handful of dog treats and kept everyone entertained by running Jester and Georgiana through their tricks. Jester could sit, beg, shake hands, high-five, and spin in a circle. Georgiana could “dance” on command by putting her paws on Poppy’s shoulders.
Victorine and Daniel, seated next to each other, looked like the king and queen in a pack of New York-themed playing cards.
Berron wore his usual hepcat gear, but must have been unable to convince the Princess of Arrows to abandon her shimmering gold getup for something less unusual. Not surprisingly, Lily spent a long time ooh-ing and ah-ing over the fabrics—gold velvet, gold chiffon, gold-embroidered linen—until I was pretty sure Lily might convince her to swap clothes in the kitchen pantry.
Berron, in the way he had of being either the most noticeable person in the room or the most hidden, chose to fade into the background. His eyes took in everything, as usual. Including me, when he thought I wasn’t looking.
When I caught him at it, he gave me a small salute and an almost-smile.
Admiration, quiet enough for me to handle.
If by the end of yesterday I’d been tempted to rest my head on his shoulder, tostopfor a moment, tolet go, I had resisted admirably. Althoughwhyit was admirable was beginning to become hazy, like trying to see the Statue of Liberty through smog. “Coca-Cola ham ready?” I said to Mom.
“Almost,” she said, readjusting the garnishes.
Jessica, who had shown close to zero interest in working with anything savory, had developed a fixation on pastry. She stood at the other end of the kitchen in an all-black kitchen outfit, meticulously putting the finishing touches on an apple spice cake frosted with fall-colored leaves.
I had once tried pointing out, in a friendly way, that her artistic background came in handy. She just gave me a patented Jessica death stare and walked away.
Her new hobby kept her out of James’s hair, anyway. He was always more of a line cook kind of guy. He was currently preparing garnishes for the twice-baked potatoes: individual ramekins of sour cream, bacon, and finely chopped chives.
The Princess of Arrows rose from her chair and tapped a spoon on her glass. We didn’t have sapphire-berry juice on tap, so it was filled with iced cranberry juice instead. When everyone turned, her serene smile beamed over us all. “I wish to give a toast,” she said. “To thank all of you for making me welcome.”
I cut a look at Berron, hoping this wasn’t going to be anything she shouldn’t say, but he gave me a hidden thumbs-up to sayIt’s okay.
Lily leaned over to me. “Where did you say she was from?”
“Upper East Side. Old money,” I whispered back. A close-enough excuse for her rare-orchid behavior.
The Princess of Arrows delicately cleared her throat. “May your heart never be heavy, for your friends will lift it. May your harvest ever be plenty, for your friends will share it. Though worlds and seasons change, we will drink to what remains: friendship.” She took a dainty sip of cranberry juice, then puckered her lips and laughed.
Everyone drank.
“Hear, hear!” Berron said.
She blushed, curtsied, and sat.
“Dinner is served!” Mom said. She hefted the Coca-Cola ham and carried it to the table. “Of course, we call it ‘supper’ where I come from.”
“Dinner, supper,” I said. “Who cares? Smells delicious.” I delivered side dishes of twice-baked potatoes, green bean casserole, and baskets of gluten-free bread warm from the oven. James dropped off garnishes and butter.
Lily’s eyes sparkled at the sight of everything on the table being safe for her to eat.
Jessica, who had been lingering in the kitchen, removed her apron and headed for the empty spot next to Daniel. He immediately stood and held her chair while she sat.
Poppy grabbed the pre-made plates for the dogs—nothing that would give either of them indigestion—and set them on the floor nearby.
The Gentry loaded their plates with the sides.
The Blessed could eat, even if they didn’t exactly crave food the same as they craved the red stuff, so they picked and choosed according to individual preference. Victorine, as usual, took barely anything. Jessica, on the other hand, had as much of an appetite for eating the savory food as she had a dislike for cooking it.
“You can’t tell it’s gluten-free,” Poppy said after a bite of fresh bread and salted Irish butter. “It tastes just like regular bread. Simply marvelous!”
“You’re not eating,” Daniel said to my mother.
