“Because I was too dumb to know better?”
The corners of his mouth twitched. “So nothing’s changed then.”
“Oh, he has jokes!” I said and watched, fascinated at the way I could see him actually fighting a smile.
He lost the battle.
“Fuck off,” he said, but he said it with that smile and none of his usual anger, so I smiled too, then got back to getting dinnerready. It wouldn’t take long for the pasta to boil, so I dumped the sauce in a jar into a smaller pot to heat it.
There was the clatter of footsteps on the stairs and then Sam poked her head around the door and said, “Come and see Gracie’s amazing new hair!” in a tone that suggested that even if Gracie came down those stairs as bald as an egg, we’d better tell her how great she looked.
We nodded obediently and trooped through to the living room, and a moment later Wilder came down the stairs, leading Gracie by the hand.
Gracie’s previously wild, uneven hair had been cut into what I thought was called a pixie cut. It was still a little asymmetrical, but it looked intentional now. There was a clip with a bow on top and everything, but the biggest change was that now Gracie was wearing a smile.
“Oh wow,” Chase said, crouching down. “You look awesome, sweet pea!”
“Sam says short hair is cool!” she exclaimed, and Sam gave her a grin and a thumbs-up.
“I didn’t want to get my hair cut either,” she said. “But when the medicine made it all fall out, Mom promised she’d make it look pretty again when it grew back. And she did, right?”
Gracie beamed at her. “Yeah!”
Chase cast a wide-eyed look at me and then looked away again.
“Honey,” Mom said to Sam. “Set three extra places for dinner. The boys and Gracie are staying to eat.”
“Oh, we couldn’t,” Wilder said, his brows pulling down.
“Don’t be silly,” Mom said. “It’s no bother, and it’s already dark out. It’ll be Gracie’s bedtime by the time you get home, and you don’t want to start making dinner then.”
“Just say yes,” Sam said and headed into the kitchen. A moment later I heard the clink of plates.
“Did you want to stay, Gracie?” Wilder asked.
“Yes! Sam said we’re having shit in a jar!” Gracie said happily.
There was a moment’s horrified silence and Mom started to say, “I amsosorry?—”
Wilder just laughed. “Trust me, she’s heard worse. Alotworse.”
Which tracked, if Wilder hung around with Chase. I wondered what his deal was.
When dinner was ready, we managed to squeeze everyone around the kitchen table, though it was a tight fit. Gracie sat on Wilder’s lap and dug happily into her pasta. It felt like a long time since our house had been so busy, and I liked the energy that new people and new conversations brought to the table. Wilder was friendly, and Gracie was funny, and even Chase opened up around Mom and Sam. Mostly because Sam was still laughing at how the goose had gone for his nuts earlier in the day.
We had apricot Danishes for dessert—leftovers from Gobble de Goose, of course, and reheated for a few minutes and served with ice cream.
“How come you didn’t bring any Danishes home?” Wilder asked Chase.
“He hightailed it out of there so fast that I didn’t have a chance to tell him to take anything,” I said. I caught Chase’s gaze. “Stick around for a bit tomorrow.”
His mouth twitched. “Yeah, okay. I will.”
“Do you make Danishes at your new job, Uncle Chase?” Gracie asked, wide-eyed. A job where you made cakes and pastries probably sounded like the best thing ever to a little kid.
Chase shook his head. “Nah. I just make coffee.”
Wilder grimaced, and Chase caught it.
