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Relaxing my clenched fist, I take Poppy’s hand instead. She looks at our interwoven hands in surprise, but then she leans into me, laying her head on my shoulder. “Weddings are nice.”
I’m not as good with words as she is, but she seems to understand the depth of what I’m trying to express. I feel her smile against my shoulder, and then she stays snuggled into me for the remainder of the ceremony.
At the reception, things start off well as Mom looks overjoyed. “Isn’t she beautiful?” she gushes as Caylee and Evan spin around the floor for their first dance. Mom sips at a champagne, her eyes twinkling.
“She looks great, Mom,” I tell her.
Spying the ring on Poppy’s finger, Mom zeroes in. “Ooh, it’s lovely! Soon, it’ll be your day too.”
“Thank you. Uh, yeah . . . soon,” Poppy says, her eyes cutting to me.
I laugh a little uncomfortably and put my arm around Poppy’s shoulders. “Let’s enjoy Caylee’s day and catch our breath before rushing into another wedding.”
Mom nods absently, dabbing at her eyes. “I know. I’m just so happy.”
She looks it, truly delighted at Caylee’s big day and the beginning of married life with Evan. Hell, she looks happier than I’ve seen her in years.
“Oh, there’s the Parkers. Excuse me,” Mom whispers before taking off to mingle.
Poppy leans in to tell me, “You’re handling everything well.”
“So far, but the night is young,” I tease.
But as if I foretold it myself, as Poppy and I move around, my mood quickly darkens as some of the reasons I have stayed away make themselves noticeable. “Hide the silverware,” Justin, one of my cousins, stage whispers as he comes by. “Con-air’s around.”
“Con-air?” Poppy whispers, and I grit my teeth.
“A nickname I got when I first got in trouble,” I reply, not letting myself get baited.
Another relative, who I don’t even know, walks by and openly looks me up and down before telling the woman at her side, “He’s strictly look but don’t touch. Sticky hands, if you know what I mean. Let me introduce you to someone worth your time.”
Poppy gapes and almost goes after the woman. I can picture it now . . . she’d rip her back by her hair and demand that she apologize to me for what she said. But I don’t want to cause a scene. Today is about Caylee.
“No mosh pits, and no fights for my honor among people who have none,” I warn Poppy. She narrows her eyes, giving a threatening version of the stink eye to the two women, but she stays at my side.
“Of course. But I may need to make a pit stop later, you know, if they go powder their noses.” She says it sweet as sugar and innocent as can be, but something tells me Poppy will introduce them to Paulette the Purse since Gary the Golf Club is at home.
We mingle, some people cordial and civilized, but then I hear a voice that scrapes along my spine like nails on a chalkboard. “Connor! Come see the aunts and uncles.”
I breathe in deeply through my nose, turning to see Aunt Audrey along with a few of my other ‘aunts’ and ‘uncles’, those cousins from an older generation. Most of them, of course, believe the hype and not the reality about me.
“Hello, Audrey,” I say flatly. “Gene, Lisa, Bernie.”
“Hello, Con-air,” Bernie, who if I remember right, took to that nickname harder than any of my other family members, chortles. “Keeping your nose clean these days?”
“Cleaner than yours,” I reply smoothly, staring at the bulbous nose in question.
Bernie starts sniffing and rubbing his nose, trying to ‘hide’ the nonexistent booger while also wondering if there’s something I know that he’d rather I didn’t. It’s no secret that he’s had some indiscretions of his own, both personal and professional.
Next to me, Poppy smirks, and Audrey, of course, notices. “Hello again, Poppy. Ian’s around here somewhere, I’m sure.”
“I’m sure he is. He probably doesn’t get far on that short leash you’ve got him on, does he?” She winks and then laughs as though she’s joking. But Audrey’s face pinches in anger.
“So, you’re Connor’s girlfriend?” Lisa, who’s been one of Aunt Audrey’s biggest sycophants since well before I was born, says. “I’ve heard so much about you. What is it that you do again?” It’s an obvious setup, but Poppy doesn’t take the bait.
“I’m an author, working on my second novel.”
Audrey sniffs, clearly still trying to cast shade. “She writes romance books.”
Lisa gasps on cue, looking like she just smelled a three-day old rotten egg fart. “I see.”
“Hmph,” Bernie, who probably doesn’t know anything about romance books, or knowing his personal history, about romance at all, grunts. “You know what a criminal degenerate this one is, don’t you?”
“Trust me, she knows,” I growl. Bernie’s always been one of the family members most obsessed with my criminality.
