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“Uh- no. Go ahead?”
“She’s pregnant,” Toren grunts. He gives Luna a funny look as he wraps his arm around her waist. “You really should start by explaining that or people are going to think you’re deathly ill and worry.”
“Do you need anything? Water? Something to eat right now? The cuddle chair in the living room is probably the most comfortable, but if you don’t like that, I could-”
Luna laughs softly. “Oh goodness, I’m fine. Thank you, though, that’s very nice. I’ll have Toren get the door if anyone else shows up.”
“Thanks.”
I make sure everyone is settling in before I dash for the kitchen. Leandra warned me about her family being strange. They’re not that strange. Just big and beefy. She also warned me about that. But, for as surely as the guys appear, the women appear even more friendly and sweet. They’re a good balance. I can’t imagine what the family meetings were like before there were more of them around. I wonder if anyone resorted to brawling?
“How’s it going out there?” Grandma asks, glancing up from a veggie tray she’s putting together. Even though we’re rich, she insists on buying all the things and cutting them up herself. She’s done the same for the crackers, meats, and cheeses.
“Did you seriously take that wine upstairs?” I ask, instead of answering her question.
She grins at me and winks. “Sure did. That’s a good vintage. Too good to waste on unappreciated pallets.”
“My pallet might not be discerning, but that doesn’t mean that other people here wouldn’t like to partake.”
“Pah! They can get their own wine.” Grandma’s hands fly over carrots, peeling them deftly.
Wes is nowhere in sight. I can’t believe he’s not helping Grandma, but she just shrugs. “He’s out by the pool. Needed a break, poor thing. He could only handle cutting up so much meat before his poor hands needed a rest.”
“Grandma…”
“What?” she asks innocently and shrugs. “Don’t worry. I promised I’d be on my best behaviour and I will. I’m not sure why you refused my pancakes, though. We could have had pancakes instead of cake. Pancakes are the food of the gods.”
I ignore that, because I am not getting into a pancake debate right now. “What about Wes?”
“Maybe he’s working himself up to it out there.”
I wonder if it’s too hot to take the cake outside? It’s sitting on the island right now, on the side away from all the overflowing food trays. I should probably serve that before Leandra and I make our announcement. We only loosely planned this, and over text at that, so I’m not sure how that’s actually going to go, but I think there will probably be a lot of surliness that makes for a lot of lost appetites.
Fuck it, I’m taking the cake outside. I still have no idea why I’m doing it, but I find myself balancing one toilet cake in one hand and sliding the patio door open with the other.
Wes is lounging by the pool, wearing slides, tan shorts, and a pink polo shirt with the collar up. I think he dresses that way just because I hate it, especially for things like this. He gives me the most obnoxious grin when he spots me.
“I need to hide this,” I inform him. “And no, I’m not answering questions about it because I don’t know why I’m hiding it in the first place.”
Wes considers that with a raised brow, then he points to the big pink flamingo pool float in the middle of the pool. “Put it on there. If anyone could get to it, that would be quite a show.”
“Are you going to lure it in for me?”
Wes shrugs, looking bored on purpose, but then he unfolds himself from the chair, grabs the net thing that we use to clean the pool and scoop out anything that might chance to take a wild leap into the waters- I’m talking anything from insects to small animals here, and no we haven’t lost one to a watery demise yet, okay maybe a few bugs here and there- and uses it to coax the huge flamingo in closer. I watch him warily, half afraid he’ll push me in and half worried that he’ll wait until I set the cake down, then push the flamingo out so I fall in all on my own.
He does neither. Instead, he helps me put the cake on and we push the float back into the middle of the pool. I point to the pool shed a few feet away. “Put anything that could reach it in there. I don’t want it getting snatched as easily as we got it out there.”
Wes gives me the strangest look, but for once he does what I ask. I guess he really is on his best behaviour. I wonder what Grandma threatened him with to keep him that way. His streak of goodness lasts until I’m walking through the back sliding doors into the kitchen, then he calls out, “by the way, how’s your poked package doing?”
