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“Hey, nice shirt,” Jeff said, pointing to Grant’s graphic tee.
Grant dipped his head, but I could tell he enjoyed the compliment. “Thanks.”
“Which reminds me,” Marcus said, handing the pie to his mom, then unbuttoning his shirt to reveal the graphic tee under it.
“I’m just here to spill the tea,” he said, reading his shirt out loud, and all I could do was stare, noting the photo of a ship beneath the words. It was meant to represent the Boston Tea Party but with a modern twist.
“Ooh, good one,” Grant said, and they high-fived.
Keisha was also watching them with a strange expression, and that made me snap out of it. Marcus had gone out of his way—again—to make my kid feel welcome. I almost expected him to produce another tee for me to wear like he did on Halloween, and I was glad to be wrong, honestly. I nearly teased him about it, but I didn’t think Grant would take it too well that I had no desire to match them. At least not in this setting, when I already felt like we were intruding.
“What can I say?” Marcus shrugged as I finally got my mouth to lift into a smile. “Grant has a kickass T-shirt collection, and I wanted to join him.”
Keisha and Aunt Sherry exchanged amused glances, and I shifted uncomfortably as my gut churned. Could they see it now? How close we’d all grown? Marcus had mentioned how close Keisha had been to Carmen. Would she feel the same as my in-laws? Like Marcus was moving on?
Once Marcus got us drinks and Arlene brought out appetizers to tide her guests over, we hung out in the living room for a bit, watching football and chatting about general stuff, like my job and Luis’s love of any and all sports.
Grant wanted nothing to do with sports, so he ended up sitting near Keisha and Jeff, discussing his trip to Worthy’s in his chatterbox way, telling them how much he liked the shop. Keisha told him more about their grandfather, who, like Marcus, was always tinkering with one project or another, and Grant listened with rapt attention, which was heartwarming.
I stood at one point and went to look at the family photos hanging on the wall near the couch, noting younger versions of Marcus and Keisha, as well as several from Carmen and Marcus’s wedding. The largest picture was one I’d already seen on the end table at Marcus’s house. I thought I’d have probably liked Carmen, and I had a feeling she and Rebecca would’ve gotten along famously. Both were strong, smart women. I could see now how they’d married their counterparts—me, way less self-possessed than Rebecca, and from what Marcus had told me of his marriage, he’d been pretty laid-back, sometimes to his detriment. I wondered what that meant when it came to our friendship and how we just seemed to fit.
Marcus came to stand beside me, offering me a glass of red wine. “Sorry, no bourbon,” he quipped.
“Probably for the best.” I took the offering and sipped slowly, enjoying the mellow taste.
“There must be a story there,” Keisha said with an arched eyebrow.
I looked over at Grant, who was talking to Jeff about his classes, and thought he’d likely remember the night I’d had too much to drink.
“Never mind,” I said, and Marcus laughed, winking at his sister. She shook her head as she went into the kitchen to assist Arlene with the meal. Earlier I offered to help, but was practically run out of the room because I was considered a guest.
“Is this your father?” I pointed to a photo of a white man sitting on a dock with a younger version of his mom. Their fishing rods were leaning against a pole beside a tackle box.
“Yeah.” His shoulder pressed against mine, making my stomach flood with warmth. “That’s the 55th Street pier.”
“Seriously?” I looked closer, noticing the familiar Lake Erie horizon as well as the boulders lining the shore that broke the waves during storms. Sometimes they got so high that water would splash on the freeway as you were driving by on Interstate 90.
“City fishing,” Aunt Sherry said. “Those two loved sitting on that pier together, watching the sunrise.”
“That sounds nice.” I glanced over my shoulder. “Did you ever join them?”
“Heck no.” She made a face. “It’s boring sitting there for hours. I gotta keep moving.”
“She’s got that right,” Luis said, and we all laughed. Guess he’d been listening all along, even though he rarely contributed to the conversations. I had an uncle like that—my dad’s brother. Quiet and kind and drastically different from my father, who was very opinionated. No wonder they’d had a falling-out.
“Time to eat,” Keisha called from the dining room, and we made our way to sit around the table. Arlene was at one end, and Marcus at the other, near the turkey, which he began carving, so it must’ve been a family tradition. There were all sorts of side dishes in the middle of the table, from sweet potatoes to collard greens, and soon enough, they were being passed around, and we were all digging in.
