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Me: I can’t be sure, but it kind of feels like you’re trying to engage in the kind of conversation we’ve established (about a billion times) is off the table.
You’d think after fourteen years of this, she’d give up on trying to go all fortune-teller on me, but evidently, old habits die hard.
C: I have no idea what you’re talking about, my dear.
Me: But shouldn’t you know? I mean, you ARE the psychic.
C: Oh, right. I guess I forgot. The reminder is greatly appreciated.
Me: Very funny.
C: Enjoy your day, Remington.
On a half laugh, half sigh, I slide my phone back into my pocket and stare out into the backyard of Wes and Winnie’s brownstone. Immediately, my eyes spot the vacant pile of dirt in the far-right corner that sits beside a small shed within the privacy fence.
Looks like another vegetable garden has officially bitten the dust.
I smile to myself and move my attention back to my family, the entire Winslow clan together again for a Saturday afternoon barbecue. Since the Mavericks have a home game this week, Wes and Winnie offered to play host.
Lexi puts on a song from her phone, a party beat that everyone in the world knows by name, and Howard doesn’t hesitate to stand up from his seat with a jovial clap of his hands.
“Oh yeah! I know this one!”
“Get it, Howard!” Jude cheers him on, a beer in his right hand and his left arm wrapped around his wife Sophie’s shoulders.
My mother’s boyfriend has now not only garnered her and my youngest brother’s attention, but the entire family’s attention too. Uncle Brad and Wes grin from their spots by the grill. Aunt Paula and Mom and Winnie giggle from their seats on the deck. An amused Ty stands behind Rachel with his arms around her waist. Flynn and Daisy stand side by side, each one holding one of their eight-month-old twins on their hips—Ryder on Flynn’s and Roman on Daisy’s.
And I move to stand by Lexi as she continues to blast the familiar music from her phone.
My nephews giggle and clap their chubby little hands as Howard swings his hips in a circle and jump-turns by ninety degrees. And it doesn’t take many more of his dance moves before everyone falls into laughter so hard that Winnie can’t hide her infamous piglike snorts.
I never knew a man in his early seventies could know the Macarena this well, but as I’ve learned over the last several months of his courtship with my mom, Howard Sulken is full of surprises.
In calf-height crew socks, white New Balance shoes, and a tucked-in polo and jean shorts, Howard is the epitome of a “dad.” It’s ironic, really, for a man who’s spent this many years of his life without kids to fit so well into a family with five of them. But he’s good to our mom, he’s ridiculously funny, and I’ve never met someone who owns their style as much as he does.
I can’t do anything but like the guy. For once in my life, I feel like there’s someone there to take care of my mom. Lord knows Wendy Winslow certainly deserved this a whole hell of a lot earlier in life, but I’m grateful she finally has it now.
Once the song comes to an end, good ol’ Howard bows dramatically to the applause that surrounds him. “Thank you! Thank you! I’ll be here all night!”
“Yo, Howard! Do that thing! The thing you do with the word association!” Ty shouts excitedly, not even bothering to make himself seem aloof or disinterested.
For a guy who, in the beginning, was as skeptical as a police officer during an interrogation with a pathological liar about our mother dating someone she met on the internet, he’s the exact opposite now. If he weren’t engaged to Rachel, I’d think he was going to propose to Howard himself.
“You got it.” Howard, ever the people pleaser, nods, dusting his hands off in preparation like any good dad would do. “Who do you want me to start with?”
“Remy,” Ty says and shines a sarcastic, I’m-a-real-asshole kind of smile in my direction. “Definitely Remy.”
I almost groan aloud, but I know damn well that would result in way too much sibling satisfaction. Instead, I shrug, cross my arms over my chest, and raise my eyebrows as I wait.
“I like a man who is ready.” Howard snaps his fingers. “Okay, Remy. The point of the game is to answer as quickly as possible. No time for thinking. No second chances. I’m going to throw a one-word question at you, and you have to answer back with the first word that comes to mind.”
I nod. “Sounds simple enough.”
“Ha! That’s where you’re wrong, bro!” Ty exclaims through cupped hands around his mouth.
Seriously? How bad can a one-word game be?
“Shoes?” Howard asks.
And of course, all I can think to say is, “New Balance.”
