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Emma snorts her indignation. “What are you talking about? We talk about it every night.”
“No, we fire the gun every night. We don’t always talk about it before it goes off.”
My stomach is lurching. I’m stuck in a Twilight Zone hell with my crazy aunt and uncle and a woman who I married, yet don’t recall any of it. “Please stop talking about your gun. It’s a family establishment.”
Freedom leans toward me, her long hair dangling on my lap as she whispers, “You know, I always heard a guy could go blind if he messed with that too much.”
I groan.
“Oh, dearie, there’s no such thing as too much. It’s important to have a healthy sexual appetite. When you marry, you’ll understand what I mean. If you find yourself with a man who doesn’t make you want to drop your panties and grab your ankles on a regular basis, then you’re with the wrong fella,” Emma says, giving Freedom a decisive nod.
I concentrate on my menu and pretend I don’t feel Freedom’s gaze on me. I’m saved from any further discussion about ankles and grabbing them when our server arrives at our table and starts refilling coffee cups. A leg to my side slides against mine, whether by accident or on purpose, I’m not sure. I just ignore the way Freedom’s limb is pressed against mine and the way her fruity shampoo is permeating my senses and making it difficult to think of anything but her.
“And you, sir?” our server asks as she steps behind Freedom to take my order.
“I’ll take a cheese, mushroom, and green pepper omelet with a side of bacon.”
A gasp echoes over the conversations around us. “Bacon?”
When I turn her way, I find Freedom’s eyes wide in disbelieve. “I’m sorry, what?”
“Bacon? You can’t eat bacon,” she states, folding up her menu and handing it to the server. “He’ll have the tofu cakes too.”
My stomach does a pirouette straight south into Yuckville. “No, I will not eat that weird crap. I’ll have the bacon,” I tell our server, who just looks at us with a confused look on her face.
With one final glance our way, she quickly turns to Emma and Orval for their orders. I turn to the woman on my left, lower my voice, and ask, “What’s wrong with bacon?”
“There’s nothing wrong with it, per se, but I’m just really devastated about how they treat those pigs at the farm in Missouri. Did you hear about it?”
My television, when it’s on, is usually on some news program, so yes, yes I’ve heard about the large hog operation where the owners were supplementing their food with some less than quality products. A few of the pigs even died from the bad diet and the owners left their corpses in the pens for the others to feast on. A worker finally called the authorities, which ended up hitting national news when it was discovered the owner of the farm is a senator’s son.
“I heard,” I finally confirm, chugging my too-hot coffee.
“Well, then you must agree with me, right? That’s a horrible way to treat an animal,” she states, her eyes a little glossy from unshed tears. One thing I’ve learned about Freedom in the last twenty plus years, she’s incredibly soft-hearted, especially with animals, but while she doesn’t eat meat, she’s never pushed her beliefs off on anyone around her. She’s never criticized Harper or our family for that matter when we eat cheeseburgers or steak. Freedom just politely declines and picks something else.
“Horrible,” I agree, keeping my eyes ahead of me. Marissa and Rhenn chat with Kathryn and Jensen, completely oblivious to the fact I’m caught in my own personal hell, with Freedom on one side and our aunt and uncle on the other.
Once everyone has placed their orders, Latham’s dad stands up and asks for our attention. “If I could have your attention, please. Kitty and I are honored to be in Las Vegas today to celebrate the union of our son, Latham, to this incredible woman,” he says, waving his hand toward my younger sister. “Harper, you make Latham a better person with your love and compassion. We’re eager to watch you two become husband and wife, as well as blend two families for life. We’re proud of you both and wish you a lifetime of happiness. Let’s raise our cups and glasses to Harper and Latham.”
I hold my coffee cup and salute my sister and her fiancé, as my heart gallops in my chest like a stallion. They did it right. They dated, have lived together, fell in love. Now, they’re pledging their love and committing for life. The right way.
Then there’s me.
Getting shitfaced drunk and apparently marrying a woman I can barely stand. Wait, that seems a little inaccurate. It’s not that I dislike her, it’s the fact we’re so different.
A bead of perspiration slides down my spine as Freedom shifts in her chair beside me. Her hand brushes against mine in the most innocent way possibly, yet it feels like a bolt of lightning straight into my bloodstream. A pulse lives and breathes in my veins, like a reckless desire I can’t seem to contain.
All from the simplest of touches.
“We brought a gift,” Emma announces to the table, standing up and reaching for the gift bag she brought with. “I was going to wait until after the wedding for this, but I recall on my wedding day, I was terribly nervous,” she says, as she slowly makes her way to the head of the table to where Harper and Latham sit.
Harper kinda giggles but doesn’t really look nervous. In fact, I’d say she looks the opposite. She looks excited. Happy. Content.
“I was so nervous, I snuck out of my parents’ room and to the hall closet where my Orvie was hiding.”
“Oh God,” Marissa gasps, her eyes wide with shock at our aunt’s insinuation.
“Yes, that’s right, Marissa. I was calling our good Lord and savior just moments before walking down the aisle to say I do.”
