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“I’m sorry if we were a bit . . .” I glance to the children and then back to Claire. “Exuberant?” I don’t know what else to call it. Luna and I were obnoxiously loud last night. It started in an attempt to sell the marriage farce, but it turned into out-of-control fun, something I haven’t had in too long. “We were—”
“Newlyweds,” Luna blurts out.
“What?” Claire asks, giving Luna her attention for the first time.
“We’re newlyweds,” Luna repeats. “It’s hard to . . . I mean, difficult to not . . .” She’s stumbling over her words, but her gaze is strong as she gives Claire her full focus. Finally, she gives up, sort of flailing her hands together. “You know?”
Elena pats Claire’s hand. “Dear, I think what she’s saying is . . . have you seen this fine specimen of a young man? And this beautiful, sweet woman? They’re in love, and that means a little lovin’.” Her eyes go soft, and she stares up toward the light over the table. “I remember when Thomas and I were newlyweds. Why, there wasn’t a flat surface in our house we didn’t christen. Tables, beds, floors . . . walls.” She confides to Luna, “Thomas was strong and I was a wee thing like you back in those days.”
Luna shifts uncomfortably, and I squeeze her thigh beneath my palm, stilling her with the punishing pressure.
“Aunt Elena, I don’t think anyone wants to hear about you and Uncle Thomas’ sex life!” Claire mouths the last bit more than speaks it, glancing at the kids.
“Hmph, well I’m not the one gossiping with Stanley about guests' activities after they’ve retired to their private spaces for the night, now am I?” Elena pops a cube of cheese in her mouth, having gotten the last word. “Besides, it’s how we all got here on this planet, ain’t it?”
Claire’s eyes narrow, but she does stop talking about sex, at least. Mine and Elena’s.
“Nutbuster, get your butt down! You’re smashing my balls!” Jacob shouts, pushing at Peanut Butter, who’s stood up and placed his feet on Jacob’s thigh, at an apparently sensitive location, to beg for food.
“Eh-eh.” I make the disapproving noise Kyle has used for Peanut Butter since he was a puppy, and the dog looks my way instantly. “Down.”
I point to the floor, and the dog settles back under the kids’ chairs.
“Jacob! What did you say?” Claire demands in a high-pitched voice, clearly more upset about the words than the dog.
Jacob looks over his shoulder to his mom, sensing that he’s in trouble. “Uh, she said it first.”
He points at Grace, throwing her in harm’s way without remorse to deflect trouble from himself. I damn near hear the sound of the bus rolling by as he does.
“She did?” Claire turns a mom-glare on Grace, but no one gives Grace shit on my watch except me.
Leaning to the side to interrupt Claire’s visual warpath, I ask calmly, “What’s the issue?”
“That language!” Claire exclaims. “Obviously.”
She’s reacting as though Jacob dropped some F-bombs over his crackers and pepperoni slices. Her hand is literally on her chest, grasping for invisible pearls, and her mouth is gaping like someone’s going to throw in a three-pointer with a cheese cube.
“What’s she talking about?” Grace asks Jacob. “You just said Nutbuster was smashing your balls and told him to get his butt down.” She looks confused as she repeats what Jacob said and finds no issue.
I sigh. “If I may . . . Nutbuster is what we call Peanut Butter. It’s an affectionate nickname. And he did say butt, not ass. That’s better.”
Grace holds her hand up and quotes, “Tush . . . Bootie . . . Badonkadonk . . . Butt . . . Ass . . . Culo. In order of badness. I can use up to butt now, ass at thirteen with friends and at sixteen with family, and culo after I’m eighteen and only if I’m being dirty. Never in front of Daddy, Maw-Maw H, or Paw-Paw H.”
“Grace!” The scold is met with her throwing her arms out like ‘what, you know I’m right’. What the hell is Cameron teaching her? Or more likely, Kyle? Hell, probably Cameron’s multi-lingual nanny too.
And why is culo worse than ass? Actually, that’s one I probably don’t want to know the answer to.
“He also called his testicles balls,” Claire corrects, her nose curling as she whispers the words as though they’re both offensive.
“That’s what they are, Mom. Nobody says tess-a-culls. Even Dad calls ’em balls,” Jacob adds. “Or his nuts.”
Shrugging, I offer, “He’s not wrong. I’ve got four brothers and I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve said ‘testicles’, but balls, nuts, moose knuckle, and cojones are all common.” I’m taking a risk—a huge one—at offending Claire, but I’m depending on Elena losing the battle she’s fighting with the laugh that’s trying to escape.
