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“Junie, Lennox,” my mom calls from the back door of the house, thrusting me back to reality and instantly squashing the heat Benny left simmering in my body. We both sit up and peek through the curtains of the shelter that houses us. She has a tray with a pitcher of lemonade and a few glasses. Behind her, Mama Mallory carries another tray with cut up fruit and a yummy looking dipping sauce that I know is good because my mom is a chef. It’s how she met my dad.
Dad hired her and her best friend, Mallory, Juniper’s mom, for a personal dinner he was throwing for friends. My mom cooked while Mama Mallory worked as her server and, well, the rest is history.
“Can we join our kiddos?”
“Mama’s holding on to us, you know that, right? When we leave for Stanford, she’s going to be a wreck,” Juniper says, quiet enough that only I can hear her.
“And you think Ma isn’t?” I question and Juniper giggles, sucking down the sparkling water she carried out.
“Yeah, you’re totally right. They’re going to be blubbering messes. We’ll probably have to have security escort them off the campus.”
“Likely.”
“Well, can we?” Mama persists, but they both refuse to move. That’s the good thing about our moms. They aren’t overbearing or in your face. They’ve always respected us while still parenting us. Our lives have been in the news and media constantly for as long as we can remember, and it’s suffocating having the entire world know about your dad’s odd relationship. He is a retired Superbike rider and is openly with two different women who share children with him. They aren’t married because the law simply doesn’t allow it, here in the states at least, but they have no problem showing the world their love, either.
We’ve caught the brunt of the world’s distaste for their relationship because kids are cruel. Growing up has been insufferable and exhausting, and our parents know it. However, they’ve been so great to us they are still our best friends. His racing career kept him away a lot, but we don’t resent them for it, mostly. Not always having Daddy around when we felt we needed protection or him in our corner was difficult.
“Yeah, we guess you can.”
“Don’t sound so excited,” Ma quips back and I smile. “I come bearing healthy sweets.”
“I can see that. We’ll grant you entrance to the cabana,” I tell her as I turn back around and take in my surroundings. Sunlight glitters off the surface of the saltwater, and it’s a slightly windy day as tiny waves lap at the tiles on the wall. It’s not scorching hot here in New York but it’s comfortable enough to be poolside, enjoying an afternoon.
“And what about me?” Mama asks, mock pouting in her voice.
“What do you have to offer us?” Juniper calls back.
“I have the boozy lemonade.”
“Boozy, you say?” we both holler. “Access granted.” Our mothers laugh, their flip-flops clapping against their feet as they make their way out to us.
“Daddy better have the steaks.”
“Is that all I’m good for are the steaks?” he teases from directly behind them like we knew he would because where our moms are, he’s never far behind, not since he retired from full time racing. As the owner of the team, he can relax a bit.
We share a laugh, and I snuggle into my sister’s side, holding her close like we’ve done since we were little. We’re only a few days apart, our moms being the best of friends and wanting to have kids at the same time. My father was a brave soul and happy to take on the task. We might as well be fraternal twins from different wombs.
“Where is Lauren?” Dad asks when he makes it to the grill and sets the steaks down. He turns around, beer in hand, and twists the cap off. Such a man’s man with his basic swim trunks, shirtless torso, top of the line Oakley shades, and longneck bottle standing beside the grill. Daddy doesn’t come from money. He’s earned all of his, so he’s pretty laid back and rarely goes with the stigma of high society. None of my parents do, and I think that’s what makes them great. They’re not worried about impressing the masses. They do what they want.
“She’s reading for a few hours, undisturbed.”
“What, she thought we would be a disturbance?” my dad asks as my mothers cackle in the background. Dad scrunches his lips as if to say we are probably right.
Dad lights the grill and while it heats, he sips his beer, leaning his hip against the brick that surrounds the cooker. My mom places the trays of fruit and lemonade directly in front of Juniper and me, a satisfied look on her face. She’s the nurturer of the family. Feeding us is her love language, and it’s how she shows she cares.
“Ma, it’s beautiful, really. It looks so yummy, I don’t want to eat it.” She sucks in a dramatic breath and presses her hand to her chest.
“You better eat it, young lady. I didn’t slave over this fruit and plate it like this for you to just look at it.” I toss my head back and laugh. It is so easy to get her going. My dad crosses the patio space and smacks her bikini-clad ass, then softly caresses it. The way my parents love each other is something to be envious of. He grabs a melon ball from the spread and pops it in his mouth, then he slings my mom over his shoulder and hauls ass to the pool, laughing like a maniac.
In the water they go.
“Marcus!” she gasps as she breaks through the rough surface of the pool.
“You’re going to pay for that.”
“Just how do you intend to make me pay, baby?”
“I hope she makes it painful.” My uncle David enters from the back gate, traversing from his yard to ours. He has a bottle of red and a six-pack of some locally brewed beer in his hands. He knows better than to come to a cookout with no alcohol in his hands.
