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With a mischievous wink, Dad replied, “We keep very flexible in the bedroom.”
As Liam and I groaned in a combination of both mortification and horror, Mom swatted Dad’s arm playfully. “Not in front of the kids,” she teasingly replied.
Dad swept his arms open and jerked his chin at me. “Come on, give your old man some love.”
“If you promise not to say anything else gross,” I countered with a grin.
“I’ll try,” he replied before pulling me to him. Thankfully, he didn’t squeeze me as tight as Mom had. “The pool is ready and waiting for you at home.”
“Thanks.”
“And I can totally work from home if you need me to time your drills.”
I smiled as I pulled away. “You’re the best.”
Winking, he replied, “I know.”
As we started toward the mechanized doors leading to the parking lot, Mom stopped me. “What’s that on your arm?”
“A fan’s number.”
Wrinkling her nose, she stated, “You let some strange girl write her number on you?”
With a shrug, I replied, “After she asked me to sign her boobs, I figured what was the harm.”
While Mom stared at me in utter disgust, Dad busted out laughing. “That’s my boy!”
* * *
After battling through rush-hour traffic, we finally arrived at the hotel. Considering Mom had rattled non-stop about all the wedding hoopla, I already felt the need for alcohol to ensure I would make it through the next forty-eight hours, but I’d unfortunately promised my coach to be good and abstain. Being away for swimming meant I’d missed Mason and Laurel’s engagement party, along with several other events. The only thing I actually hated missing was his Bachelor Party.
When I’d talked to Mason earlier in the week, he’d assured me that he was perfectly fine with me only showing up tonight and doing my part. From what Mason had described, tonight wasn’t going to be your usual go-through-the-motions rehearsal followed by a sit-down dinner. Instead, it would be merging a tradition known as the Sangeet, which meant sung together in Sanskrit, into a dinner theater. In my mind, his description painted something of a Bollywood production with lots of singing, dancing, and intricate Hindu costumes.
It was all part of honoring Mason’s adopted culture. When he was just three, Mason’s dead-beat dad signed over his parental rights, and Alpesh, his stepdad, adopted him. He and his sisters had grown up not only with our Irish American traditions, but also with the somewhat Americanized Hindi traditions of Alpesh, or Pesh, as we all lovingly called him. Instead of the usual weeklong wedding with several events, Mason and Laurel had decided on an Indian Irish fusion wedding.
The moment my mother guided me into a suite on the 9thfloor, my aunts, uncles, and cousins bombarded me. My dad came from a typical Irish Catholic family. He was theveryspoiled only boy with four older sisters. Not only were they a large family, but they were also very loud. Okay, so maybe it would be better to call them boisterous. To say it could be overwhelming would be an understatement. At the same time, it was so good to be in their presence since I hadn’t seen most of them in person since the summer.
As I tried to catch my breath, I kept a smile plastered on my face. After sufficiently greeting each and every one of them, I asked, “Where’s Mason?”
“He and the other groomsmen are two doors down in Suite 9130,” his mother, Megan, answered over the roar.
“Right. I better check in with him and get dressed,” I replied before extricating myself from the crowd. It took a few more minutes for me to finally be free. I then scurried out the door and down the hall, sighing in relief at the silence greeting me when I reached 9130.
After knocking twice on the suite door, it flung open to reveal Mason’s dad, Pesh. Instead of his usual scrubs and white doctor’s jacket, he wore a traditional Hindu pajama kurta, which consisted of gold pants and a long purple shirt. The shirt gleamed with gold jewels.
At the sight of me, a beaming smile lit up his face. “Noah! Welcome home, my boy,” he proclaimed, before drawing me into his arms.
“Thanks, Uncle Pesh.” Even though he was my cousin-in-law and not really my uncle, I’d grown up calling him uncle as well as his wife, Megan, aunt.
“Did you have a good flight?”
“Yes, sir.”
“How was the traffic?”
“The usual.”
He chuckled. “I’m so glad your coach allowed you to come. Mason was worried there for a moment.”
