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“Stop,” I tell her. “I’m never sad to see my two favorite nieces.”
“When you and Annie get married, will you have more nieces? Because I will not appreciate the competition.” Alice spins on my kitchen tile, in her own world. “When Marky’s brother got married, he suddenly had another little sister, and Marky does not like that one bit.”
I chuckle. “Annie’s sister only has sons.”
“Whew,” she breathes out with another spin.
Then she taps me on the leg, and I squat down with Lula so we’re both eye level with Alice.
“I am here to help you out, Uncle Owen.” Alice pecks my cheeks. “That’s how you kiss, okay? Don’t scare the woman.”
I squint, studying the little girl who is getting way too big. “Great advice. Thank you.”
“Maybe I’ll write in the paper just like Annie, and I’ll teach everyone how to kiss without eating faces off.”
I stand and blink, thinking about my brother-in-law. “Is Jude going to kill me?”
“It’s not your fault. She walked into your house without warning.” Still, Coco grimaces. “He’ll be fine.”
There’s a noise upstairs—my bedroom door closing.
“That’s our cue, girls. Time to go.” Coco reaches for Lula, who reluctantly allows her mother to take her. We are best buds, after all.
Before Annie can reach the landing, my sister and her daughters are out the door.
51
Annie
Thanksgiving with Grammy is always entertaining. But Grammy plus keeping my Owen secret—it’s like I’m experiencing my own mission impossible.
“Look at your sister,” Grammy says, smacking Kayla on the back.
My sister’s eyes bulge a little with the loving pat.
“Husband, sons. When is it your time, my Annie?”
I swallow. “Let me clear the table, Kayla! You cooked—I’m doing the dishes!”
“I see you running away, young lady. You must stop breaking every heart you come in contact with.” Grammy stands, though you can hardly tell, she’s such a shorty.
“Here, Gram,” Kayla says, filling her goblet up to the brim with wine.
“I’m a small woman, Kayla. I’ve had my fill.” But she scoops up the glass and sips from its contents.
Kayla has not successfully distracted her, though. The boys run past and into the hall, where their rooms full of toys await. Grammy’s head follows them until they are out of sight—and for just a moment, I think I’m in the clear.
“I’m helping,” Grammy says, following after me into the kitchen.
Kayla shuffles after the two of us. Her job is to keep me from spilling all my Owen beans. So far—so good.
“Why are you leaving for pie? You don’t like my lemon butter pie?” Grammy sets one hand on her hip.
I bustle at the sink, not facing her. My eyes go wide, staring down at the dishes.
While Kayla jumps in to rescue me. “Owen’s mom invited her, Gram.”
“Owen—nice boy.” She hums and then, in the same breath, barks, “Why?”
