“You guys, I’m coming in there to see about the pie situation. Anything that’s not covered up, I reserve the right to eat with my hands.” She heard Kell laugh.
When Dean was out of earshot, Evvie leaned down toward her father’s chair. “Pop, what was the one thing I asked you not to do?”
Frank threw his hands up. “I’m not askin’ him anything. You didn’t tell me I couldn’t speak to the man.”
Andy appeared at the top of the basement stairs. “Is Evvie hassling you, Frank?”
“You’ve got that right there, Andrew,” said Frank as he popped four more peanuts into his mouth.
Evvie got up and walked over to her best friend. He hugged her so hard she grimaced. “I’m happy to see you,” he said into her ear.
“Me, too.”
“Your dad and Dean’s dad have been bonding.”
“Oh, that should be something. Dean’s in the kitchen with the rest of the parents.”
Andy released her from his grip. “Dean, are you bothering my mother? Mom, is Dean bothering you?” he bellowed as he walked away.
Evvie had barely taken her coat off when Dean came back into the living room. “Evvie, these are my parents, Angie and Stuart Tenney; this is Evvie.”
Dean’s mom was slim and pink-cheeked, with curly gray hair and glasses; his father was tall—though not as tall as he was—and broad through the shoulders. Evvie shook hands with them, but the impulse to hug his mother, in particular, was palpable. “We’ve heard a lot about you,” Angie said.
Her husband stood with his hands on his hips. “Hopefully Dean’s not throwing too many wild parties where you have to call the cops.”
“Not at all,” Evvie told them. “He’s been a great tenant, I promise.”
Kell came in from the kitchen, nibbling on an apple slice, with Andy following behind her. “Everything’s doing what it’s supposed to be doing in the kitchen,” she said, “so why don’t you all sit down?”
“So,” Dean’s dad said as they all settled, “we heard from Tom this morning. He’s in Boulder with Nancy’s family. Brian and David are at David’s sister’s place, and Mark and Alison are on a cruise.”
“Those are all my brothers,” Dean said to Evvie. “My dad is sharing all their news. Did he mention they’re all married?”
“And Mark’s on a cruise,” Stuart repeated. “On Thanksgiving. Who eats pumpkin pie in a bathing suit on a boat in the middle of the ocean? With a little umbrella sticking out of your drink? Dumbest thing I ever heard.”
Angie laughed and elbowed him. “Be nice. They like the water.”
“I like the Runaway Mine Train at Six Flags Over Texas, but I’m not eating Thanksgiving dinner there.”
“Say, Stuart,” Evvie’s dad said, “you mentioned you grew up in Jersey. Did you ever go to Coney Island?”
“Sure did,” Stuart said. “Visited my mother’s aunt out that way and rode the Cyclone. Have you been to Dollywood?” Frank shook his head. “They’ve got one there called Thunderhead. Rode it a few summers ago. I got off it and rewrote my will.”
“I hope you left me something good,” Dean said.
“We’re leaving you the cat.”
“Don’t leave me that cat.”
“Oh, yeah. We’re going to leave you the cat,” Stuart repeated, “and a note that says you have to dress it up every Halloween and walk it down Fifth Avenue or you lose your inheritance.”
“We’ve got a lady in town walks her cat,” Frank said. “Tourists think it’s a local custom. It’s on the Internet that people in Maine walk their cats on leashes. All because one idiot sees Lois yanking Pookie down Main Street like a poodle.”
“Pumpkin, not Pookie,” Evvie corrected.
“Whatever.”
“All right, all right. Tell us about your work, Evvie,” Angie said pointedly.
Evvie laughed. “I do transcription. I work with journalists and people doing research, mostly. I listen to their interviews and I type them up and sometimes do a little indexing so they can find whatever they’re looking for. It’s interesting to me, anyway.”
“Dean knows lots of journalists,” Stuart said with a twinkle. “He loves interviews.”
Evvie turned to Dean. “Oh, really?”
“My dad is trying to start with me.”
“Well, now I want to know,” Evvie said.
“Tell her about Johnny Boo-Hoos!” Stuart grinned.
“Who’s Johnny Boo-Hoos?” Evvie asked.
Dean rolled his eyes. “It’s not a who. It’s a what. It’s a bar in Gowanus, in Brooklyn. My parents’ favorite magazine article about me starts out with me stuffing chicken fingers into my face at Johnny Boo-Hoos. Those things always start with the food. How Jennifer Lawrence is eating poached salmon or whatever, or how