about…seeing anything weird?”
She tilted her head. “Like what?”
“Like…animals…in the woods?”
“No. Why?”
“We have a problem with something eating the flowers,” Ulric said, peeling the label on his beer.
“Oh yes.” She scoffed loudly. “They are constantly after my roses! I had to put wire fencing around them.”
I let it go. Clearly my dad hadn’t said anything, and there were other extreme matters to attend to. “Why’d you bring down a doll, Mom?”
“The dolls! You didn’t tell me you had so many dolls! I didn’t remember you having that many dolls when you were married to”—she put a gloved hand to the side of her mouth—“you know who.”
“We all know who, Mom. I haven’t been secretive about the divorce—”
“Oh, here.” My mom quickly took off her gloves and laid them beside the sink. “Do you want a beer? Austin?” Her smile spanned her whole face for Austin, it seemed like. “You’ll have a beer, won’t you?”
“Yes, please. Thank you,” he replied.
“So polite. I’d worried about the younger generation and their manners, but all of you boys are so polite.” She dug into the fridge.
Mr. Tom jerked upright, hitting his head on the edge of the oven. He winced and rubbed his head. “I am perfectly capable of…” But the beers had already been pulled free of the packed space.
Austin grabbed a couple of brown bottles—my mother favored Coors Light over my father’s Pabst—and twisted off the caps. He handed one to me and then stepped back, giving me space.
“You are a true entertainer, Mrs. McMillian,” Ulric said with a sly grin. “An amazing host. You know what people want before they know it themselves.”
“Oh now…” My mom batted her hand at him, pleased by the flattery. “Call me Martha.”
Mr. Tom glowered and then shut the oven. “It has another half-hour. We held off a little in case you ran late, miss.”
“Niamh was right,” Ulric muttered to Cedric. “He’s often late with dinner.”
“Don’t mind them,” my mom told Mr. Tom. “I’m always late, aren’t I, Jessie? Time just gets away from me.” She took a long sip of her beer.
“She’s trying to make you feel better, Mr. Tom. Is it working?” Ulric said.
Mr. Tom met Ulric’s mocking grin with anger. “I will just check on the others.”
“Jessie, how about some clam dip? I brought some up since you didn’t come for Christmas. I figure we can have a sort of mock Christmas dinner. I made some deviled eggs, too.”
I didn’t bother telling her that she’d informed me of this twice already. “Awesome. Sounds great.”
My mom pulled the plug on the sink before heading back to the fridge.
“This is such a lovely, big kitchen,” she said. “We can all gather right here. I hardly have to move at all. And with Tom helping with the cooking, it’s almost like a vacation.”
“If you let him do all the work, like he wants to, it’ll completely be like a vacation,” I said. “You can even go wine tasting in town.”
“Don’t be silly, I couldn’t let him do everything.” She eyed me. “But wine tasting. That’s an idea. It’s such a cute little town. We only drove through. I’d love to visit some of the shops and things.”
“And wineries,” Ulric said.
My mom grinned sheepishly, resting the Tupperware of clam dip on the island and grabbing the chips. “Do you have a chip-and-dip party set, Jessie?”
“I’ve told the others they can only have a taste so you and Dad can get enough,” I said, putting down my beer and rooting through the cabinets. “I think we do.”
“Don’t be silly. They can have as much as they’d like.”
“I do not think you should be worried about that, Mrs. McMillian,” Ulric said dryly. Cedric shook his head.
“Call me Martha, please! You make me feel old.” My mom watched me dig through the various crystal bowls and platters.
“What…” Mr. Tom bustled in with two empty cans. They clinked down onto the counter. “Miss, what are you looking for? Here, let me help you. I swear, the whole place is in complete disarray. Does no one respect my role in this household?”
I got out of the way after telling him what I needed and, on impulse, ducked into to the fridge to pull out two deviled eggs. I handed one to Austin and bit into the other.
“Really? Can’t pass one to me?” Ulric put up his hands.
“You’re giving Mr. Tom a hard time. You don’t deserve one,” I replied, laughing.
“I am not worried about what a disco-haired upstart has to say regarding my