Mai Tai'd Up (18 page)

I’d love to be that spoon. I’d love to be that spoon right now. And if that meant rolling around in peppermint and chocolate chips and climbing into a bowl, I’d do it. Hmm, maybe he was right about the weird part.

“Sorry, guess I’m just nervous about the grand opening tomorrow.” I sighed, returning the ice cream to the freezer and leaning against the fridge. “My mother’s coming, did I tell you that?”

“That’s great! I thought she wasn’t going to be able to make it.”

“She wasn’t; she had some charity event this weekend. But my dad called her and told her she was being an ass.” I wrinkled my brow. “Frankly? He didn’t need to do that. It’s going to be stressful enough tomorrow without her here judging the paper napkins and plastic knives and forks.”

When I’d first invited her to the grand opening, I was pretty sure she’d find a reason not to come. And I was right: the pediatric cancer ball event was the same night and there was no way she’d miss that. It was traditionally one of her favorite events. But my father waded right in and fought the good fight, no doubt throwing around phrases like “For our daughter’s sake,” and “Need to be supportive,” and probably more than a few of the “Marjorie, don’t be an ass” variety.

The result? They were both flying up. Together. I mentally shuddered at the thought of those two sharing a commuter jet, feeling terrible for anyone that had the bad luck of being seated near them. My parents didn’t fight in public. They annihilated each other with kindness. The type of kindness that made you want to slam your own head in a car door just to have an excuse to get away from it.

“Hey, I watched you personally agonize over the knives and
forks, and they’re awesome. I’ve never felt so strongly about knives and forks. And the paper napkins? You got the best ones at the party store—the best. The party’s going to be great, don’t worry so much,” he soothed, reaching out to rub my shoulder affectionately. “And if she gets too out of hand, I always have horse tranquilizers in my truck. That’ll shut her right down.”

I burst out laughing. “It may come to that,” I admitted, wiping my eyes.

“I’m on it,” he said, still with the rubbing. “Now come on, your ice cream is melting.” He started to lead me back onto the patio. “By the way, what was that about bouncing on his dick? Whose dick are we talking about?”

When you drop ice cream on a brick patio, it’s impossible to clean up without getting the hose out. And in so doing, I may have sprayed a pregnant lady accidentally. On purpose.

Marge was right about her baked beans; they were sensational. Everyone’s paper plate was piled high with them, along with fruit salad, coleslaw, and a hot dog or hamburger. We went with a picnic theme: red-and-white checked tablecloths on the picnic tables, utensils in plastic cups on each table, balloons and streamers overhead in the bright sunshine. And a huge sign over the entrance gate that said Our Gang Grand Opening, in case anyone missed that we were now officially, 100 percent, open for business.

We had invited all of the volunteers and their families, owners of several of the local businesses that had already supported us, and the off-duty staff of the Campbell Veterinary Hospital. Including Marge, who when she wasn’t strong-arming everyone into professing their love for her beans, was circling Lou like a beehived polyester shark. A beehive with an Our Gang pin tucked into it, which was quite sweet.

The radio was tuned to an oldies station playing classic Motown. Some people were chowing down, while others were trekking up and down the hill by the barn to see all the dogs, which
were freshly bathed and smelling like baby powder. And happy to have the visitors. Between the buckets of tennis balls and the donated chew toys, the dogs were in heaven. Exactly how it should be. Happy and racing around their dog run, with Sammy Davis Jr. leading the pack.

Our first resident, he’d become a mascot of sorts. He’d almost been adopted twice, and each time, my heat beat a little faster. When another dog was chosen each time, I’d spent a little extra time with my sweet boy, assuring him he’d find a forever home.

The truth? He’d already chosen his owner, and thank goodness for that, because I couldn’t bear to let him out of my sight. After the last close call I’d moved him into the house with me, and just like that, I was a dog mommy. That big pit bull grin was smiling at me right now, and I grinned back. “Go play, buddy,” I said, patting him on the flank and sending him back into the tennis ball frenzy.

“Hey, Chlo, great party, but we’ve gotta get going if we want to make it home before dark,” Clark said, walking up the hill with Viv in tow. “We’ll be back as soon as you say our little guy is ready.”

“Or before. In fact, I might just scoot in there now and load my pockets up with puppies when you’re not looking,” Viv said, trying to edge around me on the path.

I laughed. “You’d be a terrible thief, Viv. You just told me what you were planning. Now I’m patting you down before you leave.” I reached out, pretending to pinch her again.

“Seriously, stop with the pinching. Clark, tell her to cut it out.”

“If my cousin is pinching you, I’m pretty sure you deserve it,” Clark chimed in, to her great distress.

“I’m your fiancée! That means you always have to be on my side, no matter what I do,” she said, stamping her feet.

“Impossible woman,” Clark murmured, reaching for her hand, and she immediately blushed. Huh.

As they made eyes at each other, I caught sight of my parents coming up the driveway, my mother’s heels tottering on the gravel.

“Do you want to say hi to Aunt Marjorie first?” I asked.

“Oh, boy,” Clark said under his breath. “Whoa, Aunt Marjorie with Uncle Thomas? Together? And they’re not fight—too late,” he said as my mother shrugged off my father’s attempt to steady her on the gravel.

“Oh, we’re staying. I’m not missing this.” Viv’s tone was light, but she reached out and squeezed my hand.

The three of us traipsed down the hill toward my parents, and I could see my dad looking for me. I could also see my mom looking around and taking note of every single thing.

I took a deep breath, then called out, “Hey, guys!”

“There she is! Hiya, kiddo!” my dad cried out, bundling me into a swing-around hug. “How’ve you been?”

“Hey, Dad, so good to see you,” I said, muffled by his shoulder. He set me down and gave me a quick once-over.

“You look fantastic, Chloe, really fantastic,” he gushed, and I just beamed. Once a daddy’s girl . . .

“Hello, Chloe,” my mother said, and I turned to her. She gave me a not-so-quick once-over, no doubt noting my attire. Cut-off jean shorts, sneakers, a white tank top with the Our Gang logo printed across the boobs, a ball cap, zero makeup, and my long blond hair in two messy braids.

I let her once-over, and twice over, for that matter. I was comfortable, I was happy, and for once, I was literally on my own turf.

“Hi, Mom,” I chirped. “Good to see you.” And part of me really meant it: I missed her. From time to time. “How was the flight?”

“Oh, you know those tiny crop dusters, so bumpy. How are you, dear?” she asked, leaning in to drop a kiss lightly on my cheek.

“Great. What a turnout, huh?” I asked, gesturing to the yard filled with friends and coworkers. Kids running everywhere, dogs barking, and Marge was even getting people to dance.

“Yes, it certainly seems like a crowd.” She smiled, then looked over my shoulder. “And Clark, your mother said you might be here. How are you, darling?” she cooed, stepping past me to hug my cousin. She’d always adored him.

“Hello, Aunt Marjorie, good to see you. It’s so great you could come up for Chloe’s big day.”

“I wouldn’t have missed it for the world,” she said, and I rolled my eyes behind her.

My dad caught it and winked at me, then turned to Clark. “Good to see you,” he said, and they did the one-armed back slap guy hug.

“Great to see you, Thomas, long time no see. I’d love you two to meet—”

“And this must be your Vivian! Just look at you,” my mother interrupted, offering her hand to Viv. “You must be ready to pop!”

“I’m only seven months, not quite ready to pop just yet,” Viv corrected, shaking my mother’s hand vigorously. “I’ve been so looking forward to meeting you; I’ve heard so much about you, Marge! Can I call you Marge?”

“Oh, well, I—” my mother started, when a sugary southern voice joined the conversation.

“Did I hear my name? Did someone want more of my baked beans?” Marge sidled up to the group and wrapped her arm around me. “Now, who do we have here? This tall drink of water must be your father—what a cutie pie!” she cried, reaching out
and pulling my dad down to her rhinestone-encrusted bosom. He shot me a surprised but not unhappy look over her beehive.

Releasing him, she turned to my mother, who took a defensive step back. “And you must be Chloe’s mother. Well, you two are just the spitting image! Look how gorgeous you are—you’re just pretty enough to eat!” She reached out for a hug, but my mother quickly stuck her hand out, avoiding the beehive grapple. “Now, you just come right over here, we need to get you something to eat! You look abso-tootly famished! I’ve got these beans over here, an old secret family recipe, you know . . .”

And just like that, my mother was whisked away to the buffet table, and had a paper plate heaped with secret family recipe beans in her hand before I could even say a word. I looked at my father, who just watched his ex-wife being strong-armed by a woman in a seventies polyester pantsuit. Then we both burst out laughing.

We were still laughing when I felt, rather than heard, Lucas approach. He was just a little behind me, but by my side. I looked left, and there were those blue eyes twinkling down at me. “Hey,” I said, bumping him with my hip.

“Hey,” he replied, keeping his hips to himself. “Mr. Patterson? I’m Lucas Campbell, a friend of your daughter’s,” he said when there was a pause in the conversation.

Viv was beaming, literally beaming, as she watched him shake my dad’s hand. So much hand shaking around here today.

“A friend of Chloe’s? Are you the Lucas I hear so much about?”

“That depends very much on what you’ve heard, sir.” Lucas laughed easily.

“Lucas who helped my daughter out of the jam with that giant Suburban?” my father asked.

“Well, sort of. She did most of the talking the second time around; you should have seen her when she got fired up.” Lucas slipped an arm around my shoulder, patting me in a “way to go” kind of way. I’d take it.

“And are you also the Lucas that got her in the water and on a paddleboard?”

“She’s a natural,” he crowed. “When she stops looking for fins.”

“I’ll never stop looking for fins,” I shuddered, and he grinned down at me.

The arm was still around the shoulders. Viv’s smile was now stretched around her entire head.

“Can I get you anything to drink Mr. Patterson? Water, soda, beer?” Lucas asked.

“Lucas, I just got off a small plane with my ex-wife.”

Lucas thought a moment. “Chloe’s taught me how to make a mean martini. Straight up or on the rocks?”

“Rocks. Always rocks.”

As they headed toward the house, Lucas said, “You’ve got a helluva bar here, Mr. Patterson. Chloe and I have been working our way through this old sixties cocktail recipe book. You ever had a zombie?”

“Have you been trying to get my daughter drunk, Lucas?” my dad asked as Lucas held the patio door open for him.

“Absolutely, Mr. Patterson. Absolutely,” Lucas said with a grin.

The last thing I heard my father say before they disappeared was, “In that case, call me Thomas.”

I looked at Viv and Clark and threw up my hands, shaking my head.

Viv looked me dead in the eye and said, “Hit that. Hit that now.”

“Hit what? Who’s hitting someone?” Clark asked.

I went to rescue my mother from Marge.

All in all, not too bad.

E
ventually the party dwindled down to just a handful. We’d made two more adoption matches today; Steve and Edie went to a farmer and his wife just outside town who’d been looking for a matched set. The dogs had been abandoned when their family could no longer afford to care for them, and we’d kept them together until we found a home that would take them as a pair. As always, I felt a little lump in my throat when I saw my dogs going to their forever home. We’d also raised a pretty hefty sum through donations today, and many guests had brought things like dog beds, chew toys, cans of dog food, and still more tennis balls.

All in all? A success.

The music was still going strong, though the only ones dancing now were Marge and Lou. Wrapped around each other like pythons, the hippie and the matchmaker were something to behold. And by that, I mean it was terrifying watching them practically mount each other on the makeshift dance floor.

“No more slow songs, I told you that,” I whispered to Lucas, who was trying his best not to watch the train wreck that was currently two-stepping by to the tune of “I Only Have Eyes for You.”

“Come on, chickie baby, it’s nice. In a somewhat gross way.”

“But I liked this song! Now it’s forever tainted by this memory,” I moaned, turning away. And catching something I never thought I’d see again in my life. My father, leading my mother onto the dance floor.

Now, I’d been told by my mother expressly when planning
my wedding to Charles that under
no
circumstances would there be a Mother/Father dance taking place, and that if I pushed it, I’d regret it. So imagine my surprise when the two held hands and, with an appropriate amount of space in between them, began to dance.

“I don’t believe it,” I said, my jaw somewhere down by my feet. “I’ve got to get a picture of this; Clark will never believe it.”

He and Vivian had left long ago, arguing over some historic lighthouse he wanted to see on the way home. As they’d headed to their car, that discussion shifted into which route to take home. I’d also seen Clark’s hand disappear down the back of her skirt as they walked, and I had a feeling that if they stopped, it wasn’t going to be to look at a lighthouse.