I came to a stop in front of my childhood home and gulped down a surge of bile at that question. I had to press my fist to my lips to assure myself it wouldn't come back up. "You're the only one, Cal."
28
Cal
This was a big fucking deal.I'd known that going in but to hear Stella say I was the only one to make her family's acquaintance?Fuuuuuck.
Obviously, they'd met the guy from before. The fiancé turned ex-fiancé turned fiancé turned dickhead. They knew him but, as Stella liked to put it, that was half a lifetime ago.
Fuuuuuck.That was all I could think as we climbed the front steps of her parents' home.
"If you want to score some points," she said under her breath, "mention the flower boxes."
I followed her gaze to the planters overflowing with early summer blooms on either side of Mother Mary in her bathtub shrine. "Noted," I murmured, bringing my hand to her lower back.
The door opened before we reached it and a wave of noise billowed out from the house. Dogs barked, children yelled, and Stella's family crowded the entryway. They all talked at once, shouting over each other and leaning forward to make their point heard and tossing impatient glares at each other.
Stella leaned into me as we stepped inside. "This is normal," she said. "Just go with it."
"I'm good," I replied, turning my head to speak directly into her ear. Her family was still fussing around us—dogs, children, adults—all wishing her a happy birthday and asking after the traffic because there had to be traffic for us to be late. "Are you all right?"
"After two orgasms, I better be," she said. "Don't blush unless you want them to know what we're talking about."
"It's a physiological reaction," I said. "You can't turn those things off."
Stella hit me with a grin before saying, "Hi, everyone! Yes, there was traffic. I didn't expect it on a Saturday evening and it slowed us down getting out of the city."
"They're always working on something," her father muttered. "Or they shut down three lanes to change a light bulb. Insanity."
"Always," she agreed. "And thank you for the birthday wishes. Like I've said, I'm not getting older, I'm just getting more fabulous."
"But you'll always be older than me," a woman—probably the younger sister Serina—said.
"Thanks," Stella drawled. "So good of you to mention that." She gestured toward me. "And this is Cal." She scooped up a small girl, no older than four or five, and set her on her hip. "Cal, this is Georgia. She's my favorite niece."
"Only niece," a little boy bellowed.
"That's Preston," Stella said with a nod toward the boy. I waved. That seemed like a safe response. "And his older brother Blaine is over there, looking bored because he's eleven and we'rereallylame." She sent up a smiling eyeroll. "These are my sisters, Sophia and Serina. Serina is the youngest and she won't let you forget it."
I reached out to shake their hands. "It's great to meet you," I said. "I've heard the best things about you both."
"None of it is true," a man shouted from the back of the house. He headed toward us holding a small plate. His Mets t-shirt was hard to miss. "Hey, man," he called, a meatball halfway to his mouth. "I'm Toby."
I waved—he was too busy with the meatball to shake hands—while Serina said, "He's starved for dude friends so you'll have to forgive him if he gets a little clingy."
Sophia stepped forward, wagged a finger at Toby. He ignored her, taking Georgia from Stella's arms when she tried to wiggle free. "Kailey has served as a fine dude friend."
Glancing around the group, Stella asked, "Where is Kailey?"
"She's catering a big wedding tonight," Sophia replied. "If she can swing it, she'll be here later."
Stella pointed at the older man and woman who seemed to vibrate with excitement. "Cal, these are my parents, George and Christina. Mom, Dad. This is Cal."
George stuck out his hand but pulled me into a hug-backslapping-handshake combo. "Good to meet you, Cal," he said. "Thank you for sharing Stella with us on her birthday."
As she'd promised, her father was wearing jeans that had survived decades. He paired them with a t-shirt heralding a Patriots Super Bowl win from a handful of years ago and a Red Sox World Series hat.
"Thank you for having me," I replied. "Your flower boxes are remarkable."
