“If someone’s a hoe, it’s Valencia,” Varsha cuts in, then shrugs. “Correct me if I’m wrong.”
“Exactly! Besides, does this event have a no-hickey policy?” Cigs adds. “I think not, sir, so you better stop judging my guy for acting with his undeveloped brain for once.”
I rear back a little and glower at her. “What thehell, Cigs?”
“What?” she gives me a blank look, the menace.
“Someone needs to get me outta here,” Varsha mutters. “Right now.”
Alex mumbles something under his breath as he walks ahead of me, with Cigs and Varsha next to him. He then stops in front of a wide table that consists of a host of appetizers, and I, feeling like a sore thumb amid a busy crowd, march over to them and stand next to Cignette. When she glances my way, clearly hiding a smile, I give her a quick shake of my head, then roll my eyes when she nudges my hand with hers.
“Umm, so I’m pretty sure these skewers and tourtières weren’t here when we first made rounds of the buffet table,” Alex says, then looks at Varsha. “They weren’t, were they?”
“Definitely not,” she replies, studying the appetizers with keen interest.
The table in front of us is set up immaculately. With a black linen cloth draped over it, there’s dainty glass vases containing yellow Common Rues – Lithuania’s national flower – spread out systematically across its expanse. Placed around those vases are napkins shaped as doves, along with plates of skewers holding meat and seasoned vegetables. There are trays full of pie-style mini tourtières next to them, and they look so impeccablydecorative that it’s almost hard to tell if they’re for eating or for display.
Alex leans in and picks up one of the serving trays with the tourtières on it, then offers it to us with a flourish.
“But I thought you were mad at us for having Valencia’s back,” Cigs comments, pursing her lips while also grabbing a tourtière from the tray.
He gives her a saccharine smile. “Don’t push it, babe. I’m 2 seconds away from shoving this pie up your silver-tongued ass, so I’d recommend keeping your snark to yourself. Unless you have no problem walking spread-legged for the rest of the night, of course.”
“I’d love to see you try a hand in hurting her, Alex,” I say as I snatch a tourtière for myself, then throw a wink his way. “I really would.”
“Wow, I’m shaking in my boots, Ledge,” he retorts. “I might just piss my pants too, who knows; the night’s still young.”
“If you do, it’d most likely be because of theCabernet Sauvignonthat’s still in your system,” Cignette jabs. “You’re an avid pisser when you have alcohol in your system.”
“Says the woman who can’t even hold her liquor.”
“Well, at least I warn people about it. And I’m not exactly subtle in my warnings either.”
Alex’s smile is razor-like as he directs it at her, while hers is just as sharp as she, too, smiles at him.
“Okay, so if you idiots are done cat fighting, can we please dig into these appetizers?” Varsha asks. “They’re not going to eat themselves, after all.”
“Yeah, yeah, okay.” Alex sets the tray back down on the table, then grabs a tourtière from it before lifting it at us. “Cheers.”
With a chuckle, I bite into mine, but as soon as my teeth break into the airy crust on the outside, and my tongue makes contact with the meat-filling on the inside, I know that there issomething very,veryoff about this tourtière. But still, I eat it – mainly out of curiosity – only to cough when the unsavory taste offleshtakes over my tastebuds. The meat itself is tough to chew on, and its texture is one that glides around my mouth in an uncomfortable sort of way. But the thing that’s putting me off the most is the smell, especially after I swallow the piece of tourtière I was chewing. It lingers on my breath, and not in a good way. It’s familiar, and yet, I don’t know how to place it.
“Holyshit…” Varsha spits out the tourtière with a grimace, and next to her, Alex does the same, muttering, “Jesus Christ, whatisthis?”
I hear a noise to my left, and turn to see Cignette retching into her hand. I quickly grab a napkin from the table and open it before her, and she spews the contents from her mouth into it, then throws the rest of the tourtière that’s in her hand into the napkin as well.
Her brows are creased in confusion as she whispers, “What the fuck is this?” She then glances around frantically as a shudder rakes through her frame before all but running over to the refreshments table to her left. She grabs a bottle of cranberry flavored sparkling water off it, and downs it in messy, desperate gulps.
“That, my lovely Cignette, isthis.” Aras and Magner walk over to us, with the former holding a long, black rectangular board in his hands, which he places right in the middle of the appetizers table, then steps back and gives the 4 of us a sympathetic smile.
A Byron & Rajvansh Family Special
That’s what’s embossed on the board in golden, italic letters.
I throw the soiled napkin into the bin on the other side of the table. “And that’s supposed to be an explanation?” I say, then cough again because myGod, the aftertaste of this is worse than its actual flavor.
Magner grabs 3 cans of ice-cold soda off the refreshments table. Handing 2 of them to Varsha and I, he then offers the remaining one to Alex, who all but snatches it from him, making him frown.
The energy around us dims, making things a bit suffocating. And so, to cause a distraction, I pop open my can, which results in Magner to step away from Alex, and for Alex to shift closer to Varsha.
