Matt caught his, popped the tab, and slurped the foaming beer.
William deftly sidestepped his incoming can. It landed on the concrete and rolled to a stop.
“She’s throwing things at me,” he whined to Matt.
Matt handed William his beer.
“Toss me another,”he said to Molly.
William held his can awkwardly, as though it were kryptonite.
Matt elbowed him. “Drink it,” he whispered.
“In a bit, dahling. I want to give the flying ash and pork molecules time to enhance the brew’s natural flavors.”
“Molly’s going to play chess with me!” Robert announced.
Molly knocked back a long slug of beer. “Yep. Someone gave Robert the impression I had dissed that Russian guy. He conditioned his forgiveness on my playing a game with him. So, after everyone goes home tonight, Robert and I are gonna break out the chess board. You won’t mind, will you, William?”
There was a long pause, during which Matt and Lucy shared worried glances. William and Molly seemed poised to resume their usual catfight.
William smiled weakly. “I don’t mind at all. I’ll even play the winner.”
“Well played,” Molly laughed.
Matt sighed with relief. This mixer might just be a success, after all.
Molly pronged one of the sausages, slapped it on a paper plate, and offered it to William. “Brat?”
“Sorry. Allergic,” William said.
“To pork?”
William shook his head. “German food, dahling. My great-grandfather Fitzgerald lost a leg fighting the Huns in WWI. Ever since then, the whole family has strictly refrained from Kraut culture. Cousin Bixby, my second cousin actually, famously refused to deplane during a layover in Frankfurt.”
Matt burst into laughter, sputtering beer. “Bullshit! I call bullshit! William conveniently creates ancestors to populate his stories. You should hear the one about his ‘Nana Vance!’”
Everyone laughed.
“Wait!” Molly stared at William. “You faked a one-legged guy just to keep from eating my brat? That’s kinda twisted.”
William frowned. “Would you have preferred that I killed him off, dahling? In my version, great-grandpa Fitzpatrick got to hobble home to his family.”
“Fitzpatrick?” Robert said. “A minute ago, you said Fitzgerald.”
“Indeed, dahling. My pedigree is brimming with Irish. I had two great-grandfathers injured in WWI—a Fitzpatrick and a Fitzgerald.”
Molly shook her head. Offered William the plated brat again. “You sure you won’t have one? You’re gonna feel like a shit if you don’t. Just warning you.”
“I’m pretty sure I’ll feel worse if I do,” William said.
“I’ll eat it,” Matt said, reaching for the plate.
Molly handed it over, then bent and retrieved a wrapped package from behind the cooler at her feet.
“Here William,” she said. “Just a little present from me and the girls.”
William handed Matt his untouched beer. He tore into the package, stared down in shock.
