My mum, who is aghast at the thought, cuts in. “No, she’s just single.”
Well, that explains it then, don’t you think? Clearing my throat, I say, “Anyway, thank you so much for hosting this super-fun barbecue. I look forward to getting to know you all as we help Dane and Amber unite in holy matrimony.” I give a confident nod and smile, hoping that’s enough. Apparently, it is, because there’s a smattering of polite applause.
Dane’s dad nods. “Yes, well, thanks for that, Bridget. Now, everyone please head over to the buffet and help yourselves to some lunch.”
Sharon tugs at his arm. “Brianna, not Bridget.”
“Right. Sorry, Brianna. I’m afraid I’ve already had a couple of mojitos.”
As soon as the guests start for the buffet table, my mum and dad, Dane’s parents, and the guests of honour all zero in on me.
Sharon holds her hands out to me. “Brianna, so lovely to finally meet you. Amber absolutely adores you.”
I should hope so. I take Sharon’s hand and shake it. “Likewise. Amber is always going on about how lucky she is to have a future mother-in-law as wonderful as you, Mrs. Hammer.” That’s a lie, by the way. Amber can’t stand her because she’s unnaturally attached to her son and tries to hold his hand all the time.
“Call me Sharon. When you say Mrs. Hammer, I turn around and look for my dead mother-in-law.”
“Ack. We wouldn’t want her showing up, now would we?” I say jokingly.
Sharon’s face falls, and she gives me a confused expression. “Why not? She was a wonderful woman.”
“I only meant it would be sort of strange if she appeared since you said she was…umm...not alive anymore.” My voice trails off, and I glance at Amber, hoping she’ll save me.
Unfortunately, Amber is far too busy listening to my mum, who is hissing in her ear and pointing to Auntie Dolores and Isabelle. Mum sets her sights on me. “Did you know about this?”
Ha! For once something isn’t my fault. “About the matching costumes?” I shake my head. “I had no idea.”
“That’s because you don’t bother to keep in touch.”
Oh, there we go. She found a way to make it my fault after all. My mum takes one hand and swipes her long black wig back with a flick of her head, very much resembling a pissed-off Cher.
“Yes, well, I’m not sure if you noticed, but I’m a little busy working full time, finishing law school, and raising a child,” I say quietly.
But apparently I’m not quiet enough, because Trenton chimes in with, “Looks like we’ve figured out who the black sheep of the family is right off the bat.” He chuckles smugly, slapping Dane on the stomach. The two of them laugh eerily in time with one another before holding their drinks up at the exact same time and gulping them back.
My mum, Amber, and Sharon also laugh while standing among them wearing phony smiles. Aunt Dolores decides this is the perfect time to appear with her cheese-people platter. “Amber, Dane, recognize these two?” she asks, beaming at them in a rather creepy way.
Dane shakes his head and narrows his eyes. “No, I can’t say I recognize them. Can you give us a hint?”
“It’s us, Dane,” Amber says flatly. “Do you see this one has a veil on?”
“Yep!” Aunt Dolores says. “I used Velveeta for your faces because the two of you—”
I cut her off before she can insult their matching spray tans. “Auntie, why don’t you go put that on the buffet table. The guests are dishing up right now, and I’d hate for them to miss out on your cheese people.”
Aunt Dolores seems satisfied with this and starts toward the buffet table, leaving me with one very short Sonny Bono to my left and a much taller one to my right.
Trenton peers down at Isabelle. “And this must be Amber’s nephew that we’ve heard so much about.”
Nephew?Clearly Trenton is as dialed in as his son. “This is my…Isabelle.”
Sharon smacks her husband on the forearm. “You really have had enough mojitos. It’s agirl.” She crouches down and speaks to Izzy in a loud, sing-songy voice. “Hi Isabelle, it’s very nice to meet you.”
Isabelle, who is used to people treating her like a real human being, wrinkles up her nose a tiny bit, then, perfectly imitating Sharon, says, “It’s nice to meet you, too.”
My mum, clearly sensing danger in the realm of some sort of embarrassing exchange, takes Isabelle by the hand. “Are you hungry, sweetie?”
“I could eat. But I don’t want any of those cheese people that Auntie Dolores made,” she says, cupping her hands to her mouth and whispering, “She said the glue ispoison.”
