“Uhm…” Emma looks to Phyllis, then moves her eyes to Summer.She skips me entirely.
“Hold up,” I say.“You know this woman, Aunt Phyllis?”
“I ate some shrimp puffs,” Emma answers.“And some cheese.”
“That’s a start,” Phyllis says, patting Emma’s hand again.“But that certainly doesn’t qualify as a meal, now does it?”She tosses me a dirty look.I make a show of examining my shiny wingtips.
I know better than to defend myself.Aunt Phyllis may come off like a softie, but I’ve met the Warrior Priestess who lives under those zip-up housecoats.
“Come with me, honey.I’ll get you settled and make sure you get a meal.”She pulls Emma from the chair and walks her out of the tent.
Summer and I watch them leave.Emma has her duffel bag swung over her shoulder, and Aunt Phyllis is holding her hand as they approach the exit.Declan stops Phyllis to ask a quick question, and they’re on their way again.
“What the hell?”I say.
“Weird,” Summer says.“I gotta get more shrimp puffs before they’re all gone.”
She leaves me standing by myself at the table.The elderly couple seated there is staring at me in anticipation.Waiting for the next act in my roadshow, I guess.
“Enjoying the wedding?”
No response.
“I like your hat, ma’am.”
They just stare.Time to go.
“Excuse me.My daughter needs me.”
It’s a legit excuse, since I haven’t seen her for a while, and nobody can argue with a guy doing his fatherly duties.I scan the open space lit by a sea of fairy lights.
By this point in the evening, many women have kicked off their uncomfortable shoes and a lot of men have loosened or removed their ties.I spy my brother Declan across the dance floor.Jasmine is standing on the tops of his shoes as he takes the lead.My girl’s looking up at him and laughing, her face nothing but pure happiness.
She adores her Uncle Declan.Jasmine adores all her uncles, but Declan maybe most of all.I think that’s because Declan is a kid at heart—probably always will be.
“What was that about?”
I put my hand on my heart and spin around.“Fuck me, Special K.You scared the piss out of me.”
Our baby brother, who ironically is the biggest of the five us, just snuck up behind me.He stands with his arms crossed, the seams of his jacket sleeves about ready to burst from the strain.
Special K doesn’t respond.He’s the strong, silent type.His real name is Kevin, and a lot of people assume his nickname means “Special Forces Kevin.”I can see why they might think that.He’s basically the poster child for a Special Forces psychological profile—stable, adaptable, flexible, tight-lipped.
But that’s not it at all.
He’s been called Special K since he was born.Our poor mother, who already had four boys, wasn’t planning a fifth.But there he was, his hair as blond as the rest of us were dark.Mom referred to him as her “special surprise.”
He’s staring over my shoulder at the moment, apparently waiting for me to answer his question, so I do.“Some chick showed up saying she was hired to be my housekeeper.”
“Sounds reasonable.”He resumes eye contact with me.
“Reasonable?What do you mean?I don’t need a housekeeper interrupting my privacy.”
Special K grunts.“Privacy?To do what—parade around in Disney princess dresses?”
“Excuse me?I don’t wear Disney princess dresses.”
He grunts again.
