Not Harold, who didn’t seem to notice the looks they were getting, setting his cupcake on the table as Emmett pushed him up to it. “More pretty ladies for me.”
The women surrounding him tittered like he was the most charming man they’d ever met. If nothing else, he was probably the most confident.
Deciding to ignore Harold’s proclamation and outing, Emmett smiled at everyone and asked, “Everyone having fun? Does anyone need anything?”
He noticed Mrs. Beck—no one was allowed to call her Lily since they were little more than the help to her—was struggling to open her napkin, her shaking hands seeming worse that day than normal. He made a mental note to mention it to the nurse working in the unit where Mrs. Beck lived and edged around the table to get closer.
“Can I help you with that, Mrs. Beck?” he asked lightly, keeping his hands at his sides. If she was in one of her moods, he’d get a tongue-lashing if he tried to help before she agreed.
She raised her head and eyed him suspiciously, though he wasn’t sure how well she could see anymore. Her glaucoma had gotten much worse since her family had moved her in two years ago. “I suppose that’s alright. My hands are giving me fits today.”
He made a sympathetic noise and gently took the square napkin printed with brightly colored balloons. After unfolding it, he offered it back to her to place in her lap. “There you are. Is there anything else I can get you?”
“No, dear. That’s all.”
Dismissed, he smiled and turned to the others, about to ask once more if everyone was okay. He never got the chance.
With half his cupcake in his mouth, Harold barked across the table, “Found yourself a nice man yet, Emmett?”
Oh lord.
“You know, my great-grandson is a…” Catherine, sitting on Harold’s other side, looked at her tablemates, wild white brows furrowed. “What are we supposed to call them now?”
“My granddaughter told me that queer was okay now,” Delilah offered, wiping the corners of her mouth.
Catherine continued to frown, shaking her head, but before she could decide on a word—or Emmett could sink through the floor—tiny Henrietta, a Black woman in her late nineties, croaked out, “My great-grandson is non-bitey.”
Everyone stared at her.
“He’s what?” Harold said, the other half of his cupcake frozen in front of his mouth.
“That’s good he… doesn’t bite people,” Delilah said, sounding confused but smiling at Henrietta patiently.
“What?” Henrietta barked, leaning closer. She was notorious for forgetting to put in her hearing aids, but he sort of wished she’d missed the first part of the conversation altogether.
“Oh my gosh,” Emmett muttered, covering his eyes and wondering what was happening and how he could leave without just straight up fleeing the scene.
“I said, it’s good he doesn’t—” Delilah started again, voice raised.
“I think she meant nonbinary,” Emmett cut in and moved closer to Henrietta’s chair. “Is your great-grandkid nonbinary, Hen?”
“That’s what I said,” she said, like he was an idiot.
Gosh, he loved these people even when they drove him batty.
“What’s that?” Harold asked, eyeing the half a slice of cake left on Catherine’s plate.
“You don’t identify as a boy or a girl,” Emmett said, moving around the table once more. Before he could get there, Harold was reaching for the plate, but Catherine slapped his hand away.
“Your diabetes is barely under control,” she scolded him.
“It’s all the sweets he pilfers,” Delilah said, leaning around Harold to exchange a knowing look with Catherine. “I’m going to tell his son when he visits next week.”
“Delilah, darling, there’s no need to?—”
“What a good idea,” Catherine said over his whining.
“Catherine, don’t encourage her,” Harold said pitifully, laying one of his hands over hers.
