“Happy Easter,” Mrs. Bergeron greets us with a nervous smile, ushering us inside before stooping to pet the dogs and subsequently wiping her hands on her white slacks. She and Claire hesitate before they embrace, and I feel guilty when the hug I receive isn’t as awkward.
We’re led through the immaculately decorated home into the kitchen, where Claire’s Aunt Verna awaits us. I peer around, noticing the somewhat dated but still sparkling clean counters and cabinets, as well as an attached formal dining room. The table is already set for eight, making me wonder if the room gets much use.
“Well, look what the Easter Bunny dragged in. How’s that trail ride been, cowgirl?” Verna asks with a sly smirk.
Claire glares at her before she leans in to kiss her cheek. “I wouldn’t know. Never did manage to get back on that horse.”
“This ain’t your stud?” Verna retorts before inviting me in for a hug. I stifle my reaction when she punctuates her embrace with a light tap on my backside, but I’m pretty sure Claire notices when my brow shoots up.
“Nope,” Claire replies, trying not to laugh. “You can lead ‘em to water, but sometimes you can’t make ‘em drink, no matter how thirsty.”
“What a shame,” Verna adds, leaning back to continue her perusal.
I clear my throat. “Well, maybe the horse is just worried about coming before the cart.”
Claire’s eyes widen in surprise, and her cheeks flush a shade darker.
“And maybe the cowgirl isn’t looking to get saddled with anyone,” she declares, crossing her arms over her middle.
“That’s too bad, since this horse has been looking forward to giving bareback rides,” I reply without hesitation, making myself blush this time. Claire and Verna both toss their heads back in laughter, while Mrs. Bergeron busies herself with her hosting duties, looking more scandalized than amused.
“Sounds like you’d better get your spurs and your whip ready, Claire Bear,” Aunt Verna continues, and I can’t help laughing, too.
Then Claire flashes me a grateful smile, warming me all over, and I know this is it—the relationship I’ve always wanted. The banter, the teasing, the inside jokes … the sound of her big laugh each time I manage a particularly spicy contribution … It wouldn’t be the same with anyone else, but I could do this with her for the rest of my life. And from the way she’s looking at me right now, I can tell she wants it, too.
Claire’s dad walks into the kitchen a moment later, and she breaks eye contact to share a hug with him. I step forward to shake his hand, and we make small talk about our careers and the LSU baseball team’s prospects of winning it all this year. He’s warm and friendly, but it’s obvious that Claire takes after her Aunt Verna more than anyone.
Mrs. Bergeron pulls a ham from the oven and encourages us to sittogether around the dining table as she brings out the sides in separate serving dishes, sighing when she nearly trips over Frankie. Meanwhile, Oscar’s already at my feet, begging for more food.
Claire still looks slightly uncomfortable as we open our fancy napkins and begin spooning potato salad onto fine china, though she seemed much more at ease throughout the casual buffet-style dinner at the homestead, even with so many people around. My family’s informalities were mostly born out of necessity, but I’ve never appreciated them so much until now.
No one moves to say the blessing, so I bow my head for a moment, making sure to thank God not only for the life, death, and resurrection of His only Son, since it is Easter Sunday and all, but also for the other gifts I’ve been taking for granted lately, like my family, my career, and Claire.
All eyes are on me when I open mine again and finish making the Sign of the Cross over my chest.
“And he’s Catholic, too,” Verna drawls, leaning over to elbow Claire in the side. “Nana ought to love that.”
“She certainly would approve,” Mrs. Bergeron agrees, and I realize that her parents haven’t even revealed their first names to me. “I suppose you’ll think it’s a good thing we had you baptized after all.”
“Wait, you were baptized Catholic?” I ask, turning my head to face Claire so fast that I almost make myself dizzy.
She shrugs. “Not that I know of.”
“My grandparents were very adamant about it,” her mom says quietly, and I swallow hard and try to disguise the way my heart races.
“I don’t ever remember going to Mass, though,” Claire says thoughtfully.
“We felt like the nondenominational church was a better fit for us,” Mrs. Bergeron clarifies with an apologetic smile.
“You may have been baptized by a priest, but I doubt there’s a Catholic bone in your body,” Mr. Bergeron says with a light chuckle.
TanteVerna huffs and shoots me a knowing smirk. “Hmm, I wouldn’t be so sure ofthat one.”
I clear my throat and scratch the back of my head nervously as Claire’s eyes meet mine, but I can tell she’s struggling not to laugh.
Claire’s dad snorts, and her mom clicks her tongue. “Really, Verna? Do you always have to do that?”
Verna simply waves a bejeweled hand, making her bracelets jangle, but I can see the second Claire’s posture straightens that she’s not going to let this go. I reach beneath the table to place my hand on her lap, but she doesn’t seem to notice.
