Akiko comes over, her serene smile never faltering despite the overt tightening of my jaw she has to have noticed. The petite Japanese woman could smile calmly while treading water in an ocean full of starving sharks. As usual, her black hair is in a bun, her makeup subtle and perfect and her outfit expensive butunderstated. The perfect wife for a lawyer who’s often involved in high-profile cases.
“Huxley, so good of you to come by! We missed you so much!” She hugs me.
Under any other circumstances, I’d return the hug and say something warm in response. Instead, all she gets is a short grunt.
“Isn’t it lovely that Prescott offered to host a family dinner?” Grandma beams.
She can play innocent until the second coming of Jesus, but I’m not buying it. I glance at my watch. “You know what? I just remembered an appointment I forgot about.”
“Oh, nonsense,” Mom scoffs. “Madison said you were free.”
Fuck.If they already spoke to my assistant, they really put a lot of thought and effort into this. “Sometimes she forgets.”
“Then fire her,” Grandma says. “An assistant who can’t keep track of her boss’s schedule is less than worthless.”
“I’m not firing her.” Madison is an excellent employee and presents herself well to our clients. Not only that, she has an uncanny ability to know what I need even before I ask. And she’s never given me a gift I didn’t like. As opposed to my grandmother, who sent me a gold-plated business card with my name and the Huxley & Webber logo last Christmas. Apparently, it was meant to beaspirational.
“Shall we sit down?” Uncle Prescott says. He’s a tall man—albeit a couple inches shorter than me—and possesses an imposing intellect and voice. Not that he speaks loudly, but his tone brims with confidence.
His three sons are just like him in that regard. Thankfully, none of them took after his ex, an unhinged bitch he married when he was young and foolish. Even the smartest of us make mistakes when our hormones are in the driver’s seat.
Ares and the twins, Bryce and Josh, are standing behind the elders. They’re still in suits, probably having arrived from work. I shoot them a dirty look. If The Fogeys plotted to fuck me over, these three should’ve watched out for me. We don’t let each other get screwed over.
They shake their heads fractionally. Ares and Josh mouth,We didn’t know. Bryce mouths,I was stuck in court all day!
I expel a resigned breath. My cousins probably did the best they could. They respect my career decision, even though they’ve joined the firm and are “having a blast.” Well, the last part is what Grandma claims, so who the hell knows? But if any of them aren’t happy at Huxley & Webber, I hope they leave rather than listen to the family motto and stay. You only live once.
“I made a wagyu roast with Japanese-style citrus sauce and a few side dishes that I’ve been dying to serve at a big dinner,” Akiko says with a smile. “We have both warm and cold sake. Plus a lovely plum wine.”
If I can’t leave, I might as well enjoy the food. My aunt is an exceptional cook. If she ever opened a restaurant I’d take my brothers there, except she only serves two-bite portions. For some bizarre reason she acts like she loses a year of her life for every bite people take of her cooking.
The table at Uncle Prescott’s home is long enough to seat twenty-six. When he pissed Mom off about a case at one of the previous family dinners, she gestured at the expanse and remarked that the length might be compensating for something. With any luck they’ll get into another spat over some obscure legal point and forget about my existence.
I make sure to sit as far away from the naggers as possible, taking a seat next to Josh. He leans over. “Want me to text your assistant and have her fake an emergency meeting?”
“Thanks, but it won’t work. Mom already checked.” If Madison fakes something, Mom will find out. She hates beingmisinformed or inconvenienced, and she’s tenacious when she feels wronged. I wouldn’t want to unleash Jeremiah Huxley on my poor assistant.
The meal starts with an appetizer of fresh maguro and tai sashimi, two slices each. Aunt Akiko’s refusal to fill your belly hasn’t changed one bit over the years. My cousins always snuck over to my place during summer and winter breaks to raid my pantry and fridge when we were younger.
“How’s Joey treating you?” Mom asks casually.
I can feel myself tensing up. Just thinking of Dad’s overzealous assistant, who looks like the unfortunate love child of an alien pervert and an orange, makes me want to break the lacquered chopsticks in half.
“Is he still sending you women?” Aunt Akiko says, her eyes comically wide in faux shock. She’s always deliciously scandalized at the degenerate workings of America’s upper echelons.
But she knows the answer. Everyone does.
Grandma looks like she’s dying to hear me say it. Meanwhile, my cousins cast me looks full of sympathy.
“Joey treats me the way he does all my brothers,” I say icily.
“Well, that sounds fair. Would you like some warm sake?” Akiko says.
“The cold one, please.” I keep my tone polite. No matter how annoyed I get, sheismy aunt.
The serving staff places a bottle and a white glazed cup only slightly larger than a thimble next to my plate. I reach for the emergency cigar I carry for situations like this.
Aunt Akiko opens her mouth, but then presses her lips together instead. Everyone present knows this dinner isn’t going to end well, and it’ll be worse if I don’t get my cigar fix when dealing with my stubborn grandmother.
