The rest of the room was a blur of faces with similar-sounding names. Even with my eye for detail, I would struggle to remember which name went with which face for months to come.
One face stuck out from the rest, though. My dad already sat at the table beside Becca's dad and Mr. Bartleby, my former teacher. I knew Dad would be here, but it shocked me to see him leaning forward, matching the others' body language, as Bruce's dad shared a tall tale, from the sounds of it. He looked relaxed and happier than I'd seen him in a long time. Granted, Mr. Bartleby gave off alpha energy, though he didn't fit what my dadhad hammered into me as ideal alpha traits. Even when seated, it was easy to see he was shorter than my dad by several inches.
I wanted to crash their conversation and give my dad the same dose of embarrassment he always gave me when I talked to alphas who weren't up to his standards, but I didn't want to make a scene in front of Mika and his family. I swallowed my desire for retribution and gave him the benefit of the doubt. Since my alpha dad left, he hadn't gotten out much. Even if Dad decided Mr. Bartleby wasn't his type, I was glad to see him having fun.
Still, I got a weird little squiggle in my tummy when Talia proclaimed over dinner that Dad would stay at the warehouse indefinitely. After everyone clapped for him, Mr. Bartleby invited him to movie nights on Tuesdays, once he moved in.
"He lives here?" My whisper was so loud, every shifter in the room probably heard me, but my dad was oblivious.
"He's a turtle shifter," Mika said. "One of the wolves got a little too close during a pack run, so now he stays here with us."
Besides Bruce's dad and a few other beefy alphas I assumed were wolves, no one else at the table looked like my dad's stereotypical definition of an alpha. Living among the meerkats would teach him more nuance, I hoped.
No matter what my dad thought, I already knew I wanted to be with Mika. It was too soon to box up all my books and throw them in storage, but I would be ready once our house was built. If only Mika still wanted to be with me by then.
Two weeks later,Becca and Bruce returned from their honeymoon. They hadn't gone far, driving down the coast to San Francisco, but they'd had a blast exploring the city. Beccamodeled her Giants baseball hat and 49ers t-shirt over a flouncy ruched linen skirt with a tilt of her hips before tackling me in a hug.
"Thank you so much for watching the place. How was Pickles?"
"Not her usual bubbly personality." I motioned to the closed pantry door, the tortoiseshell cat's usual hiding place when she sulked. I hadn't seen her since I arrived a half-hour earlier to open the windows and clean the litter box one last time.
"She missed you," I continued. "Every time I came over, instead of begging for pets, she ran away, yowling."
"Pickles? Kitty kitty? Where are you?"
We watched the pantry door, which didn't budge. "She's passed judgment on us by hiding," I said.
Becca sighed. "You're right. She gets temperamental when we leave. Hopefully, she'll be happier in the new place."
"When do you move?" I asked.
"We still have some painting to do, and Bruce has to pick out a couple different accessories for his man cave, also known as his garage." She rolled her eyes. "I've never had a garage in my life. Have you?"
"No car," I reminded her. "We had a carport when I was young." I didn't say it anymore,"when my parents were still together,"but my chest ached at the memory. I didn't know which loss I mourned more: my alpha dad or the privilege of living with both parents in a three-bedroom ranch in the suburbs. "It was too flimsy, and we couldn't park under it." I finished the sad story with a half-shrug.
Becca and I had been the new kids in the same apartment building when we'd moved with our single dads. That's how we met. She'd never visited our suburban ranch, and I had only driven by the beautiful stucco and tile-roofed home her momhad decorated with art prints, knickknacks, and all the other possessions her dad had sold after she passed away.
"Can you believe it?" Becca asked. "We're moving into a house, when I thought we'd be stuck in this run-down apartment forever."
Her apartment was three times the size of mine and allowed pets, but she didn't mean to insult my living situation. "Best wedding present ever?" I asked.
She glared at me. "You know it wasn't. He lied to me for years, claiming to rack up student loans, car payments, the works! That man hasn't owed a dime in his entire life."
"It's not a bad lie, though," I said. "He's loaded, from what I hear."
She laughed. "I mean, I guess ... but for him to think I wasn't trustworthy enough until I had a ring on my finger … that's what pissed me off. We're fated mates! What did he think I was going to do? Run off with his money?"
"Who knows," I said. "It's like we've always said. People with money do strange things, and until we have money ourselves, we wouldn't understand." I nudged her shoulder. "So, do you understand, now that you have money?"
"Hell no!" She laughed. "I mean, look at me. I splurged on a hat and a tourist shirt, $80 total on clothes! This is about as risky as my spending gets."
"When the first baby comes, you'll learn how to spend his money like an heiress," I said.
"Are you in here?" we heard from the entryway.
Becca's cheeks pinked, and she darted toward him. "Oh hi, Honey!"
"You forgot." He towed two large suitcases by their handles, which were looped through two smaller bags.
