“What the hell kind of place is this?” Roosterbreathed out.
I chuckled. “Isn’t it awesome?”
“Ah, that was not my first thought,” he said, glancing around.
Minus, Cricket, Razor, and Waverly walked in just as Friar Chuck, the Maître’d, walked up to the podium. He was an extremely large, bearded man, and tonight he was wearing a pink paisley robe and a purple feather boa.
“Welcome to the Pink Priest, my name is—Cricket? Bitch, you look gorgeous, as always. How’s that hot as hell brother of yours?”
“He’s as ornery as ever.”
“Well, Hatch can do whatever Hatch wants to do in my presence,” he said, fanning himself.
“I’m gonna hurl,” Minus bit out.
“I’ll let him know.” Cricket chuckled. “I made a reservation for six. Do you think there’s a chance the confessional is open?”
“For you, honey? Absolutely.” He grabbed menus and then grinned. “Follow me.”
As our host led us through the main dining room, I held onto Rooster’s arm, mostly so he didn’t run into anything. His head kept whipping around like a meerkat.
I grinned. I got it.
Colorful lights were strung up everywhere, and the walls were adorned with velvet paintings the likes of Marilyn Monroe, Andy Warhol, and John Waters. Papier mâché heads of famousreligious leaders were mounted and hung like big game trophies. Everyone from FriarTomás de Torquemada, the Inquisitor-General of the Spanish Inquisition, who’s mouth had been fitted with a ball gag, to televangelist mega-star Joel O’Sheen, his typically fluorescent white smile, painted an irreverent hot pink. Whoever decorated this place had an obvious disdain for organized religion. Everywhere the eye landed, there was some sort of visual dig on church, or its leadership.
We came to a heavy wooden door at the far end of the dining room that led us to a much smaller room with rough stone floors. The space had no windows and couldn’t have been more than ten feet by ten feet. The room was furnished with a booth and was lit only by candlelight. Not romantic candlelight mind you, but more like a gothic castle, creepy Dracula shit. We were seated by two silent figures in robes adorned with pink sequins, who then left us alone.
Once we had a moment to look over the menus, Jimmy arrived to take our drink orders. Jimmy happened to be Robert’s husband (the chef), and they were the loveliest couple. The fact that Jimmy was serving us personally was very special, but when the man literally yanked Minus out of his seat and pulled him in for a hug, I suddenly knew why he was serving us.
I glanced at Cricket, who rolled her eyes, butI did see a moment of panic in them as she rolled them back. Minus wasnota big, squishy, hugger of a man, so the fact he was tolerating this was somewhat of a miracle.
“How’s Clutch?” Jimmy asked.
“He’s good, bud,” Minus said, ending the hug as quickly as he could then taking his seat again, grabbing Cricket’s hand like a talisman.
“Well, you tell him to not be a stranger.”
“I’ll do that,” Minus promised.
“What can I get everyone to drink?”
The men all ordered beer while us women all ordered some kind of soda and once Jimmy walked away, we stared at each other.
“Why aren’t you drinking wine, Cricket?” I demanded.
She smiled. “Well, you can’t drink when you’re pregnant. Why aren’t you drinking?”
I burst into tears.
“Shit,” Razor bit out. “Kate? You okay?”
I nodded. “I’mpregnant.”
“So am I,” Waverly said as she too burst into tears.
Cricket pushed Minus out of the booth and I pushed Rooster who were on the ends, and Waverly scooted out as well and we fell into each other’s arms as we cried congratulations.
The men also rose to their feet to shake hands, then they hugged us, Razor lingering in his hug with me telling me how proud he was and howhappy he was for me.
