“Um, three, and I don’t care,” I shrug. “Hot dogs are hot dogs to me.”
“Same, but two for me,” Dad says.
“Ari, two for you?” Marco calls out as my wife walks out the back door.
“Yes, please.”
She’s wearing one of my shirts tied in a knot at her waist over a pair of shorts. As she walks across the grass barefoot, she pulls her hair up into a ponytail. And she’s just as stunning today as she was yesterday.
“Oh, Ariana, come here and look at these pictures, sweetie,” Mia says, holding out her phone. Ari smiles our way before heading toward her mom.
Marco throws the hotdogs on the grill, emptying one full pack but only adding a couple from the other. I look at Lil and raise my eyebrows in question.
“Food holdover. Ari can’t eat the brand the rest of us like. She’s tried a ton of times, but it always ends badly. They’re cheap. Hella cheap. I don’t know why we all like them so much because they’re definitely low-quality pig assholes, but it’s one of the few things they fed her.” My dad’s eyebrows pinch together, confusion showing on his face as Lil continues. “Peanut butter, too. She can eat it in stuff but not by itself. Or on crackers. Or bread.”
I barely contain a growl. “I swear if I find that man—” I shutup and try to shake off the scowl when Ariana stands and starts walking toward us.
“What are we talking about?” She asks as she sits next to me.
“You and food stuff,” Lil says nonchalantly.
Leaning back, Ariana puts her feet up on my lap. Even just that little bit of contact sends a wave of calm through me. I wrap my hand around her ankle, rubbing my thumb back and forth across her skin.
“Oh, I have a lot of food stuff. There’s holdover shit that mixes with my ADHD shit, and it’s hard to sort it out. Sometimes, it’s textures, sometimes flavors, sometimes memory triggers. But the why doesn’t really matter. I just can’t deal with certain things.”
“Black olives,” Dad says, his eyes wide. “You were eating them but then only took nachos from the sides without them.”
Damn, the way her nose crinkles is so fucking cute. “Because black olives are gross on or in things. They’re only good by themselves.”
“Fuck, how did I miss that one?” I ask, pissed at myself. “You did that when we made pizza, too. I didn’t even put it together.”
“Well, you were very annoyed with me at the time.” She puts her feet down and reaches across the table, handing Lil their locket.
“Hey, it’s a nice day. Swim with me before Luca steals you away again,” Lil begs as she wraps the chain around her wrist.
I tug Ari’s chair closer to mine. “What was the bet?” I ask.
Ariana sighs, giving me an apologetic smile. “I thought your mom would stay longer.” Her eyes drop away from mine as she tugs on a bracelet and mumbles, “Even after our thing in the hallway yesterday.”
My brow furrows. “What thing?”
Her shoulders rise and fall quickly. “She said some stuff. I said some stuff.”
“Ari.”
She huffs and looks up at the sky. “I don’t want to tell you what she said because it’s mean and not true. No one talks about someone I love that way.” Rage builds within me at the thought of my mom upsetting Ariana. My wife sits back in her chair and crosses her arms over her chest, frowning deeply. “Especially not your own goddamned mother.”
Some of the anger dissipates. “Me? Fuck, baby. I don’t care what she said about me.”
Her head snaps down, and she glares at me. “I care. She insulted all of us. I let her know that wasn’t cool.”
She chews on the inside of her cheek. Yeah, that’s not the end of the story. “And?”
Pursing her lips, she stares at me for a few seconds before answering. “And that she doesn’t scare me.”
To her credit, she tries to cover her tells. But my girl really does only have a poker face when it comes to poker. Maybe if she was wearing shoes, I would be fooled. But she spreads her toes and then clenches them, the same way I’ve seen her do with her fingers.
“And?”
