Her choice of words—boyfriendandlove—drew curious glances in my direction. Considering they’d only become aware of me today with Michelle’s dinner invitation, I could understand their surprise. It seemed Grace was an emotional communicator. If she thought it, she said it. Like the whole homecoming thing—I’d been blackmailed. She knew what she was doing at the Denny’s, giving me no choice in front of her mother without making me look like a prick.
Grace had operated with that same boldness from the start, referring to me as her boyfriend shortly after we’d had sex in my studio apartment. We’d never had the discussion, nor had Grace asked me to confirm our relationship status. At this point, the time to correct her had come and gone, but I figured, hey, if a girl like her wanted a boyfriend like me, who was I to complain?
Greeted by a man wearing a casual t-shirt, I knew instantly it was Grace’s father from the prominent coffee stain splattered across the front. He embraced me. “Welcome, Rory. I’m Quinn’s father, Scott. I can’t tell you how long we’ve waited for this special day. Such a dream come true. Our son has finally found his drummer. I think we’d all sort of given up hope. But look at you.”
A shaggy-haired dude stepped in front of me. “Quick—spell gonorrhea.”
“Kyle!” Mrs. M gasped.
He ignored her, motioning for me to answer.
“Um…” Of all the days for my limited schooling to fail me. “G-O-N-E-R-E-A?”
Kyle patted me on the shoulder. “You’re good. Make yourself at home.”
Another of the brothers laughed. “What the fuck was that?”
“Keith,” Mrs. M groaned. “Language. We have a guest. Can you all at least pretend to have manners?”
“That’s what you’re worried about? Not Kyle giving your guest an STD spelling bee?”
“It wasn’t a spelling bee. It was a test. I would never trust anyone dating my little sister who can spellgonorrhearight on the first try.”
I wasn’t sure how to respond, so I laughed. It seemed the only response to an STD ice-breaker. And that was just the opening act. It went down the line from there.
“I’m Emma, Quinn’s older sister.”
“I’m Finn, Quinn’s older sister’s boyfriend.”
“I’m Kenzie, the gonorrhea guy’s girlfriend.”
“We weren’t properly introduced. I’m Keith. Welcome to the band.”
Mrs. M put a hand on my shoulder. “Two of Grace’s older brothers weren’t able to make it on such short notice, but you’ll meet them another time.”
I didn’t understand the hospitality. There was no reason for it. They weren’t getting paid to take care of me. There was nothing in it for them at all. And yet, they all engaged me. These people were not who I’d thought they would be. The big fancy house I’d viewed from outside the gate was a smokescreen for the laid-back bunch inside. The way they’d all seamlessly shifted their humor to fit the new Quinn-based narrative, to the amused detriment of their youngest born, was what convinced me the McKallisters were a breed all their own. I’d worried I would suffer through the night, but not after all that.
“Mom, less chatting. More cooking,” Quinn said.
“Actually, the pizzas are ready for the toppings to go on, but!” She raised her voice. “I’m warning all of you. If I see blood this time, it’ll be our last homemade pizza night.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Kyle reached across me to grab a raw red onion. “How many times have we heard that?”
She tried again. “Just don’t act like heathens in front of our guest.”
“No, sorry,” Quinn said. “I haven’t been fighting for every handful of cheese since I was five to play nice now. If Rory can’t hang, he can’t eat.”
“Just tell him the rules, and let’s get a move on,” Emma said.
There were rules to pizza night?
It fell on Grace to spell them out. “We each get to design our half—to be eaten by all—but there’s only a finite amount of the good stuff, and you will be mercilessly judged if yours displeases the others.”
“She’s not kidding,” Finn said. “I was almost tossed out on my first McKallister pizza night. It’s all about making deals and quick decisions; otherwise, you’ll be left with nothing but pineapple and tears.”
“And don’t even think of plain cheese pizza. We have to share these, and that’s just selfish to the rest of us. If you have no imagination, you deserve to pick mushrooms off your pizza. Got it?” Keith said.
I nodded.
