Cindy clapped her hands together, showing everyone a salt and pepper shaker set. They were shaped like two happy, plump people, a man and a woman, and they could be set side by side so that they were kissing each other.
Tyler’s gift was simple and sweet. Two frames of pressed flowers. I didn’t know what kind they were, but they appeared to be special to Cindy because she gave him a watery smile and asked him to hang them in the bedroom for her.
My eyes found several other pressed plants decorating the walls, and I wondered if they were all from him.
Finally, Rhett handed his mom a small box. She opened it gingerly, removing a bundle of bubble wrap and tape to reveal a small snow globe with a miniature version of Seattle inside. The Space Needle shimmered as flakes of glitter floated around it.
They were all such simple gifts, but she acted like they were precious treasures. Each item lying neatly on the table made it clear what really mattered to Cindy.
To this family.
“Now, I only need thirteen states, and my collection is complete,” Cindy chirped. “Any chance Levi is sending you to Rhode Island next?”
Rhett took my hand between his. “Levi isn’t sending me anywhere for a while.”
Cindy eyed our hands for a moment too long before she thumped the table, saying, “I guess we have two reasons to celebrate! Where’s the cake?”
Candles were lit, a very deep and masculine version of “Happy Birthday” was sung, and dense pieces of chocolate cake were passed around the table. It was all so normal. Other than the touching—Rhett had a hand on some part of me at all times—I didn’t see any difference between this shifter family and an ordinary human family.
In fact, they were doing it better than my family ever did.
“So, Angie, what do you think?” Dustin asked, scraping the last smear of chocolate frosting off his plate with his fork. “Have we scared you off for good?”
“This is actually the calmest, wholesome family dinner I’ve ever experienced.” My smile was too big, and the humor didn’t quite coat my words like I meant it to.
Maybe I was being too honest. I had a problem with that.
“This was wholesome to you?” Rhett looked surprised. Cindy looked suspicious.
“My mom was—well, is—an alcoholic.” I met his eyes, suddenly feeling ashamed of admitting this in front of his family. “You never knew if you were going to get my mother the angel or my mother the dragon. Special occasions were the worst.”
I shrugged, as if it didn’t hurt to see just what I was missing out on. “Anyway, birthday dinners are a lot different in my family.”
When we used to have them at all. There were a handful where my mom passed out on the couch with the cake in the oven, leaving the burned remains for us to deal with.
Murmurs of sympathy came from all corners of the table. I smiled and waved them away, looking to Cindy to say, “Sorry for trauma dumping at your birthday dinner. And I’m sorry I didn’tbring you a gift. I didn’t know I was coming to your birthday party until we were already on the plane.”
“You’re the perfect gift,” Cindy rasped. She began to cough, holding her napkin up to her mouth.
The coughing continued, her breaths coming in short bursts in between.
Then she coughed so hard she couldn’t take a breath. For thirty seconds we all held our breath with her, waiting until she gasped for air.
Tyler and Rhett both stood, resting a hand on each of Cindy’s shoulders. She laid her hand over theirs, nodding weakly and assuring them, “I’ve still got some life in me. Don’t worry so much.”
The energy was somber after that, the brothers working together to clear the table. I tried to offer my help, but Rhett wrapped his hand around the nape of my neck and said, “Stay put.”
Goosebumps formed on my arms, my chest jolting at the feel of his warm palm on bare skin. I nodded faintly, unable to speak as I licked my lips.
When I turned my head away from Rhett, it was to see Cindy watching me like a hawk.
“Tyler, please bring the photo album,” she said sweetly, gaze never leaving mine.
She scooted her chair up next to mine, accepting the thick plastic album from Tyler and slapping it on the table.
“I’m sorry about your mom,” she murmured, touching my arm. “Mom’s can be a real bitch.”
I snorted. “Something like that.”
