The waitress doesn’t scare me this time as she pops in with our drinks and a massive basket of yeast rolls with cinnamon honey butter. I grab a warm roll and split it in half, adding a healthy portion of the sweet butter before taking a large bite. I groan as it melts in my mouth.
I might have a new favorite restaurant.
“So, tell us about what Ember was like growing up,” Mom says eagerly, wanting all the information she can get on her new soon to be son in law.
“He burst into flames at least twice a week,” Ahmose says, feigning annoyance.
“That seems like a bit of a hassle,” my dad says.
“He only did that during big temper tantrums,” Amina says fondly, running a hand over Ember’s hair.
“I can’t imagine having to watch your child burst into flames anytime his emotions get too big,” my mom murmurs, leaning forward with fascination in her eyes.
“It’s not so different from raising any child. And we were very prepared. Back then, houses were made of stone, and therewere fewer flammable items than there are now, so it wasn’t too bad.”
My dad has been quietly studying them for the last few minutes, confusion marring his features.
“Forgive me if this is rude…” he starts, finally working up the courage to voice whatever has had him so deep in thought, “but how does your relationship work?”
“What do you mean?” Ahmose asks.
“Well, you’re an alpha,” Dad says, looking at Amina.
“Yes.” She nods easily.
“And you’re… an omega?” he asks Ahmose.
Ahmose nods his answer, and my father sits back slightly as if the information is a shock to him. It’s obvious by the subtle pheromones that Ahmose and I are the only omegas at this table filled with alphas, but my father can’t seem to wrap his mind around the idea that male omegas actually exist outside of his one disappointment of a son.
“Don’t be so old school, Asher,” Amina says with a firm look, ready to defend her husband.
“He’s just awkward,” Mom defends quickly, elbowing Dad and whispering for him to ‘fix his face’.
“My face is my face,” my dad says with a frown.
“I take it you aren’t used to being around omegas even though you have an omega son,” Ahmose says in understanding.
Dad nods quickly, leaning forward. He’s clearly determined to continue the conversation even if it’s rude to discuss people’s designations in public.
“So, if Amina is the alpha, does that mean that she…” he gestures vaguely. Dear gods, don’t say anything sexist! “…runs things?”
“Definitely not,” Amina laughs in delight.
“Just because I carried our child doesn’t mean that I’m incapable of doing normal things like working or running a household,” Ahmose explains.
The whole table chuckles awkwardly, except for my father, who looks like he is trying to rewrite several decades of assumptions.
Meanwhile, the waitress appears again to take our orders. Both mothers want the supposedly famous gumbo. Ahmose orders the etouffee. My dad gets red beans and rice. I order whatever the first item on the menu is because my brain isn’t working properly at the moment, and Ember gets the fried gator with homemade ranch dipping sauce.
“So, before you two got here, Amina and Ahmose were telling us about you guys running Sunshine’s funeral home together,” Mom says, changing the subject to something more polite.
“We do,” Ember says, a large, proud smile splitting his face in half.
“They’re doing so well for themselves,” Amina brags warmly.
“Sunshine has always been so good with people,” my mom says, her eyes filled with pride.
My chest tightens at the praise, unused to the feeling of acceptance.
