She stands by the glass table, setting down the food casually, as if she didn't just threaten us. The garden looks like a party shop exploded—pink and purple balloons everywhere, K-pop Demon Hunters plastered across the decorations, ribbons tangled with confetti, the whole mad, joyful mess.
Ezra scoffs. “Mum, I’m a grown man. You can't put me in a time-out.”
She turns slowly, fixes him with an unimpressed stare, and plants her hands firmly on her hips.
“Don’t get cheeky with me, Ezra Michael. Or I’ll tan your ass, and you'll be getting no cake.”
I clamp my mouth shut, shoulders shaking, as Ezra just stares at her—visibly recalculating his entire life. We may be grown men, but she absolutely would.
“Listen to your mother, boys,” Dad says, strolling out into the garden beside her, his voice amused. He's carrying a jug of juiceand a cooler stuffed with beer and fizzy pop in the other. “She's got the wooden spoon out today.”
I hate that thing.
Mum shoots him a look that says Don't encourage them, then her gaze drops to my chest. “Oh, Elijah—why are you soaked?”
I gesture lazily at Ezra. “Because that idiot knocked my beer all over me.”
She tuts, shaking her head. “Do you two ever not fight? It's been the same carry-on since ye were small.”
Dad sets the cooler down and chuckles. “Some things never change.”
Then he looks me over, eyes crinkling. “Go on, you can borrow one of my T-shirts. No need walking around like you've been baptised in Lager.”
Ezra snorts. I glare at him.
Mam points the wooden spoon at both of us. “And if I hear so much as a peep out of either of ye again, there'll be no cake. I don't care how old ye are, I’ll do it.”
We both straighten instantly.
Because in this house, the wooden spoon is law.
“So,” Mam says, putting the spoon down, wiping her hands with a tea towel, “when are River and Willow getting here? I can't wait to meet her.”
Just hearing Willow's name sends something warm and stupid fluttering through my chest.
“They will be here soon,” I say, and almost on cue, the doorbell rings.
I huff a quiet laugh. “That might be her now. Just—go easy on her, yeah? She's been a bit nervous about today.”
I step up beside my mam, lowering my voice. She tilts her head up to look at me, eyes soft for half a second before they sharpen with certainty.
“Nervous?” she repeats. “Ah, stop. We're a grand family. She’ll be more than welcome here,” without missing a beat, she adds. “Unlike that wife of yours.” And with that, she strides off toward the house.
Dad's hand comes down on my shoulder, firm and familiar, a quiet anchor. He watches her disappear into the house, a smirk tugging at his mouth.
“Your mam’s this close to making that wife of yours sign those bloody papers herself.”
He gives my shoulder a reassuring squeeze.
Ezra takes that as his cue to vanish, nicking a sausage roll off the table on his way past. Mam would have his hands for that.
Dad's attention returns to me, expression softening. “You know how protective she is,” he continues. “Especially over her boys. And if Willow is nervous because she thinks we won't like her because of Rose… Well, there's no need.”
He pauses, eyes searching mine. “Leon raised her, and he was a good man. Just like you.”
Something tugs inside my chest at that. Leon was my best friend, gone far too soon and left his girl behind. I manage a small, sad smile.
“Cheers, Dad.”
