My family operates all big gatherings with three specific time periods: the hours long setup, the actual party, and the clean-up crew, which consists of our closest friends hanging out long into the night.
“You okay?” I ask Isolde.
“You okay?” she asks back.
It’s been a long time since I’ve brought a woman home. I know the questions I’m about to get asked. What I don’t know is what Isolde will think or learn about me in the next few hours.
“Let me help,” she offers Luis.
He heads up the porch. “And get called out for letting a girl help. Absolutely not.”
She wrinkles her nose, highlighting the light smattering of freckles on her pale skin. “Women can, in fact, carry heavy stuff.”
I take the bag she’s trying to get out of the car. “You’ve seen him struggling to lift weights at the gym, right? He’d let you help carry stuff anytime if he knew his mom and our aunts wouldn’t give him complete shit for it.”
“He is not wrong about that,” Aunt Rosalie says, coming out on the porch.
She’s colorful like always, her shirt a bright blue and her sandals orange. She’s the oldest of the aunts and acted more like a grandmother, since ours had unfortunately passed already.
Rosalie crosses her arms against the wind. “And who is this?” There’s a merry glint to her eyes, and I ignore the dread trying to dissolve in my stomach.
“Hi, I’m Isolde,” Matheson responds, her voice soft-spoken like usual but confident enough to carry.
“British?” Rosalie asks. “Oh, I do love a British detective show. So much better than the crap on our TVs.”
Luis laughs, walking around her with his arms full.
“Come inside,” Rosalie tells Isolde. “Make yourself at home.”
“Who’s that?” my cousin asks.
“I don’t know,” another one replies. There are already twenty people here, and that’s just to help get ready. The house will be packed before it’s all over and done with.
“Is that Tris?” Luis’s mom asks, peeking out of the kitchen. She visibly startles when she sees a female with us.
“Is my dad here?” I ask Aunt Marie, pressing a kiss to her cheek.
“In the back,” she replies. “Apparently there’s an emergency with the grill. Who are you?” she asks Isolde.
“She’s British,” Aunt Rosalie replies, signifying that this is of great importance.
“Oh.” Aunt Marie nods, her brows lifted high.
What the fuck did I just let myself walk into?
“Can I help with anything?” Isolde asks, her arms clasped behind her back.
“Oh no!” Rosalie and Marie try to wave her away.
Aunt Susanah hands her a broom. At her sister’s nagging, she raises her hands. “What?” She motions to Isolde. “She asked to help. It’s your daughter who spilled an entire bag of chips on the floor.”
Aunt Marie grabs the broom out of Isolde’s hands, apologizing quickly. Then she mutters to her younger sister, “She’s Tristan’s guest!”
Aunt Susanah’s brows also lift. My misgivings grow.
“Did you actually bring a girl?” my cousin Rae asks when she spots me.
Luis opens his mouth, ready to answer, but thinks better of it when I slap the back of his head.
