“I need to go change.”
“You look fine to me.” He shrugs.
“We should have catered.” My mom’s having a meltdown in the kitchen. “I told you we should have catered.”
“No,Isaid we should cater!” Piper’s yelling now.
“I bought a street-taco kit at Costco. We’re just going to have tacos.”
“We are not feeding the Belmonts tacos, Hank.”
Graham removes his suit jacket and heads to the kitchen while I scurry after him.
“Can I help you at all, Mr. and Mrs. Lockwood?”
“Is Dani not entertaining you? Dani!”
“Do you know how to butcher a fish?” my dad asks dramatically. “I wanted to serve them whole but…”
Mom is glaring at me, then she beams at Graham. “We’re just running a little behind.”
Graham is already rolling up his sleeves.
Piper swoons. I’m feeling a little dizzy myself as Graham takes the knife, which my father was about to accidentally cut his finger off with, and runs it along the whetstone.
“My parents made me work minimum-wage jobs in high school,” he says as he picks up the first fish and turns it over. It looks like it’s been hacked at with a spoon.
“That one’s ruined. We’ll make sure Dani eats that one,” Mom tells him in a rush.
He deftly runs the knife along the side of the fish.
“Not a single bone.” My dad marvels at the fillet as Graham moves onto the next fish.
“I worked at a restaurant nearby, and my job was to cut up all the meat.”
“Your parents made you work in a kitchen?” Mom purses her mouth.
“Kitchen work is fun, Linda. It’s not like he was cleaning sewers,” Dad says.
We all watch, mesmerized, as Graham slices up the fish.
“Well, ‘fun’ is not exactly the word I would use,” Graham says wryly. “The whole place was staffed by ex-prisoners, and they got pretty touchy if you messed up.” He sets the next perfect fillet down. “One guy—tattoos all over his face—I remember him just going ballistic on me because he didn’t like the way I chopped up chives. ‘Circles!’ he’d yell. ‘Circles, not tubes!’”
He smiles at the memory.
Yeesh.
“We’re here! I’m hungry,” Jeremy yells as he and Colette and Colette’s mom enter the kitchen.
Vivienne Belmont’s eyebrows raise straight up when she sees Graham—sleeves rolled up, knife in hand. “My word.”
My mom’s face blanches.
“Vivienne! Can I… This is… How about a drink? Dani, did you eat all those endives?” Mom is flustered. “Pour our guests some wine.”
“Hi, Graham,” Colette drawls.
His hands are dirty and holding a knife, so he can’t push her away when she leans up to press a too-long kiss to his cheek.
