by Emilia Finn
“Five hundred dollars of credit at the local bookstore, and two hundred at the coffee shop? Beckett!” she shouts. “That’s way too generous.”
Wild, my eyes whip to Tabby’s and narrow.
She looks to the floor and hides her smirk.
“Oh my god, Beck!” Nadia wraps an arm around my neck and yanks me in close. “Seriously generous.”
“You’re welcome.” I absorb her hug and don’t pull away too soon, still reeling that my assistant just cost me seven hundred bucks. “Happy birthday, Nads.”
“I’m gonna have some of that.” Arlo, Nadia’s younger cousin, swoops in and snatches one of the vouchers from Nadia’s hand. “Thanks, Beck. We’re gonna love this.”
“Is anyone gonna introduce the new girl?” Corey demands. “It’s starting to get awkward.”
“Oh! Uh, yeah.” I turn and wave a hand toward Tabby. “Most of you have already talked to her once or twice on the phone. Everyone, this is Tabitha Lawrence.”
When she doesn’t move, terrified by the dozens of eyes that study her from her feet to her hair, I cross the room and take her arm. “Tabitha Lawrence, meet everyone.”
“Um…” Tabby blushes hot, her ears turn pink. “Hello.”
“Hey.” Taunting grin, Corey makes the first move and saunters around the counter. When he’s close enough, he extends a hand and takes Tabby’s when she lifts hers. “I’m Corey. Are you and he the touchy-feely kinda boss and secretary, or…?”
“Corey!” Abigail scolds. “Stop it.”
“We’re not,” I tell my older brother. I say the words, and I mean them, but still, when Corey brings her hand higher and presses a kiss to the top, my stomach jolts. “No, we’re…”
“Purely professional,” Tabitha adds. “Though, I have a boyfriend, so…” She gently coaxes her hand from my brother’s and comforts him with a smile.
Is this how Nix felt when I met Idalia? Is this how Mitch felt when he brought Nadia home to us?
“It’s lovely to meet you all. It’s been an interesting week,” Tabby adds. “So putting faces to names is nice.”
“All of my brothers are going to rub themselves on you.” Abigail grabs Tabitha’s hand and pulls her away. “I’m Abby, you’ve just met Corey. You’ve got Beckett pegged, no doubt.”
“Chronic fuckboy with a god complex and an inability not to flirt?” Tabby nods. “Yeah, I’ve figured him out.”
“Uh…” Abby’s face blazes. “Yeah.”
Snickering, all seven feet of Spencer Serrano pushes up from his stool and offers a hand when Abby stops beside him. “We don’t say the F-word in front of our Priss,” Spencer taunts. “She’s averse to cussing. But yeah,” he meets my eyes over the top of Tabby’s head. “Total fuckboy. I’m Spence.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Spence.” Tabby’s voice cracks and makes her blush spread. “Um… you’re married to Abigail.”
“I am.” He pulls my sister into his side and crushes her in enough of a hug to make the rest of us look away. “Things are getting kinda serious between us.”
“Oh hush,” Abby admonishes. She looks to Tabitha, “Here’s Nadia, the birthday girl. She’s turning twenty-one for the eighth time. And by the stove is Idalia. I don’t mind when she cusses.”
“‘Cause she does it in Italian,” Nixon teases. He comes around the counter with a boy sitting on his left foot—as in, Max is wrapped around Nix’s leg and coming along for the ride. “I’m Nixon Rosa. Nice to meet you.”
“And you,” Tabby shakes his hand. “Youngest Rosa, firefighter, not yet married, but may as well be.” Crouching, Tabby stops so she’s on Max’s level. “Hello.”
“Hello,” the little boy responds. Max has chosen silence for most of his life, a trauma response after losing his biological father to a house fire. But in the last year or so, he’s coming out of his shell. He might never toss full sentences at us, or yammer on the way other kids might. But a simple hello is a gift for us all, a gift his mother still exhales at and squirrels away in her heart. “I’m Maximo.”
“And I’m Tabitha.” She doesn’t reach out and touch the boy, but her smile is large enough, genuine enough to make him smile in return. “It’s nice to meet you.”
Max nods and hides against Nix’s jeans.
Pushing up straight, Tabby meets Nix’s eyes once more, then Abby moves her on to Idalia.
They exchange hugs. Words of… probably something not nice about me. Then Abby brings her to the rest; Arlo, the drop-in who never went away. Nadia, the birthday girl who loves attention. Mitchell, the brother who is finally chilling out now that he gets laid on the regular.
Tabby hesitates when she’s brought to Troy; he’s large like Spence, formidable and dark. But even he puts on a polite face and greets our newest Martha.
“Alright,” Nix announces once Tabby has been passed from one person to the next. “Let’s eat.”
Tabitha
Part of The Family
I sit at the table between my not-as-loud-as-usual boss, and his definitely loud sister-in-law Nadia. The perks of being here tonight, Tabitha the assistant, means I get to observe this ragtag collection of people, and file their nuances away for later dissection.
I’ve been brought home by a man to meet the family, and though that should be nerve-wracking, it’s not, because I’m here in a professional capacity—made more obvious when Beckett’s phone dings and he rudely checks his texts at the table. He long ago set the phone beside his plate, so each time the screen lights up, I’m able to glance across and catch a name: Jana, Rebecca, Laura, Dion.
Beckett Rosa is an equal-rights fuckboy, a sample-them-all playboy who isn’t shy about what he wants in life. So while these women hound his phone, I’m let off the hook with each new text that comes in.
Abigail and Nadia see the screen just as clearly as I do. Arlo and Idalia read snippets when the screen lights up, reinforcing that I’m not a bed prospect for the man they expect to claim all of womankind, and once these women make their minds up, the side glances and sneaky wondering about me dissipates.
“So, how long have you been in town, Tabitha?” Abby sits across from me, drinking her wine, but we’re tucked in close enough that each time either of us moves, our feet accidently bump. “How do you like it so far?”
“A few weeks.” I set my cutlery down and press a hand to my lips while I swallow my food. “My boyfriend is finishing up his position back home, so until he arrives with the last of our things, my sister has been staying with me.”
“Oh, you have a sister?” Abby’s face lights up. “Older or younger? You should have brought her along tonight.”
“Older, but only by a year and a bit. And she probably would have come, except for the fact I had no clue I had dinner plans until five minutes before I was due to be here.” I smile to make certain they know I’m not mad. “My new boss is somewhat demanding, and he lacks appropriate social skills when it comes to inviting people places with reasonable lead time.”
“He’s an animal,” Nadia drinks her wine. “Rumor has it, he enjoys mouth to mouth resuscitation with the little doggies too.”
“Ha,” Beckett rolls his eyes. “Better than working in a mortuary.”
Nadia’s cheeks warm with something; an old memory, an inside joke. “This is true. Though I’d bet Beckett could find ways to slut up the old biddies who come through a funeral home. They’d be buried in push-up bras and too much eyeliner.”
“There’s nothing wrong with looking nice!” he argues. “Why are you guys always on me about this?”
“This sister of yours,” Corey interrupts, spinning his beer. “Name?”
“Jen. She’s my be—”
“Is she hot?” Corey and Troy say at the same time.
“Hey!” Abby slaps Corey’s arm. “Stop it.”
“It’s a valid question,” Troy laughs. “You know Beckett has already asked.”
“I actually haven’t.” Staunch, Beckett sits back in his chair
and lifts his chin. “I’m not a pig, unlike my barbarous big brothers.”
“Oh please!” Nadia leans forward to glare at her brother-in-law. “Shall we discuss Lorraine the Slut again? We could tell Tabitha how she was Mitch’s girlfriend, but somehow, Lorraine’s lips became attached to yours.”
“It was high school!” Beckett laughs. “And Lorraine approached me.”
“So if Jen-the-hot-sister approaches you?” Corey smirks. “Nada?”
At his question, my head whips back around, and my eyes lock onto Beckett’s. “Don’t you dare touch my sister!”
“Uh oh,” Idalia snickers behind her glass of wine. “The rules have been set.”
“You shoulda brought her,” Troy smirks. “Then we’d all get to decide for ourselves.”
“Decide what?” My neck wrenches with how quickly I have to pivot. “What are you deciding?”
“Who gets dibs,” Corey answers. “Duh.”
“No one gets dibs!” I exclaim. “She’s a human being, not a car up for auction. And no one gets to date my sister. She’s mine.”
“Is she of legal age?” Troy asks with a playful grin. “Of sound mind?”
“Yes, of course.”
“And she’s hot,” Nixon adds. “That’s already been established.”
“It has not!”
“She’s hot,” Corey inserts. “The genes are strong in your family, Tab. You look good, which means the odds are decent that your sister does too. If she’s of age, and of sound mind, then I’m gonna assume someone has already played the dibs game. Now we’re playing.”
“You’re horrible! She’s not up for claim. She’s—”
“Oh good,” Mitchell mocks. “Another overprotective sister, and a feminist to boot.” He picks up his beer and salutes. “Yay us.”
The conversation turns to Nadia—feminism, I think, was the word that sparked her part of the discussion—then the joking is spread, taunting is shared, teasing is gifted equally upon siblings.
The only quiet person at the table is the little boy Max, and though he watches many of us, he sits beside his mother and listens to something play through the headphones he wears. He’s here with us, but he likes that distance, he likes the sounds he chooses, rather than the shouts between uncles and aunts.
Beckett’s phone continues to vibrate between us, but though he doesn’t pick the device up and answer it, he’s as aware of the piling texts as I am. Which then brings my attention to my own phone when it vibrates in my pocket.
Discreetly, I take it out and glimpse at the lit screen, so when Jen’s name flashes up, as though sensing we’re talking about her, I decline her call, but quickly type up a reply: giv mt a sec.
I could fix my typos, I could backspace and clean it up, but texting at the table, to me, seems horribly rude, so I hit send and slide the device back into my pocket.
Since my food is mostly consumed and my stomach pleasantly full, I mumble my excuse of needing the bathroom, then I escape the table and bolt.
The moment I’m out of the dining room, I hit dial and wander into the living room.
“How dare you hang up on me!” Jen mock-shouts. “Tabitha Claire!”
“I’m at dinner,” I quickly tell her. “I was sitting at the table. What did you want me to do? Take the call in front of everyone?”
“Well… yeah,” she huffs. “Duh.”
Snickering, I plop down onto the couch amid throw cushions and deposited coats. “Of course you would. What are you doing?”
“Waiting for my baby sister to come home and tuck me into bed! Where the hell are you?”
“Dinner,” I exhale. “I just told you that. Dr. Rosa pulled me into a birthday thing for his family.”
“Ohhhhh,” Jen whoops too loud. “A date with Dr. Hotty. I’m so excited for you!”
“You’re insane.” I roll my eyes. “What did you actually want? Why did you call?”
“I seriously wanted to know where you were,” she laughs. “You didn’t text, so I was getting worried.”
“I meant to text. I planned to do it in the car, but I kept getting distracted by other things.”
“Yeah you did,” she teases. “You naughty girl.”
“I want to shove your head inside the toilet and flush,” I mumble. “You’re ridiculous.”
Jen is a lot like Beckett in that she can be insulted without taking offense. They both know when they’re being obnoxious, so they accept the insult as payment for being allowed to live.
“What time are you coming home?” she asks.
“I don’t know.” I look to my wrist in search of the time, only to have to look for a clock on the wall when I realize my watch is dead.
Instead of finding a clock, I find Beckett’s penetrating stare as he waits by the door.
“Um…” I swallow and try to squash the butterflies flapping in my stomach. “Uh, Jen, I have to go. But I’ll let you know when I’m coming home.”
“You okay?” Her tone changes, just like mine did. “Tabby?”
“I’m fine, but I have to go.” Pulling the phone away from my ear and ending the call, I push up from the couch and slide my hands over my pants. “Beckett. Did you need something?”
“They were kidding.” Quietly, he wanders into the room, and pokes a thumb over his shoulder as he goes. “Troy and Corey,” he clarifies. “The thing about your sister. They were kidding.”
“Oh, I know.” I glance up and find myself locked into green eyes. “It was all in fun.”
“I mean, if you’d brought Jen to dinner, then they probably would have fought over who got to sit next to her, but it’s all joking. No one is gonna disrespect your sister.”
“I’m not mad.” I paste on a smile and press a hand to his muscular forearm. “She called, and I didn’t want to be rude and take it at the table. But I didn’t want to ignore her either, so I—”
“Came in here to hide.”
I glance up in time to catch his rueful smile.
“I get it,” he assures me. “Are we good?”
“Us? Me and you?” I check. “Of course.”
“Are you mad you’re still working? I know I expect a lot of you as my—”
“I don’t really feel like I’m working.” I let my hand drop away from his arm, then sliding my phone into my pocket, I step back and buy myself space from the boss who is disarmingly charming.
He’s obnoxious, loud, and an insatiable flirt when he has a crowd to play to. But when it’s quiet, he’s thoughtful and intuitive.
“It’s dinner with your family,” I continue when his eyes study mine. “It’s food, and wine, and cake, and silly laughter. I won’t even ask for overtime pay.”
“You don’t get overtime pay,” he counters with a grin. “Your position is salaried, which means I pay the same no matter how much I make you work.”
“That was quite deliberate of you,” I tease. “Anyone would think you foresaw your need to abuse my time.”
“Just hedging my bets,” he chuckles. “You sure we’re good? We’re almost done here, then you can go home.”
“Are you mad I bought Nadia something other than what you agreed for her gift?”
He scoffs. “No. Didn’t you see how happy she was? You got it exactly right.”
“Well, then, I guess we’re good. And I’m not mad about you guys joking about my sister, but maybe you could stop that now? It makes me uncomfortable.”
And the reason it makes me uncomfortable is a mystery to me.
“Okay.” Beckett places a hand on the back of my arm and leads me toward the dining room. “Solid boundary. We’ve found your line, and we won’t cross it again.”
“Thanks.”
I smile and let him lead me back into the noise, the chaos, the laughter, and, sitting in the silence, the little boy who has somehow adapted, and accepts them for who they are, all while maintaining his own space and quiet.
“I’m starting to think I should get my own headphones for these dinne
rs,” I muse.
“Huh?” Beckett leans closer as he holds my chair out for me to sit. “Did you say something?”
“Whose birthday is next?”
“Uh…” He looks around the table. “Maybe Spence’s, why?”
“Just asking.”
I grab my half-empty glass of wine and smile for the women who all watch me. They’re checking that I’m okay, checking in to see if I need anything. For such polarizing and different personalities, they all care enough about the new girl to make sure I’m comfortable. So when I smile behind my wine glass, they all release and relax.
“We’re officially in the adoption database,” Abby announces quickly.
Every single one of her brothers wrinkles their nose. It’s an automatic response, I think—something they don’t mean to do, considering most of them straighten those noses out after a moment.
She continues, “Our video is online, our case paperwork is ready to be signed.”
“We’re ready to make a family,” Spencer proudly admits, only to flash a sardonic smile when Mitchell chugs his beer. “We’re trying the old-fashioned way, too. It’s a race to see which works first.”
“Oh god.” Mitchell’s chair scrapes as he pushes up and darts into the kitchen.
For just a minute, my stomach twists, and my pulse quickens. But then Mitchell is back, fisting a snifter of amber-colored liquor as he drops down into his seat once more.
“Okay. Go.”
“Sex,” Spencer throws onto the table for us all to hear. “We’re having all the sex, Mitchy.”
“Dude!” Nixon barks out. “That wasn’t necessary.”
“Nah, bro. It’s totally necessary. For the sperm to meet the eggs, we need the sex.”
“I meant telling us about the sex,” Nixon growls. “Go back to talking about adoption.”
“Oh!” Laughing, Spencer drops his arm over Abby’s shoulders and pulls her in. “We know the chances of natural conception are low, so we’re doing the dirty twenty-three times a day.”