Plus One (Pig & Barley Book 3)

by Mae Wood

  “So that’s Mom’s side?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Well, I was looking at a campus map and saw the McTyeire building and that’s apparently the guy who co-founded the college.”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Let’s have breakfast, let Drennan get on with her day, and then we’ll chat about this.” The timer for the oven beeped. “And Drennan, no, for the record, I am not related to the co-founder of Vanderbilt University.”

  “Maybe not, but you are related to the co-founder of Union Planters bank,” said Grady.

  “Seriously, Grady, we’ll talk about this after Drennan leaves. Now, I’ve got strawberry preserves, a strawberry preserve with Chablis, and ginger peach. Pick your poison.”

  Bert pulled a pan from the oven while Grady grabbed a trivet from the end of the table and set it between us. “Yeah, no white linen service at home. He saves that for the restaurant. We eat like guys.”

  “Homemade food works for me. The rest is gravy.”

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Bert

  Breakfast. With my son. With my girlfriend. In my kitchen. And no one is crying. No one is screaming. No one is doing anything but being nice and eating angel biscuits and eggs.

  Not that I’d ever envisioned this happening. I hadn’t dated anyone long enough to introduce them to Grady and even though I liked Drennan a lot, I wasn’t sure how he was going to react. So I played cool. My factory default setting.

  With them in my peripheral vision, I chopped chives and whisked the eggs, adding in a dollop of crème fraiche at the end to give the eggs a creaminess and zest. It would be a nice pair with the buttery richness of the biscuits and sweetness of the preserves. They chatted, Grady sitting on a chair in his soccer warmups, taking up more space than necessary, and Drennan with her feet underneath her, tucked up into a little ball that mimicked the unruly bun on her head.

  I listened intently to their conversation, straining to hear Drennan, whose face was turned from me. Listened and didn’t intervene until I heard him mention McTyeire. Never in a million years did I think he’d bring up the dorm he was conceived in while having breakfast with the woman who I’d been pounding in the shower not forty minutes ago.

  I pulled preserves from the fridge and placed them on the table next to the butter I’d pulled out earlier to soften. Cold butter on warm bread is a tragedy.

  “You remember my friend Trip’s wife?” I asked Drennan, as I plated the eggs.

  “Yes.”

  “These are strawberries her dad grew this spring. Strawberry season is short down here. It gets too hot too quickly, but her dad has this incredible garden. And I’ve been shameless about taking him up on his offer to share.”

  Placing the pan of biscuits directly on the trivet, I nodded at Grady to dig in. “I’m apologizing now, Grady. For spoiling you with real food for your whole life. And for the harsh reality of cafeteria food that’s about to come your way.”

  “He’ll survive. I did. Grady, I’m taking it that you’ve been to Taco Bell at least once?” she asked.

  Grady stopped spreading peach preserves and looked at Drennan like she was crazy. “Of course.”

  “See, you’re a thousand steps ahead of me. My mom was a hard-core foodie. I’d never eaten food that came through a window of a car until I got my driver’s license.”

  “Seriously?” he asked, the doubt unhidden.

  “Really. I remember I got taken to McDonald’s because I’d begged to go and we had to go in to ‘get the experience,’ according to my mom.”

  “And?” I asked, wondering what Drennan the child thought about America’s most popular breakfast stop.

  “And I never asked for it again.”

  We settled into silence as we ate.

  “I take it back,” she stated, as I scraped the last of the eggs from my plate. “Grady, I’m apologizing to your dad. I made fun of angel biscuits. And I was wrong. These things are amazing. It’s like a yeast roll and a biscuit had a baby and it absolutely melts in your mouth. Holy mother of God, where have these been all my life?”

  We cleaned up our plates, and Drennan left. Even picking up her tote bag from my bedroom without acting too sheepish about it.

  When the back screen door banged closed, Grady and I stared at each other across the kitchen, not speaking until her car’s engine turned over.

  “So, that’s Drennan. We’re dating.”

  “Yeah, I got that much.”

  “And, she’s from California. She’s going home in December. She’s been working here doing some wine sales, learning that aspect of the business, before she goes home to work for her family’s wine business.”

  Grady shrugged. “Can I take some of the frozen biscuits back to Mom’s?”

  “Sure. I’m going back into dad-mode for a minute here.” I drained my third and final coffee of the morning and looked at him in the eyes.

  “I know you know about sex and we’ve talked about this before, but you’re turning into a man, so I’m putting this out there. Go nuts with hand jobs. Seriously, they can be awesome. Oral’s great, too, just either know you’re both clean or use a condom and make sure you reciprocate. I’m not going to tell you not to have intercourse.”

  I internally recoiled at the word “intercourse” coming from my mouth, but what word was I supposed to use? Sex. I was supposed to say sex. But although I was doing that an hour ago, I found the word stuck in my throat.

  “But if you do, you need to know it’s serious and can be life-changing. I got lucky. I knocked up a girl I was crazy about and she was crazy about me and because we are damn fortunate, it worked out well,” I said, reciting the creation myth we’d spun for him.

  “And while we’re talking about it, I want you to be safe. I’m not asking if you snagged a condom out of my wallet. And part of me hopes you did. But there’s a box in the bottom drawer under my sink. Leave my wallet alone.”

  I put my empty mug in the dishwasher. “And that leads me to the next point in my dad conversation. Your mother isn’t related to the founder of Vanderbilt either. The McTyeire in your name is the name of the dorm where—”

  “Whoa, whoa. Whoa. Stop. Stop,” said Grady, whose blue eyes were the size of the biscuits he’d just devoured. The male version of his mother, complete with nervous tell. Except Grady’s tell was weight shifting between his feet. “I don’t need to know that,” he said, as he gently swayed back and forth.

  “Well, I can’t have you going around telling people that you’re related to the founder of Vanderbilt, can I?”

  “I swear I’d never said that before. To anyone.”

  “Well, now you know. And there was no personal favor called in to get you into Vandy. I wouldn’t even know who to call and I don’t think your mom does either. So if that’s what’s been holding you back, stop. You got into Vandy because you’re awesome, Grady. You’re amazing. I got so fucking lucky that I ended up with you as my kid.”

  “Christ, Dad,” replied Grady, pinking in the cheeks and looking out the kitchen window.

  “Hey! Language!”

  “Seriously, though.”

  “Seriously, though. Next time Drennan’s here I’ll let you know ahead of time.”

  “She seemed cool.”

  “She is,” I answered, while watching him closely to determine if this convo was over or going to continue. After what felt like a minute, he spoke.

  “I’m going to play some Madden. Want to play with me?”

  “Sure.”

  ***

  Finally, Thanksgiving arrived. Though Amy and I had post-divorce spent Christmas together, we’d split Thanksgiving. She headed up to her dad’s in Connecticut to be with her family and I travelled a whole few miles to my parents’ house. While we’d agreed to let Grady make the call about Christmas, it was my, or in reality, my parents’, turn to have him at their Thanksgiving table.

  My plate was overfilled with cornbread dressing and turkey when my sister Molly elb
owed me in the ribs.

  “Move it, Bubs. Candied yams are mine.”

  I backed away from the buffet set up in the kitchen and bit back my tongue. My biggest little sister wasn’t kidding. She heaped her plate with yams, dripping in thick syrup. “I see you looking at me. Don’t go there.”

  And with that Molly turned and waddled towards her assigned seat at the kitchen table. Mom claimed the seating assignments were always drawn out of a hat, but it was no accident that my heavily pregnant sister was seated by the food and the guest bath. Grady had drawn the dining room this year, but was currently running around the house with Molly’s children.

  “Kids! Come fix your plates!” my dad bellowed.

  Finally, we all stood in the kitchen with our heads bowed. As soon as we were all in our assigned seats, I immediately tucked into Mom’s squash casserole.

  “I don’t understand how you went to culinary school and own a restaurant and eat mom’s casseroles,” said Molly around a mouthful of dressing. “I can barely choke them down, and I eat the kids’ leftover Chef Boyardee”

  I shrugged my shoulders. “Tastes like it’s supposed to taste, I guess.”

  “Tastes like home.” She laughed, but when I didn’t, she became somber. “Grady’s last Thanksgiving in high school. You gonna get nostalgic on us?”

  “Not with you busting my balls, I won’t.”

  “Ball busting? Oh, sounds fun!”

  Christ. Fischer. I’m being tag-teamed. At least Rosemary was with her boyfriend’s family this year.

  “So,” she said swirling her home brewed pale ale in a pint glass and occupying the seat that had been assigned to my niece Lily, “Grady tells me you have a girlfriend.”

  “Well, there go his grown up table privileges,” I replied, stuffing my mouth with more of the gummy squash and cheese mixture.

  “So, tell us about her,” said Molly.

  “Yeah, does this mean that you’re not whoring around town like an eighteen-year-old sailor on a weekend pass?” said Fischer.

  “Yeah, are you in L-O-V-E?” added Molly, her eyebrows wiggling over gleeful eyes.

  At this point Molly’s husband Jason pushed back from the table. “You know you’re like a brother to me, Bubs, but I’m abandoning you before they turn on me.”

  Yes, thanks to Molly’s childhood speech impediment, I was Bubs to my family. People often marveled that I was okay with Bert, and I stomached a lot of teasing about Sesame Street over the years, but anything was better than being called Bubs.

  “She with her family today?” asked Molly.

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Her family is in California, but she didn’t say why she wasn’t headed out and I didn’t ask.”

  “So where is she today?” asked Fischer.

  “I don’t know.”

  At that moment, I realized I had fallen into their inartful trap. Oh shit, they are going to make me call her and ask her over. My sisters launched into berating me, their volume increasing and becoming more screechy.

  “You left your girlfriend alone on Thanksgiving? What kind of boyfriend are you?”

  “I realize that this boyfriend role is new to you, but Jesus Christ, don’t embarrass yourself or us.”’

  “It’s Thanksgiving! Is she even real?”

  “Grady said he’s met her and that she’s ‘okay,’ which we all know in teenage boy-speak means she’s probably hot, but knowing Bubs’s taste, I bet she’s pretty and absolutely dreadful.”

  More bait. And before my brain could engage, I rose to it like a bass taking down a cricket.

  “She’s really cool,” I snapped.

  “So why isn’t she here?” said Fischer.

  “She’s got the girlfriend title, so she should be here,” echoed Molly.

  Christ, with them on either side of me, the taunting and berating was stereophonic. Then the killer came.

  “All okay in here, kiddos?” Mom.

  “Yeah, the girls are just picking on me.” I went back to my dinner.

  “He’s got a girlfriend who is in town, doesn’t have family or anyone to eat with today, and he didn’t invite her,” Fischer tattled.

  “Oh, Bubs, we’ve got plenty of food. You could have brought her. At least see if she can join us for dessert,” said my mom with a gentle tone that brooked no argument.

  Fischer winked at me and Molly patted my back, both relishing that Mom had so quickly reached the Promised Land of forcing me to invite Drennan over.

  “Who are you seeing, sweetheart?” Mom asked, as casual as a crouching kitten with a chipmunk in its sights while she began picking up dishes and glasses to place by the sink.

  I rattled off the basics—name, rank, and number—and finished with my Hail Mary play. “I’m sure she’s busy and I know the kids probably want dessert now . . .”

  “Nonsense. At least call and invite her. Everyone can wait for pie.” Damn. Not even an incomplete pass. Mom cleanly intercepted the pass and ran it back for a touchdown.

  “I can wait for pie,” Molly affirmed, rubbing her stomach.

  “Doubt it,” Fischer laughed. “Bet you ten bucks that you’ll be on your second slice by the time Bubs can get his girlfriend here.” The singsong tone of “girlfriend” set my teeth on edge and I glared at her.

  “Okay, okay. I promise I’ll be good,” she offered, showing me her palms.

  “I make no such promises,” chimed in Molly.

  My stomach flipped over, but I tried to maintain a cool façade. Just like with wild animals. Show no fear.

  “Great. Give her a call. I’ll let everyone know that dessert will be later,” said Mom as she walked back into the dining room, leaving me to deal with the two hyenas.

  Without a word, I walked outside to the backyard. I dialed Drennan’s number while my sisters watched me from the sliding glass door, making kissy faces. Fischer even turned her back to me, wrapped her arms around her torso and wiggled in a pretend make out session.

  I hated it, but also knew it was payback for the hell I’d put them through with their boyfriends over the years. After Lily had been born, Jason confessed to me that I was going to have to teach him my patented boyfriend terrorizing tactics because no one was ever going to break Lily’s heart if he had something to say about it. People say payback is a bitch, but with my sisters involved, payback was going leave me longing for a visit to some circle of Dante’s Inferno.

  “Hey, Bert,” Drennan answered, dashing my hope at getting out of their situation by getting her voicemail.

  “Hey. Whatcha up to?”

  “Not much. Are you free for drinks later?”

  “If by drinks you mean—”

  “No, for real. Drinks. Like at a bar someplace? I’ve been home all day. The Y is closed, as is everything else in town, so I’m going a little stir crazy.”

  “Well, I might be able to fix that.”

  “Oh, yes, you will.”

  “Again with the innuendo.”

  “Yeah, I don’t think that word means what you think it means. That wasn’t innuendo. That was me saying we’re going to have more than a little fun later.”

  A knock on the glass door rang out. I turned to face my tormentors. Molly tapped at her wrist, indicating I was taking too long. Fischer wasn’t so subtle. She slung the door open and she yelled: “Christ, Bubs. It’s one sentence: ‘Come have dessert with my family.’”

  Before I could respond, Drennan’s laugh filled my ear. “I’m sorry. I didn’t catch that, but was that one of your sisters? And what did she call you? Babes?”

  I placed my back to the house again. “Bubs. Like Bubba. You can give me shit about it later. I’m calling to ask you to come over to join us for some pie.”

  “You’re inviting me to come to your parents’ house and meet your sisters?”

  “Yes. And my parents. And Grady’s here, too,” I said, dragging the toe of my shoe through the dying grass.

  “Excellent. I can’t wait,
Bubs. Text me the info.”

  I turned to face my sisters again, giving them the thumbs up and a wary smile. “No, I’ll come get you. And it’s casual. Jeans. Sneakers. Ten minutes okay?”

  “With that kind of warning, I’m expecting booze and sexual favors in addition to pie.”

  “Was there ever any doubt?”

  Chapter Thirty

  Drennan

  I hopped into Bert’s car while it idled at the curb and leaned across the console to receive a quick peck on the cheek. His sweetness was addictive. His nearly worshipful care of me had me turned upside down. No man had every treated me so delicately before and contrasted with the ferocity of our bedroom play, I was more than a little smitten.

  “So, meeting the family, eh?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You done this before?”

  He didn’t respond for a long time. “Honestly, not in nearly twenty years.”

  At that moment, I realized where we were. And we were in a relationship. We weren’t casually dating. We weren’t hanging out. The boyfriend title he’d given himself, in what I thought was jest, was real. And I realized something more—he doesn’t know how to do it. He only knew being married or playing around.

  “Hey, I’ll be cool. I promise.” I took his hand in mine.

  A soft chuckle bellowed from him and a wicked smile danced on his face. “It’s not you I worry about. It’s my sisters. I’m going to apologize in advance.”

  I waved him off with my free hand. “Until you meet my cousin Kenzie, you have nothing to apologize for and I’ll be the one owing you an apology.”

  My heart lurched at my words. The thought of him meeting my family felt right, but it wasn’t reality. Reality was me moving back to California in a couple weeks while he stayed in Memphis with his son and family and restaurant.

  “So, tell me about your sisters.”

  “There’s about three years between each of us. I’m the oldest. Then Molly, who’s pregnant with her third child. Then Rosemary, and then Fischer. Rosemary’s with her boyfriend’s family and Fischer can kinda be a handful.” He faded out and the drone of news radio filled the car.