Mai Tai’d Up (Cocktail #4)(37)
Author: Alice Clayton

When I’d first invited her to the grand opening, I was pretty sure she’d find a reason not to come. And I was right: the pediatric cancer ball event was the same night and there was no way she’d miss that. It was traditionally one of her favorite events. But my father waded right in and fought the good fight, no doubt throwing around phrases like “For our daughter’s sake,” and “Need to be supportive,” and probably more than a few of the “Marjorie, don’t be an ass” variety.

The result? They were both flying up. Together. I mentally shuddered at the thought of those two sharing a commuter jet, feeling terrible for anyone that had the bad luck of being seated near them. My parents didn’t fight in public. They annihilated each other with kindness. The type of kindness that made you want to slam your own head in a car door just to have an excuse to get away from it.

“Hey, I watched you personally agonize over the knives and forks, and they’re awesome. I’ve never felt so strongly about knives and forks. And the paper napkins? You got the best ones at the party store—the best. The party’s going to be great, don’t worry so much,” he soothed, reaching out to rub my shoulder affectionately. “And if she gets too out of hand, I always have horse tranquilizers in my truck. That’ll shut her right down.”

I burst out laughing. “It may come to that,” I admitted, wiping my eyes.

“I’m on it,” he said, still with the rubbing. “Now come on, your ice cream is melting.” He started to lead me back onto the patio. “By the way, what was that about bouncing on his dick? Whose dick are we talking about?”

When you drop ice cream on a brick patio, it’s impossible to clean up without getting the hose out. And in so doing, I may have sprayed a pregnant lady accidentally. On purpose.

Chapter eleven

Marge was right about her baked beans; they were sensational. Everyone’s paper plate was piled high with them, along with fruit salad, coleslaw, and a hot dog or hamburger. We went with a picnic theme: red-and-white checked tablecloths on the picnic tables, utensils in plastic cups on each table, balloons and streamers overhead in the bright sunshine. And a huge sign over the entrance gate that said Our Gang Grand Opening, in case anyone missed that we were now officially, 100 percent, open for business.

We had invited all of the volunteers and their families, owners of several of the local businesses that had already supported us, and the off-duty staff of the Campbell Veterinary Hospital. Including Marge, who when she wasn’t strong-arming everyone into professing their love for her beans, was circling Lou like a beehived polyester shark. A beehive with an Our Gang pin tucked into it, which was quite sweet.

The radio was tuned to an oldies station playing classic Motown. Some people were chowing down, while others were trekking up and down the hill by the barn to see all the dogs, which were freshly bathed and smelling like baby powder. And happy to have the visitors. Between the buckets of tennis balls and the donated chew toys, the dogs were in heaven. Exactly how it should be. Happy and racing around their dog run, with Sammy Davis Jr. leading the pack.

Our first resident, he’d become a mascot of sorts. He’d almost been adopted twice, and each time, my heat beat a little faster. When another dog was chosen each time, I’d spent a little extra time with my sweet boy, assuring him he’d find a forever home.

The truth? He’d already chosen his owner, and thank goodness for that, because I couldn’t bear to let him out of my sight. After the last close call I’d moved him into the house with me, and just like that, I was a dog mommy. That big pit bull grin was smiling at me right now, and I grinned back. “Go play, buddy,” I said, patting him on the flank and sending him back into the tennis ball frenzy.

“Hey, Chlo, great party, but we’ve gotta get going if we want to make it home before dark,” Clark said, walking up the hill with Viv in tow. “We’ll be back as soon as you say our little guy is ready.”

“Or before. In fact, I might just scoot in there now and load my pockets up with puppies when you’re not looking,” Viv said, trying to edge around me on the path.

I laughed. “You’d be a terrible thief, Viv. You just told me what you were planning. Now I’m patting you down before you leave.” I reached out, pretending to pinch her again.

“Seriously, stop with the pinching. Clark, tell her to cut it out.”

“If my cousin is pinching you, I’m pretty sure you deserve it,” Clark chimed in, to her great distress.

“I’m your fiancée! That means you always have to be on my side, no matter what I do,” she said, stamping her feet.

“Impossible woman,” Clark murmured, reaching for her hand, and she immediately blushed. Huh.

As they made eyes at each other, I caught sight of my parents coming up the driveway, my mother’s heels tottering on the gravel.

“Do you want to say hi to Aunt Marjorie first?” I asked.

“Oh, boy,” Clark said under his breath. “Whoa, Aunt Marjorie with Uncle Thomas? Together? And they’re not fight—too late,” he said as my mother shrugged off my father’s attempt to steady her on the gravel.

“Oh, we’re staying. I’m not missing this.” Viv’s tone was light, but she reached out and squeezed my hand.

The three of us traipsed down the hill toward my parents, and I could see my dad looking for me. I could also see my mom looking around and taking note of every single thing.

I took a deep breath, then called out, “Hey, guys!”

“There she is! Hiya, kiddo!” my dad cried out, bundling me into a swing-around hug. “How’ve you been?”

“Hey, Dad, so good to see you,” I said, muffled by his shoulder. He set me down and gave me a quick once-over.

“You look fantastic, Chloe, really fantastic,” he gushed, and I just beamed. Once a daddy’s girl . . .

“Hello, Chloe,” my mother said, and I turned to her. She gave me a not-so-quick once-over, no doubt noting my attire. Cut-off jean shorts, sneakers, a white tank top with the Our Gang logo printed across the boobs, a ball cap, zero makeup, and my long blond hair in two messy braids.

I let her once-over, and twice over, for that matter. I was comfortable, I was happy, and for once, I was literally on my own turf.

“Hi, Mom,” I chirped. “Good to see you.” And part of me really meant it: I missed her. From time to time. “How was the flight?”