“Hey, you,” a pointed voice interrupts as a woman steps into the den behind Serena, the resemblance again uncanny. Whitney’s mother, Ruby. Of all the siblings, Whitney looks most like her. She steps in front of her daughter as if to shield me. “You must be Eli.” I hold out my hand, and she shakes her head a second before pulling my six-foot-two into her tiny five-foot frame. Paralyzed by the unexpected gesture, I stand frozen in her arms a second before I hug her back.
“Call me Ruby. It’s so nice to meet you, sweetheart. My son has spoken so highly of you. We’re so happy to have you with us.” Glancing over her shoulder, I meet the narrowing eyes of Serena just as she’s stabbed in the neck with chubby fingers. “Gollie, Mo-may.”
Serena plays her part and overreacts to being tickled. “Let’s go clip your nails before someone loses an eye.”
My first threat, beautiful.
Serena’s smile for her son is replaced with a warning scowl for me before she disappears down the hall. Ruby pulls back from our hug and eyes the room with obvious embarrassment. “I’ve been begging the man for nearly twenty years to box this shit up or sell it. Instead, he brings it to my parent’s house and turns my father’s den into his trophy room. Please know I am—the entire family—is very embarrassed by this. Dinner is in twenty. I hope you like lasagna.”
“Love it.”
“Great. There’s a box of booze sitting on the wet bar. Help yourself. And don’t let Serena scare you. She’s mostly bark and usually cries about it after.”
“Thank you for having me.”
She nods. “Of course. The more the merrier.” She swallows, and I know what’s coming. It always does this time of year. “Can I ask you—”
“My parents died when I was nineteen. No siblings and no other relatives I have anything to do with.”
Sympathetic brown eyes scour me. “I’m so sorry.” A small bout of silence ensues before the inevitable next question, one that’s been added over the years as I’ve aged.
“So, you never married?”
“No, ma’am. I’m a career man.”
“I see.” Her tone is laced with a hint of what looks like pity. “Well, again, happy to have you with us.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Collins.”
“Ruby.”
“Thank you, Ruby.”
She turns to leave and pauses at the door. “You know, Whitney turned into a career woman as well. I always thought she would have a family, so did Allen, but to our utter shock, she never married, no children. Seems you two have something in common after all these years.”
Before I get a chance to respond, she disappears from the doorway.
She knows.
Of course, she knows. All mothers know and engrain the name of the men that break their daughter’s hearts into memory.
I’m so fucked.
Seated at the table after a hushed argument with my sister on ex-etiquette and the fact that I refused to take off my drag makeup because I promised my niece I wouldn’t, I drain the last of my drink and glance around the dinner table. Dad at the head, my mother at his side, Brenden and Erin next to her, my niece, Conner in a booster, and Wyatt in an identical high-chair next to Peyton’s. Gracie sits next to Serena, who’s been eyeing Eli since Mom rang the dinner bell. And then there’s Eli, who’s no doubt been strategically placed across from me.
In other words, I’m front row in the seventh circle of hell.
“So, Eli,” my sister draws out, pulling attention to our side of the table, including Thatch, who eyes her in warning. “Brenden says you moved from Chicago. What were you doing there?”
“A lot of this and that,” Eli replies without hesitation, passing the salad bowl to Brenden as I stab at my lasagna, refusing to meet his gaze, which I feel on me briefly before he turns to her. “I ran my own business out there and sold it before I moved back to North Carolina.”
“He grew up in LA,” my Dad adds. “Had the good sense to school out here. A Tarheel like you, Sweet Pea.”
“You don’t say,” I mumble as Dad addresses Eli.
“I went to LA once to compete. I’m sorry to say, I wasn’t impressed.”
“No offense taken,” Eli says with a grin.
“Why did you sell?” Thatch asks.
“I was tired of the responsibility. I wanted to get back into the innovative side, and being a business owner got in the way.”
“Huh,” Serena remarks. “Too much responsibility?”