“You certainly look well. Doesn’t he look well, Silvia? Carter?”
Nana Rosie isn’t a spring chicken, but she’s still the sort of woman who likes to poke the bear, and while normally I find this part of her personality to be eccentric and fun, right now I find it terrifying. My dad may be in his seventies, but at six foot four, he’s still a force to be reckoned with when he loses his temper. The same goes for my mother. She might be an old Southern belle in appearance and voice, but there’s a fierce mama bear inside that tropical-print caftan.
“You’ve got a lot of nerve showing up with my daughter,” my dad growls. “Especially after the way you treated her and this family.”
“Dad,” I interject. “Let’s just calm down.”
“Carter, I see that you’re upset, but—”
“Stop calling me Carter. That’s Mr. Banks to you, and don’t you forget it.” He takes a step toward Smith. “Now, get off my driveway, and don’t—”
The van door slides open. A groggy Aidan pokes his head out, inspecting his surroundings like Punxsutawney Phil on Groundhog Day. He wipes a bit of crusted sleep from his eyes before slowly stepping out of the van.
“Wow,” Aidan says. “You guys really do fight in the streets.” He puts a hand on his hip and scratches the back of his head.
“Young man, who the hell are you?” my father asks.
“That’s Aidan,” I say gently. “He’s our driver, or at least he was our driver until he overdosed on doggy drugs.”
“Penelope Banks,” my father snaps. “This is hardly the time for jokes.”
“I’m not joking, Dad. Look, it’s a long story, but the gist is that Smith’s the reason we made it home at all.”
My father’s gray eyebrows furrow like a pair of dueling caterpillars atop his narrowed gaze. My mother appears equally perplexed. Her bright blue eyes dart between Smith and Aidan, trying to suss out who the liar is, since the usual suspect—me—is in the clear.
“Well, then I suppose we owe you a thank-you, Smith,” Nana Rosie says. “Thank you so much for ensuring that our Penny made it home safely for her first Thanksgiving with us in far too long.”
“It wasn’t any trouble.” Smith places Ozzie on the pavement, and he immediately runs to Nana Rosie with his tail wagging. “It’s my first time home in a long time too, so I was just as eager to get here.”
“I didn’t think anyone was at your parents’ place this weekend.” Nana Rosie motions to the Mackenzies’ home across the street. “By the way, I’m so sorry to hear about Fiona’s passing. She was a lovely woman.”
Am I the last one to know about her death? I know I’m not the best at staying in touch, but I would’ve thought somebody would’ve mentioned it to me.
“Thank you,” Smith says softly. “She was something special.”
“How about you join us for cocktail hour so we can have a drink in her honor.” Nana Rosie turns to my parents, giving them one of those smiles that appears harmless, but anyone who knows my grandmother knows she means business. “Carter, why don’t you tip the driver for the kids. Penny, you grab your bag and freshen up. Smith, I assume you have your own luggage too? You drop your bags off and come right over for drinks.”
“Nana Rosie, I’m sure Smith is tired,” I say, desperate to derail her plans. “I’m sure he just wants to go home, unpack, and—”
“Actually, I could go for a drink,” Smith says.
“Really?” I choke. “Because we would totally understand if you weren’t up to it. You know, after my parents were so rude to you and all.”
“Penelope!” my mother snaps. “We weren’t rude. We were confused.”
“No, Silvia.” My father clears his throat. “She’s right. We misunderstood the transportation situation and reacted poorly. It’s only good manners that we put our differences aside to host Smith for cocktails in his mother’s honor, and as a thank-you for getting Penelope home safe. We’d be delighted to have you over, Smith.”
“We would?” my mother and I ask in unison.
“Then it’s settled.” Nana Rosie claps. “Drinks in ten minutes for everyone. Well, minus the driver, of course. Tip the man, Carter.”
Nana Rosie takes me by the arm and leads me up the curved driveway. Ozzie trails after us at our feet.