Chapter 13

Susie was more nervous than she could ever remember being. Dane was bringing over his friends to meet her. She’d stopped at the grocery store and picked up three whole chickens. The only thing she could pull off in the time she had was roast chicken with a basil, parmesan, and butter sauce and a huge salad. She had no idea if anyone was vegetarian or vegan, so she would leave the cheese and boiled egg out of the salad. They were having peach cobbler topped with vanilla ice cream for dessert.

Quickly, she threw together a marinade and set the chicken to soak in it. Next, she grabbed a paper sack and pair of scissors, hobbled out to her garden, and cut three different kinds of baby lettuces, along with some cherry tomatoes, sugar snap beans, and several zucchinis to spiralize into zucchini pasta. Finally, she cut lots of basil. Her sack was getting full.

Slowly, she hobbled back to her kitchen and set the sack on the counter.

Last minute dinner parties were a lot of work.

Thirty minutes later, she’d showered and changed into a dark-green knee-length slip dress. She shoved her un-surgical-booted foot into a strappy brown sandal.

Just as she was brushing on some lip gloss, the doorbell rang.

This would have to do.

Slowly, she made her way to the front door and opened it.

Dane stood there grinning and holding a giant bouquet of deep-orange and red lilies. He handed her the flowers and gave her a big smacking kiss on the lips. “I missed you today.”

“Me too. Come in.” Susie sniffed the flowers. She couldn’t help but be charmed. “These are beautiful. Thank you.”

“This is Rachel, my best friend.” He stepped to the spot next to Susie. She felt his arm snake around her waist.

Rachel Mays smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her famous cornflower-blue eyes. It wasn’t a fake smile, more of an I-don’t-know-you-so-I’m-wary smile. “Nice to meet you. You’re all he’s talked about today.”

Susie’s heart went all pitter-pat. She’d spent a good portion of the day thinking about him.

Rachel’s eyes zeroed in on the surgical boot. “He wasn’t kidding about the crutches.”

“No, I’m pretty clumsy. Come in.” Susie handed the flowers back to Dane so she could step back and open the door wider to let everyone in.

Rachel stepped into the front hallway. She looked around like she was evaluating the house and its owner.

“This is Angie and her brother, Romero. They’re also my best friends.” Dane clapped a hand on Romero’s back. “He’s the famous Hollywood stylist.”

Susie glanced down at her plain dress and Target sandals. She’d only had time to swirl on some mascara and lip gloss. Nothing she could do about it now. She shook Romero’s hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“I’m Angie.” The mocha-skinned, willowy woman smiled shyly at Susie. “I’m Rachel’s fiancée.”

Dane’s eyes went huge. “She finally asked you.”

The words finally registered. Rachel Mays was gay. Why hadn’t that made it into the tabloids?

“Yes, about an hour ago.” Angie held out her hand to show off a huge, pink, oddly shaped diamond set in a gold band. The design looked like one angel wing, or possibly half of a heart.

“How exciting.” Susie pulled her in for a hug. “I’m so happy for you. Congratulations. I keep a cheap, kinda crappy bottle of champagne in my refrigerator for occasions just like this. This calls for a toast.”

She tried not to be embarrassed by her cheap, crappy champagne, because these people were probably used to the best.

“That is so sweet of you.” Angie was clearly excited. She kept admiring her new ring.

“I have the other half of the heart.” Rachel held up her left hand and wiggled her index finger.

“I can’t believe it.” Dane seemed as happy for them as they were themselves. He pulled them into a hug.

“I’ll get the champagne.” Susie closed the front door. “Follow me into the kitchen.” She led them all to the kitchen.

She grabbed the champagne from the fridge and then looked at her crutches.

“Let me help.” Angie took the champagne bottle and set it on the kitchen table.

“Thank you. There are champagne glasses in the built-in china hutch on the back wall.” She pointed to the hutch.

Romero picked up one of the glasses and inspected it. “Is this an authentic Gustav midcentury modern champagne flute?”

Susie shrugged. “I have no idea. They are midcentury modern. I know that much. They belonged to my grandmother, who was married in 1950.”

“They are just magnificent.” Romero picked up five of the six champagne glasses and reverently placed them on the kitchen table.

Dane waggled the flowers. “Where do you want these?”

She pointed to the shelf above the refrigerator. “There’s a glass pitcher right there. If you could fill it with water and put the flowers in it, I’d love to have them on the kitchen table.”

She hated being helpless.

He grabbed the pitcher and set it in the sink. He turned on the water and then turned around and pulled Susie into a hug. “Thanks for doing this. I had no idea they were going to get engaged. Rachel’s been talking about it for a while.”

“Good for them. I like to see happy people. I just wish I had better champagne.” She thought about it for a minute. “And that I’d made something fancier than roast chicken.”

“Are you kidding?” Dane pressed a kiss to her forehead. “This is wonderful. We never get a homecooked meal. Plus, here, we can celebrate without fear of the press finding out that Romero’s sister is engaged to Rachel.”

Susie put her hand over her heart. “It’s very sad that they can’t be who they really are in public.” She nodded. “I won’t tell a soul.”

“Thank you. I’m not asking you to lie or anything … it’s just, well …”

“People’s private lives should be private. I completely understand, and I’m honored that y’all would share this special night with me.” Tears stung Susie’s eyes, but she blinked them away. It was weird to cry for people she didn’t really know, but the thought that they couldn’t live their lives out in public made her sad.

Romero peeled the foil from the top of the champagne bottle and popped the cork without any of the beverage spilling out.

The front door burst open, and Uncle Milton ran into the house with his Colt Python long-barrel raised to chest height. “I heard a gunshot.”

Susie wasn’t sure how to explain Uncle Milton. “It was a champagne cork. Where did you get that gun? I stole it from your house six months ago.”

He lowered the revolver and uncocked it. “I stole it back about an hour after you stole it from me.”

“Everyone, meet my great-uncle Milton.” It would be amazing if Dane and his friends didn’t run away screaming.

“That was super intense.” Rachel laughed. “I want a great-uncle Milton. He so damn cute.” She walked up to the man and hugged him.

“Rachel isn’t a hugger. This is big.” Dane leaned in close to Susie. “She was raised in foster care. She always wanted a grandfather.”

“Trust me, she doesn’t want him.” Susie hobbled to the hutch and grabbed another glass.

“I heard that.” Uncle Milton turned a bright, toothy smile on Rachel. “My great-niece is a very rude and ungrateful girl.” He thumbed his chest. “I’m unappreciated and unloved.”

“I can see that.” Rachel laughed.

“What’s the champagne for?” He flipped the lever on the gun’s cylinder and all of the bullets fell into his palm. He stuffed them in the front left pocket of his overalls and laid the gun down on the hutch.

“We’re celebrating our engagement.” Rachel put her arm around Angie.

Milton’s eyes went from Rachel to Angie and back to Rachel. “Are you some of them lesbians?”

“Yes.” Rachel’s smile turned hollow.

“That’s nifty. I’ve never met any lesbians before.” He grinned. “Congratulations.”

Dane and his friends went very still, like they weren’t sure what to make of Milton.

“My uncle might be crazy, but he’s never been closed-minded a day in his life.” Susie hoped that would dissolve the tension in the room.

“Yes, absolutely. In fact, I’m making you citizens of Miltonville right now.” Milton was completely serious.

Dane jumped in before Susie could explain. “Miltonville is the town he’s creating for the zombie apocalypse. You should be honored. I still haven’t heard whether I even get a thirty-day trial pass.”

“Well, you’ve got to have skills to be allowed in Miltonville. First, you need to learn the bricklaying trade, and then we’ll talk.” Her uncle shrugged like that was the best he could do.

“I love you already.” Rachel hugged Milton again.

“So how does the wedding part work?” Milton made his I’m-thinking-really-hard face. “Do you both walk down the aisle and meet in front of the minister?” His mouth formed an O. “I know, you should both walk in from different sides and meet in the middle.”

Rachel glanced at Angie, who smiled and nodded.

“We haven’t given it much thought, but we like the meet-in-the-middle idea.” Rachel nodded enthusiastically.

“See there, Susie?” Milton pointed to Rachel and then to Angie. “Some people think I have good ideas.”

“She just met you. Enjoy that feeling, because it’s bound to change.” Susie grinned at her crazy old uncle. She was pretty sure he meant well.

Dane grabbed two full champagne glasses and handed one to Rachel and the other to Angie. He grabbed two more and handed them to Milton and Romero. He gave Susie one and then took the last one for himself. “To Rachel and Angie, may you have more smiles than sorrows, more sunny days than rainy ones, and may you always bring out the best in each other.”

Milton used the sleeve of his white cotton shirt to mop the tears running down his cheeks. “That was lovely.”

Everyone clinked glasses and then took a drink.

Rachel put her arm around Angie. “Thanks, guys, for sharing this special moment with us.”

The oven dinged.

“Y’all carry on, I just need to check on the chicken and finish prepping dinner.” Susie set her glass on the kitchen table and hobbled over to the oven.

“I’ll help.” Dane followed her.

“Can you pull the chicken out so I can check the internal temperature?” Having an injured foot was a pain in the butt … and the foot. She handed him a pair of oven mitts.

“Sure.” He slid on the mitts, opened the oven, and pulled out the huge roasting pan she was using for all three chickens. He set the pan on the stove. “I don’t know. You think three chickens is enough?” He was kidding, and she knew it. To her credit, they were organic free-range chickens, which tended to be smaller than factory-farm chickens.

“Three chickens, six breasts. I didn’t know if any of your friends had any dietary requirements, so I played it safe; plus, I get to take leftovers for lunch.” She shoved the meat thermometer halfway down into the thickest part of the breast. The internal temp was 155. It needed to be 165, but it would reach that temperature if she let it sit out for ten to fifteen minutes. “Looks good, it just needs to rest.”

“Thanks for all of this.” Dane kissed her on the cheek.

“What? The cheap champagne?” It was just some crappy champagne and dinner.

“For making everyone feel welcome and for making tonight special. I thought Rachel wasn’t going to propose until after we wrapped the movie. I guess she couldn’t wait.” He was genuinely happy for his friends. “This is a real treat for us. We don’t ever get a homemade meal, and here we’re out of the public eye and can be ourselves.”

She’d never really thought about it. “I guess you can’t always be yourself in public. That’s kind of sad.” She grabbed the spiralizer and a zucchini and made quick work of the zucchini pasta. “How will Rachel and Angie continue to keep the relationship a secret after they are married? They’ll have to file for a marriage certificate.”

He shrugged. “No idea. I’m sure they’ll figure something out.”

She didn’t want to pry, but she couldn’t help it. “Why do they keep it a secret? Same-sex marriage is legal, and if there’s one place in this world that would be accepting of any lifestyle, wouldn’t it be Hollywood?” If Scientology could be taken seriously in Hollywood, surely same-sex marriage wouldn’t raise any eyebrows.

“You’re right. If she were an action star or a comedian or a man it would be different, but name one out lesbian who plays the lead in heterosexual romantic comedies. The world is accepting of same-sex couples as long as they are males or,” he threw up some air quotes, “‘conventional’ lesbians.”

She frowned. “What’s a ‘conventional’ lesbian?” She used air quotes, like he had.

“I mean someone who meets society’s expectations of what a lesbian should look like. You know, like Ellen DeGeneres. We men think it’s all about us. If a woman is too conventionally beautiful and feminine, she isn’t allowed to be a lesbian.” He shook his head. “It’s frustrating and unjust, but it’s the way it is.”

She racked her brain but she couldn’t come up with a single example to prove him wrong. Maybe Portia de Rossi, but that was it. If what Dane said was true, though, there were probably a few actresses in Hollywood who were keeping their sexual preferences a secret. “It’s not right.”

“No, it isn’t.” Dane picked up the next zucchini and took the spiralizer from her. “I’ll finish this up.”

“Thanks. I’ll get the salad together.” She turned to the island, where she’d already placed her largest salad bowl. She grabbed the wad of paper towels that held the lettuces she had picked and then washed. She dumped the lettuce into the bowl. She turned around again and picked up the handful of cherry tomatoes and tossed them in. In went the sugar snap beans and the sliced strawberries she’d cut up earlier. She picked up the mason jar with the vinaigrette she’d thrown together and shook it. She dressed the salad.

“What’s this?” Dane picked up a corner of the kitchen towel covering a white casserole dish.

“Peach cobbler. Well, actually, it’s a peach crisp. It needs to bake. Can you turn the oven up to 375 and stick it in?” She had the salad ready, the chickens were resting, and the cobbler was in the oven. What was she missing?

The zucchini pasta. She hobbled over to the stove, reached into the cabinet next to it, pulled out a saucepan, and set it on the stove. She lit the burner beneath the pan and drizzled in some olive oil. “Can you hand me that zucchini?”

Dane brought the cutting board with the zucchini spirals on it.

“I just need to heat these up and then we can eat.” She dropped them in the olive oil, added some salt, and tossed them around. A couple of minutes later, they were done.

“Can you take the chickens to the table?” She hated being on crutches.

“Sure. You go sit down, and I’ll take care of everything.” Dane grabbed the oven mitts, picked up the roasting pan, and set it on the trivet next to the flowers.

“Let me set the table.” Rachel stepped into the kitchen. “Where are the plates?”

Susie turned around and was about to point them out when Dane nodded toward the cabinet by the sink.

“In there.” He gestured to the drawer under it. “Silverware’s in there.”

Dane remembered where things were in her kitchen?

Susie turned around and leaned over, opening the top drawer in the china hutch. She pulled out her grandmother’s fancy baby-blue linen napkins.

After the table was set and everyone had found a place, Milton grabbed her hand and she slid hers into Dane’s.

“Everyone needs to hold hands so we can bless this meal.” Milton took Rachel’s hand, and she took Angie’s. Romero grabbed Angie’s other hand and then Dane’s free hand.

Uncle Milton bowed his head. “Dear Lord, thank you for bringing new friends into our lives. Please bless Rachel and Angie and their life together. Bless Romero and his really fancy boots. Bless Susie and her smart mouth. Let her see that she must respect her elders. Finally, bless Dane with some special, useful skill that will get him into Miltonville. In Jesus name we pray, amen.”

Everyone murmured, “Amen.”

Rachel let go of Milton’s hand. “Tell me more about Miltonville. I want to know everything.”

“After dinner, I’ll get the map I made out of my truck … um … I mean, off the tractor I rode over here, because I ain’t no longer driving my truck.” He wouldn’t make eye contact with anyone.

Susie threw down her napkin. “That’s it, I’m blowing up the engine.” This had to stop. He could hurt himself.

“Milton’s not supposed to drive anymore,” Dane said to the room at large.

“That’s not strictly true.” Milton pointed to Dane. “I’m not supposed to drive my truck anymore.” He turned to Susie. “Don’t blow up Lucretia. She’s never done anything to you.” He sighed like he was shouldering a particularly heavy burden. “I promise not to drive on roads anymore. Just the ranch. Happy?”

Susie snorted. She’d heard that one before.