Holly
I climbed out of bed at five this morning, not because I had to, but because all the online bloggers described their turkey feast preparation as long and arduous and I wanted to honor the tradition. I had to make our first big deal, memorable. So far, I’d gotten my wish. I’d pretty much watched, but Marty’s efforts would go in our scrapbook.
I stared at the carcass of the roasted turkey, waiting to be bagged and trashed. The thing had weighed twenty-six pounds before I’d stuffed it, and even picked clean, it was an impressive sight.
“Maybe you should preserve the skeleton to commemorate this experience,” Roger suggested after the turkey’s carnage was complete. While he and Garret engaged in a conversation about skeletal processing, I shuffled to the counter and picked up a garbage bag.
“Boss man,” I murmured, looking across the table at Marty to get his attention. Silly me. I always had his attention. Last night, I’d woken during the night and found him watching me sleep.
I’d pulled him back under the covers and told him to knock it off. We cuddled a long time until I knew his snores were real. Then I did the thing I love doing the most these days. I slept.
Marty’s kind of cherishing has pretty much eliminated my forays in the closet. Except when I’m just plain hiding out from the continual traffic pattern of males tromping through the house. I hate it when he’s gone, and he has been a lot. But when he’s home, the house and yard become Grand Central Station on steroids.
The company worked most of the last three months on the West Coast. The situation there has reached monster fire proportions and I’d be lying if I didn’t admit, that just like Megan and Harley-Jane, I spend a lot of my time worrying. But, it’s what Marty does and I suck-it-up.
My gaze settled on the turkey whisperer across the table. He winked, nodded toward the denuded bird, and mouthed the words, I told you so.
I’d Googled recipes online to find out about the stuffing and almost opted for a separate casserole. I’d found some of those stories about poisoning guests with undercooked dressing intimidating.
Once Marty assigned himself my cooking assistant, he’d urged me to do the right thing, and fill that baby. He spends a lot of time grinning and talking to himself these days. I’m not sure he hasn’t regressed into childhood. If he has, I’m right there beside him, doing my share of head talking as well.
Last night, while we were trying to make each other go to sleep, we’d talked.
“Do you think about Kit a lot?” I’d asked him. Probably none of my business but I knew he did, and shallow me, wanted some part of him in that too.
“All the time,” he’d answered promptly. “I talk out loud to her. Shit, she seems more real to me now, than she has for the last six years.”
“Yeah?” I thought about that, understanding. Sometimes I have discussions with various members of my family, just to get feedback in a strange kind of way. Like we’re having a powwow in my head. After we’d zoned out and gotten quiet on that for a while, I switched topics.
“I feel like I’m supposed to be humble at the good fortune we’ve received,” I’d confessed, not feeling particularly humble.
“Fuck that shit, babe,” Marty had barked immediately. “Between the two of us, we’ve had enough bad luck for forty people. This is our time now and I’ll beat the shit out of anyone who tries to piss on our parade.”
I agreed. But I sure didn’t see it coming when I managed to finally buy back Grandpa’s house. Sometimes I stare at the old hardware in the sink and shiver. If I’d never coveted the new Kohler faucets that are currently waiting to be installed, I might not have gone to the dance-a-thon, I wouldn’t have met Marty, and … Yeah. I shiver.
My earliest vision of Thanksgiving dinner had been me, Roger, Maxine, and Megan clustered around the kitchen table having mashed potatoes and turkey together. Once the Smoke, Inc. crew got involved, the dinner became an event and grew… and grew.
I stared at the dirty plates and cutlery soiled by thirty plus people. When I’d suggested that having a meal in the basement would add extra clean-up work, since everything would have to be hauled back upstairs, Marty had offered a brilliant suggestion.
With my permission, he’d expanded the plumbing downstairs and added a kitchenette in the utility room. It was a sweet set-up I wouldn’t have thought of. I’m still waiting on my kitchen remodel upstairs, but I’m not complaining.
I looked around. My girlfriends were busy. Elaine, using the rolling cart she’d brought for the occasion, stacked dirty dishes and cutlery to be wheeled to the new dishwasher.
Janie and Megan were parceling out leftovers in take-home bags for anyone who’d accept. I’d just finished cleaning out the refrigerator upstairs, and no way did I want it glutted with aging food.
It was good to see Elaine and Jack speaking again. As soon as they’d discovered the house next door for sale, they’d gotten into a bidding war and if Marty hadn’t intervened, they would have jacked the price up sky high.
They’d bought it together and were turning the old house into a duplex, with Elaine taking the main floor and Jack remodeling and living in the basement.
Both names were on the deed, since Jack claimed Elaine couldn’t be trusted to not gamble it away, and she swore he didn’t have enough sense to manage his own affairs.
Cowboy and Teague folded up the long tables, clearing the floor for dancers, Church pushed a broom, removing the detritus from our first Thanksgiving together, and the H/K pumped out a heavy bass sound, making my shoulders sway and my hips skitter sideways on the stool where I sat.
Marty’s cell pinged, and I felt my stomach muscles tense in dread. No, not yet. This is our first… He caught my eye and shook his head in a nothing to worry about here move, and I relaxed.
But as soon as he quit talking, I willed him to me, to share. “Who was that?” I asked, as soon as he reached my side.
“Eazy. Said Gertie sends her love.”
“Ohhh, she is so sweet. What did Eazy want?” I had no doubt that more than holiday good wishes had transpired.
“Gertie’s got trouble,” Marty said.
“Wife making claims again?” I asked sympathetically. I hadn’t met Eazy’s other half, but from Marty’s description, she was a force to be reckoned with. Mackenzie Sierra, FBI. Hey, I was intimidated just by her title.
“Nope. Not Mac. It’s Gertie. Eazy blames you by the way. Remember the last time they visited?”
“Of course, I remember.” Gertie had snuffled her muzzle over my tummy, then stood in front of me, her eyes closed and her body still, as if listening to the baby inside me. Then she’d climbed into the swing and we’d leaned, communing with each other and nature.
“Apparently she favors your condition.”
He lost me. I tilted my head, puzzling over his words. “My condition? You mean pregnant?”
He nodded, his smirk beginning to show. “Eazy says she took off for a week after their visit with us. Says she spent her time away, carousing. He doesn’t know what canine or other she might have been familiar with, but the vet checked her out and Gertie’s…”
“Pregnant,” I whispered, thinking about her impeccable pedigree. “Has Eazy shared the news with his wife?”
“He’s still alive so I’d guess that would be a negative. He called to make sure we know we’re getting a pup. I said I’d ask around and help him find homes, but he says nope. He’ll interview and select his own prospective pup parents.”
“A puppy will be nice.” I pictured a baby and puppy rolling on the floor together and yawned, suddenly exhausted. I needed a nap. “There’s still too much work to do down here. I’m going up. Maybe I’ll sit in your recliner and look at my feet.”
Upstairs, I didn’t make it to the front room. Instead, I stood in front of the kitchen window, listening to the happy sound of Alesso & Anitta drifting up from the basement. Marty wandered into the room and stood behind me as I gazed outside and bounced to the music. “Full circle,” I muttered, having a flash-back to Thanksgivings here as a kid.
“What are you muttering about now?” he growled.
“Pinch me. I need to make sure this isn’t a dream,” I answered.
“How about this?” He moved, hugging me against his big frame as he wrapped his arms around me and squeezed my pregnancy enhanced boob.
“Are you awake,” he teased, nibbling on my earlobe.
His other hand rested on my no longer flat belly, stroking the baby bump I carried before me. “You okay?” His breezy question masked his underlying worry.
“Define, okay,” I answered. “I did a job for Maxine, connected with a dancing mob-boss, survived a stalker, got knocked-up…” I turned around, my belly jutting between us. “Look at what you did to me,” I playfully snarled. “My ankles are swollen, my back aches continuously, the kid in my stomach never stops kicking, and…”
Before I’d even gotten a good start on my list of complaints, Marty caught my hand and carefully spooled me out, then pulled me back into his embrace.
“Wanna dance?” A familiar, wolfish, gleam twinkled in his eyes, promising decadent fun.
I held tight to his hand and grinned up at him. “Of course.”
The End