Kat

Seated on a stool in the kitchen so I can cook with Rosie and rest my tired feet, I stroke an eggplant against my uninjured cheek to annoy Kade. “You’re a pretty vegetable, aren’t you? Such a good boy,” I coo.

“You’re a pervert.”

Kade grimaces, and Rosie laughs alongside Dad and Bear. Don’t worry. I wouldn’t display this sorta lewdness if my girls were present. They’re currently busy doing homework in their bedroom. The rest of my family showed up about twenty minutes ago with warm hugs, empty stomachs, and a homemade pecan pie to salivate over. Wonder if I can sneak it into my bedroom to eat later. Think anyone would notice it went missing? One small slice isn’t going to appease baby number three. She needs at least two large slices and half a can of whipped cream to be happy. Yep. It’s baby number three’s fault. That’s my story, and I’m stickin’ to it.

“Do you think this sauce needs any more garlic or sugar?” Rosie lifts a spoonful of hot tomato sauce to my lips. Careful not to scald my tongue, I blow the steam away until it’s edible before sampling.

“Mmmm. That’s really good. It could use a pinch more sugar and another clove of garlic. You can never go wrong with lots of garlic.”

Nodding like a competent sous chef, Rosie, clad in a pair of black, skintight jeans and a black off the shoulder t-shirt, minces another fat clove of the garlic we bought and sweeps it into the boiling pot. I have to hand it to Ryker, he has top of the line pots, pans, knives, utensils, and gadgets. There’s a garlic press in the drawer, but I decided Rosie should learn to mince by hand. She’s a quick study. Roxie and Scarlett, for their age, are also well versed in the kitchen. By seven, they could scramble eggs, pound chicken breast, and prepare any type of boxed food. Not to say they don’t make a mess while doing it, but they’re capable nonetheless. I’m determined to get Rosie to their caliber. If not higher.

Returning my attention to Kade and the eggplant, I lick the tip of the vegetable, pretending it’s a cock. “Do you like that? You want more, big boy?” I husk, lavishing the purple skin with the flick of my tongue. “How about that?”

Lifting it to my ear, I pretend it’s imparting a slew of naughtiness. Committing to the role, I faux shiver and roll my fluttery eyes back into my skull. “Oooo. You wanna do that to me there. I dunno if I’ll like it.”

At this point, Bear’s laughing so hard he’s barely breathing, Dad’s silently cracking up, and Kade’s as red as a fire engine.

“We gotta eat that, Watermelon Tits.”

My bestie’s dismayed.

I balk, hugging the vegetable to my chest to protect it. “You can’t eat my boyfriend.”

Kade cants his head, grinning half-cocked. He totally loves me. “Woman, where in the hell do you come up with these things to drive me up the wall?”

“What are you talking about? You love purple eggplants. You text them to me all the time.”

Payback’s a bitch.

“I do not.”

“You so do. Do you not remember all the texts where I’m like, hey what are you up to?” Setting the veggie on the counter, I pretend to text on an invisible phone for emphasis. “And you respond with a purple eggplant and a splashing water emoji. That wasn’t code for an emotional vegetable, now was it?”

Palm to face, Kade slowly drags it down, chuckling guiltily. “Jesus. You asked what I was doin’ and I was bein’ honest.”

I’ve been patiently waiting months to bake Kade purple eggplant lasagna to get my sweet revenge for his texts. One text, I could’ve shrugged it off. By the twentieth, I was committed to seek retribution. Not only was he rubbing my nose in his ample sex life, he was relaying the sordid details. Not that I’m angry about it. It’s actually kinda hilarious. But that’s beside the point. I’m merely repaying the favor in front of Rosie to embarrass him. Oh, the strange things we do to the men we adore.

“Riiiight. So the next time I have a masturbatory sesh in the shower and you text, I’m gonna reply with a peach, water splashing emoji, and the ‘O’ face. After that, I’ll tell you all about the water hittin’ my who-ha and the way it makes my legs quake,” I deadpan, fiddling with the A necklace around my neck.

Rosie snickers next to me.

Bear snorts and wipes the tears from his reddened face. Dad pats his shoulder to check if he’s good. We don’t want the poor guy croaking on us.

Lifting his hands in mock surrender, Kade yields. “Alright. Alright. You made your point.”

Gloating, I press my shoulders back, nose turned up. “Damn straight.”

“You’re making eggplant lasagna to torment me, aren’t you?”

“Yup.”

Tickled pink, Kade rests his elbows on the counter. Propping his chin on his knuckles, he stares longingly at me. What a damn nutcase. My nutcase. “And you wonder why you’re my favoritest person in the entire world.”

With theatrical flair, I clasp my hands over my chest. “Aww. Be still my beating heart. He loves me. He really loves me.” I perform the heck out of my Scarlett O’Hara impersonation—expression virginally dreamy. It lasts all of fifteen seconds before I collapse into a fit of giggles. Kade joins in, and, soon, the whole mess of us are busting a gut at our strange banter.

Gathering my composure, I wink at the fool. “I love you, boo boo.”

Standing from his stool, he blows me a kiss. “Love you totes more.”

Rolling my eyes, I giggle. “Don’t let the girls hear you say that. Or they’re liable to think Uncle Kade’s hip.”

Winking back dramatically, he then bounces his perfectly symmetrical eyebrows. “Well. I totes am.” Pivoting on his boot heel, he makes a mad dash down the hall. “Did you hear it, girls? Uncle Kade is totes cool!”

Yep. That’s my best friend. Crazy. Weird. Perverted. And a dash of amazing.

Not done with razzing, I two finger point to Bear, who’s grinning like a loon. The laugh lines around his eyes are heavily creased. “He’s your son. I blame you for dropping him on his head as a baby. The longer I know him, the odder he becomes.”

“I think it’s you who brings out the best in him. Well, the best in us all.”

“Bear’s right,” Dad adds.

I fan my face.

Oh. Look at the pregnant girl getting all emotional. Super. Great. Fantastico. Of course, they gotta be all sweet on me. Damn these adoring men.

Opening my arms wide, I wave them forth with my fingers. Bear’s the first to wrap me in a warm, manly scented hug. His beard scratches my neck and then my cheek when he kisses me there. “Love you, darlin’. So glad you’re here, even if it ain’t under the best circumstances,” he mutters in my ear so only I can hear. Sucking back a stupid girly sniffle, I nod in agreement.

Dad pats his lover’s butt as they switch places. Daddy’s hug is warm and gooey. Stuffing my face in his neck, I smell my father. Since I was a kid, he’s always smelt the same—like aftershave, wood, motor oil, and Marlboro Lights. It might sound unappealing, yet, to me, his daughter, who thought he was dead, he smells of life, of happiness, of fond memories.

Pulling back, Daddy cups my jaw in both hands, matching eyes on mine. “Love you, peanut. Thanks for bein’ here.”

“Love you, too, Dad.”

Pressing a kiss to my upturned forehead, he then baps my nose with his index finger, winks, and returns to his stool.

It’s time to get this cooking show on the road. I gotta feed my big men, Rosie, and the girls.

Calling out orders in quick succession, Rosie finds me the mandolin, and I begin slicing these eggplants into even strips. It doesn’t take long before we’re stacking cheese, sauce, meat, and the purple veggie into a glass casserole dish. In an hour, we’ll be scarfing down one of the best meals I’ve eaten in ages. It’s been months since I baked eggplant lasagna. All that bubbly cheese and garlic is gonna give me mouthgasms lickety-split.