Page 14 of A Dye Hard Holiday
I sat up straighter and looked at him. “Think or know?”
“Think,” Josh answered. “She was drinking ginger ale instead of coffee this morning. Meredith never gives up her caffeine.”
“Maybe she had her limit for the day before she came over,” I suggested.
“Not Mere.” Josh shook his head. “She drinks a cup of coffee per hour.” Josh knew her far better than I did, so I couldn’t dispute that.
“I’m surprised you didn’t come right out and ask her,” I observed.
“It was hard, but I figured she was keeping it to herself for a reason. Maybe she just wants to hold onto it a little longer, or maybe she’s waiting to do something fun and cute. All I know is that I better not be reading about it on Facebook with everyone else. Chaz and I gave her away at her wedding, so we deserve advanced screening of whatever it is she’s planning.”
I laughed at his hoity expression. “I’m sure Mere and Harley will tell their closest friends before they post it on social media. Who does that, anyway?”
“Everyone,” Josh responded. “You wouldn’t know that since you don’t have an account.”
“I think social media is evil,” I told my husband. “People hide behind computers to bully and demean others.”
“True, but that’s only a small part of it,” Josh explained patiently. “There are also the times that millions of people rally in support of a cause or a person who needs bolstering. It’s a great way to stay in touch with friends and family who’ve moved away or learn about your favorite actor’s favorite restaurant. It’s the most effective advertising tool for the salon. It’s not all bad.”
“Yeah, I was really thrilled with the hateful Twister messages you got from that homophobic asshat that didn’t think gay men should be allowed to adopt kids after you announced we were expanding our family during one of your segments on Channel Eleven. Getting called a pervert on social media was a lot of fun.”
Josh threw his head back and roared with laughter.
“What’s so funny?”
“It’s called Twitter, Gabe.”
“Whatever it’s called,” I groused. “It’s dangerous.”
After that incident, I made Josh swear he would be extremely cautious about the photos he shared of our house or kids. I didn’t want some crazed lunatic threatening the safety of my family. It was too fucking easy for people to obtain things about you that was none of their fucking business. Were those motherfuckers who sold addresses and phone numbers for a few bucks going to step up and protect my family from zealots who thought I should die because I love another man? Fuck no! Keeping my family safe was my number one fucking job, so that meant no pictures of our children would ever be posted on social media or on his show.Whoa!Apparently, I had a lot of fucks to give.
Josh agreed, of course, because we had more than just ourselves to worry about. In fact, one of the reasons for my chest-thumping started to kick up a fuss in her crib. We sat there listening to the monitor for a minute to see if Destiny would go back to sleep, if not we would snatch her out of there before she woke Dylan up.
Destiny became more vocal, and I imagined she was starting to kick her legs, making her displeasure at being ignored known. Josh started to stand up, but I put my hand on his wrist when another voice came through the monitor.
“Hush there, sweet angel,” Bertie said. I could tell that she had picked Destiny up because she had stopped crying. “You’re going to be a diva just like your daddy, aren’t you?”
Josh smiled proudly. “Damn straight! She’s going to be strong and assertive; a real force to be reckoned with someday.”
“Your mom can’t hear you through the monitor.”
“I believe thatIwas the one who had to convinceyouof that fact,” Josh told me. It was true; I worried that the sounds of us making love would be blasted through the monitors that Josh strategically placed throughout the house. “Besides, I was warning the universe.”
I pulled him tighter against my chest and kissed his smart mouth. It didn’t take long for my body to heat up and crave him all over again. “I have a force you can reckon with, Sunshine.”
Josh rubbed my erection through my sweatpants. “I can see that, Captain Obvious.”
IT WAS A DAMNgood thing that I gave up being a perfectionist—or at least stomped the piss out of those tendencies when they popped up. There was no room for that ridiculousness when preparing a meal to feed over twenty people. I remembered the good ole days where I used my grandmother’s china and real silverware instead of the paper plates and plastic utensils I’ve resorted to using on big occasions. I missed the formality, but not washing the dishes afterward.
“Is there anything we can do to help you, Joshy?”
I looked over my shoulder and saw that my mom and Martina looked eager to help but unsure of their reception. I had everything under control because I ran my kitchen like a seasoned chef. I advance-prepped the fuck out of everything I could and choreographed the rest of my cooking so that everything was done at the same time. I was grateful I had insisted on that wall double oven when we remodeled the house. Gabe said it was overkill because I had a third oven with my stove, but he quickly learned how wrong he was. Two turkeys, one spiral cut ham, and enough side dishes to feed a battalion took careful planning, time,andthree ovens. Of course, the suggestion came from a man who wanted tofryone of the turkeys. No, sir. Not for Thanksgiving.
Even though I didn’t need help, I greatly appreciated their offer. “I could always use your company,” I told them. I suspected they had ulterior motives for their timely visit, but I kept my thoughts to myself and let it play out.
It wasn’t until Martina started slicing mushrooms for the risotto that she spoke up. Handling Gabe’s nemesis—the only food he hates—probably spurred her to action. “Are you guys okay with us moving to Blissville? Be honest, son.”
I glanced over at her as I continued to sweat the mixture of celery, carrots, and onion in herbed butter. Martina’s posture was rigid and she looked like she was holding her breath.