Page 121 of Free to Live

Holding my glass away so I don’t drop an ounce of my wine, I bang my head against my marble kitchen island. “Just what every mother wants to hear,” I joke.

“Em would,” Corinna declares.

“Em would what?” She’s being tugged into the kitchen by her seventeen-year-old adopted daughter, Talia, whose prom was last weekend since she attends high school in Ridgefield where Jake was recently promoted to the instrumental director of their music department. Their son, Jonah, is coming home tomorrow from his junior year at UConn, following in Ali, Corinna’s, Jenna’s, and my footsteps.

Go Huskies.

“You want to raise a little fashionista,” Ali teases.

“I’ve helped to raise several of them,” she retorts. “Starting with you and Holly.”

“I’m just devastated you’re not including me on your list,” Corinna deadpans.

Em opens and closes her mouth before she simply holds her hand out at Corinna and turns toward the mostly empty bottle of wine for fortification. This is an argument they’ve had over and over the years, primarily for fun. “We’re almost out,” she calls out.

“Check the wine fridge,” I tell her. “There’s more Sancerre in there. It will go great with the chicken.”

“We’ll be out of it long before then. I’m going to need someone to put a straw in a bottle for me, or I’m killing someone,” Cassidy announces as she storms through the door with her youngest son behind her. “Charles Phillip, Go sit in Aunt Holly’s living room. Do not turn on the television. Do not use your phone. In fact, hand me your phone right now.”

“Mama,” Chuck whines.

“Do not push it, young man. Just be glad your father didn’t hear what I did.” The room goes static at Cassidy’s pronouncement. “Now, go. Think about what you said, how it makes me feel, how it would make your father feel, and I will call you when it’s time to eat.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he says meekly, slinking off toward my family room where black-and-white photos of our enormous family cover every available surface.

After Chuck makes it out of earshot, we fall on her like a pack of lemmings. “What did he say?” Em hisses.

Cassidy’s ocean-blue eyes narrow in the direction of her fourteen-year-old son. With the mean mug she’s sporting and the silver beginning to lighten her dark hair, she looks so much like Keene, there’s no way anyone could miss the fact they’re biologically related. “I overheard him ask your boys”—Cassidy nods at Corinna—“to get him condoms since ‘his dad hasn’t had the talk with him, but there’s an older babe at school that he wants to bang.’” Cassidy air quotes.

Corinna sucks in a deep breath and pushes away from the counter. “To which Peter and Michael said?”

“‘Dude, you’d better talk with your dad.’”

Corinna relaxes and picks up her glass. “Good. They can live.”

Cassidy grins at her. “It’s also why they’re still outside and only mine was dragged in here. Caleb is going to flip that first, Chuck was so damn disrespectful, and second, he didn’t go to him.”

We all hear Chuck groan from the couch.

I pitch my voice a little higher. “I wonder if it’s one of Grace’s friends. I should run upstairs and ask her.”

A panicked sound escapes from the vicinity of the couch.

“Hmm. You know, you might be right, Hols. I’m sure Kalie knows her. Let’s go ask,” Ali agrees, placing her glass on the counter with a clink.

“No, Aunt Holly, Aunt Ali! Mama, I swear, I just wanted to be cool and show off. Pete and Mike were talking shit…” Chuck jumps out of his seat.

“Watch your mouth,” Cassidy snaps at her son. He looks properly contrite.

“Sorry, Mama. Pete and Mike were talking about how Uncle Colby had the talk with them and…” Chuck isn’t given a chance to finish as Corinna loses her mind.

“He what? Oh no he didn’t. They’re barely thirteen!” Stomping over to the doors that lead to my back deck, Corinna storms out in search of her husband and twin sons.

Pursing my lips, I check my watch. Now I’m the one who’s yelling upstairs. “Grace? How much more time do you need?”

“Another twenty minutes!”

Kalie’s voice comes right after hers. “Thirty tops!”