Page 50 of Pretty Poison
“I won’t be relying on luck to get what I want, Ford.”
The kiss-me-don’t-kiss-me battle began waging inside Rocky again. As if he sensed it, Asher chuckled as he opened the cupboard door to the right of Rocky’s head and pulled down two plates. Stepping back, he handed them to Rocky. “Mind setting the table?”
Thankful for something to do with his hands besides dragging Asher to the floor, Rocky said, “Sure.”
He retrieved the silverware and another beer from the fridge for Asher, then carried everything out to the table on the deck. The weather was mild for a summer evening, and Rocky was grateful for the respite. Too bad he couldn’t get a break from the emotional storm brewing.
Rocky returned to the kitchen where Asher had just finished transferring the final batch of potato pancakes from the skillet. His husband snapped a picture and sent it off to someone who would show it to his grandmother, who didn’t own a cell phone. Rocky had only met the matriarch of the family once. He’d marveled that someone so tiny had brought four mountainous men into the world. Maeve had laughed, kissed his cheek, and assured him that her sons had started out as wee babies. Well, she’d used an Irish word he couldn’t pronounce.
Asher’s father, Ian, and his three brothers all had sons too. Asher’s generation had all introduced little girls so far, a fact that Maeve adored. Rocky would never forget the gentle way Asher had cradled his niece against his chest. She’d only been a week old when they’d visited Brooklyn, and his husband had been smitten at first sight. That moment felt like a million years ago.
“Hey,” Asher said, forcing him back to the present. “You okay?”
“Yeah, my mind just wanders sometimes. This looks delicious.”
Asher gestured to the platters of food lining the counter and said, “After you.”
Rocky took a plate and began assembling his boxty. He laid a potato pancake down first, then smeared horseradish-mustard on it before adding the corned beef and cabbage mixture on top. He didn’t even wait for Asher to make his plate before folding the pancake in half and eating it like a taco.
Rocky grunted when the flavors burst on his tongue. Damn, it was better than he remembered.
“My seanmháthair would get all fired up about your methods.”
Rocky laughed. Asher ate his boxty the traditional way, meaning he dipped it in the mustard instead of smearing it on the pancake as a layer. “Why does it matter how I eat the mustard? It all goes to the same place.”
“She’s big on tradition.”
“Yet, she doesn’t have a problem with you being married to a man,” Rocky pointed out.
“She’s just happy someone was willing to put up with my slovenly ways.”
Rocky looked over at the stove and cringed at the mess splattered all over the glass surface. It looked as if Asher had dropped the batter from the top of a building or a giant bird had shat all over his kitchen.
“I’ll clean it up,” Asher said as he assembled his boxty. Once finished, they headed outside.
Rocky attacked his dinner as soon as his ass hit the chair. He closed his eyes and barely refrained from doing a happy dance.
“I had a hard time deciding between making boxty and Irish stew, but it looks like I made the right choice.”
“This is so delicious.”
“I’m glad you like it. I really do appreciate you letting me stay a few days.” Asher took a bite of his dinner and looked over the backyard while he chewed. After taking a sip of beer, he said, “It’s so peaceful out here. I can see why this property means so much to your family.” After a quiet pause, he asked, “So, which one is the magic magnolia tree?”
Rocky was glad the question came when he was between bites, but then he got choked up on emotion instead of food. He bought himself some time by taking a drink of his beer. It wasn’t so much that Asher had asked about the tree but that he’d remembered its significance. Asher had seen the framed photographs of Rocky’s parents beneath the majestic magnolia, but they’d only talked about the stories behind them once. The first image captured his father on bended knee asking his mother to marry him, and the second was taken just a week before Rocky was born and his mother had died. Amelia Jacobs had looked so serene and happy as she lay on a blanket, using his dad’s thigh as a pillow. She rested her hands on top of her swollen belly as she stared up at the sky. Rocky’s dad held a book in his hands and was reading it out loud to her, a playful smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
It took him decades to work up the courage to ask his dad what he’d been reading that day. He’d chuckled and said it was a book about parenting. “Your mom just laughed at some of the suggestions and told me to throw it away. She said we’d do things our way.”
Rocky had lain under the same tree more times than he could count. Sometimes he read, and other times he just stared up at the clouds floating by. Rocky had always found so much peace there, and it made perfect sense why Savannah was the place he’d run to.
“It’s that one,” Rocky said, pointing the tree out for Asher.
“I bet she’s a beauty when she blooms.”
Rocky nodded. “And smells incredible.”
“You know what this backyard is missing?” Asher asked. Rocky looked over at him and shook his head. “A dog.”
“Huh-uh.”