“Oh, you know those tiny crop dusters, so bumpy. How are you, dear?” she asked, leaning in to drop a kiss lightly on my cheek.
“Great. What a turnout, huh?” I asked, gesturing to the yard filled with friends and coworkers. Kids running everywhere, dogs barking, and Marge was even getting people to dance.
“Yes, it certainly seems like a crowd.” She smiled, then looked over my shoulder. “And Clark, your mother said you might be here. How are you, darling?” she cooed, stepping past me to hug my cousin. She’d always adored him.
“Hello, Aunt Marjorie, good to see you. It’s so great you could come up for Chloe’s big day.”
“I wouldn’t have missed it for the world,” she said, and I rolled my eyes behind her.
My dad caught it and winked at me, then turned to Clark. “Good to see you,” he said, and they did the one-armed back slap guy hug.
“Great to see you, Thomas, long time no see. I’d love you two to meet—”
“And this must be your Vivian! Just look at you,” my mother interrupted, offering her hand to Viv. “You must be ready to pop!”
“I’m only seven months, not quite ready to pop just yet,” Viv corrected, shaking my mother’s hand vigorously. “I’ve been so looking forward to meeting you; I’ve heard so much about you, Marge! Can I call you Marge?”
“Oh, well, I—” my mother started, when a sugary southern voice joined the conversation.
“Did I hear my name? Did someone want more of my baked beans?” Marge sidled up to the group and wrapped her arm around me. “Now, who do we have here? This tall drink of water must be your father—what a cutie pie!” she cried, reaching out and pulling my dad down to her rhinestone-encrusted bosom. He shot me a surprised but not unhappy look over her beehive.
Releasing him, she turned to my mother, who took a defensive step back. “And you must be Chloe’s mother. Well, you two are just the spitting image! Look how gorgeous you are—you’re just pretty enough to eat!” She reached out for a hug, but my mother quickly stuck her hand out, avoiding the beehive grapple. “Now, you just come right over here, we need to get you something to eat! You look abso-tootly famished! I’ve got these beans over here, an old secret family recipe, you know . . .”
And just like that, my mother was whisked away to the buffet table, and had a paper plate heaped with secret family recipe beans in her hand before I could even say a word. I looked at my father, who just watched his ex-wife being strong-armed by a woman in a seventies polyester pantsuit. Then we both burst out laughing.
We were still laughing when I felt, rather than heard, Lucas approach. He was just a little behind me, but by my side. I looked left, and there were those blue eyes twinkling down at me. “Hey,” I said, bumping him with my hip.
“Hey,” he replied, keeping his hips to himself. “Mr. Patterson? I’m Lucas Campbell, a friend of your daughter’s,” he said when there was a pause in the conversation.
Viv was beaming, literally beaming, as she watched him shake my dad’s hand. So much hand shaking around here today.
“A friend of Chloe’s? Are you the Lucas I hear so much about?”
“That depends very much on what you’ve heard, sir.” Lucas laughed easily.
“Lucas who helped my daughter out of the jam with that giant Suburban?” my father asked.
“Well, sort of. She did most of the talking the second time around; you should have seen her when she got fired up.” Lucas slipped an arm around my shoulder, patting me in a “way to go” kind of way. I’d take it.
“And are you also the Lucas that got her in the water and on a paddleboard?”
“She’s a natural,” he crowed. “When she stops looking for fins.”
“I’ll never stop looking for fins,” I shuddered, and he grinned down at me.
The arm was still around the shoulders. Viv’s smile was now stretched around her entire head.
“Can I get you anything to drink Mr. Patterson? Water, soda, beer?” Lucas asked.
“Lucas, I just got off a small plane with my ex-wife.”
Lucas thought a moment. “Chloe’s taught me how to make a mean martini. Straight up or on the rocks?”
“Rocks. Always rocks.”
As they headed toward the house, Lucas said, “You’ve got a helluva bar here, Mr. Patterson. Chloe and I have been working our way through this old sixties cocktail recipe book. You ever had a zombie?”
“Have you been trying to get my daughter drunk, Lucas?” my dad asked as Lucas held the patio door open for him.
“Absolutely, Mr. Patterson. Absolutely,” Lucas said with a grin.
The last thing I heard my father say before they disappeared was, “In that case, call me Thomas.”
I looked at Viv and Clark and threw up my hands, shaking my head.
Viv looked me dead in the eye and said, “Hit that. Hit that now.”
“Hit what? Who’s hitting someone?” Clark asked.
I went to rescue my mother from Marge.
All in all, not too bad.
Eventually the party dwindled down to just a handful. We’d made two more adoption matches today; Steve and Edie went to a farmer and his wife just outside town who’d been looking for a matched set. The dogs had been abandoned when their family could no longer afford to care for them, and we’d kept them together until we found a home that would take them as a pair. As always, I felt a little lump in my throat when I saw my dogs going to their forever home. We’d also raised a pretty hefty sum through donations today, and many guests had brought things like dog beds, chew toys, cans of dog food, and still more tennis balls.
All in all? A success.
The music was still going strong, though the only ones dancing now were Marge and Lou. Wrapped around each other like pythons, the hippie and the matchmaker were something to behold. And by that, I mean it was terrifying watching them practically mount each other on the makeshift dance floor.
“No more slow songs, I told you that,” I whispered to Lucas, who was trying his best not to watch the train wreck that was currently two-stepping by to the tune of “I Only Have Eyes for You.”
“Come on, chickie baby, it’s nice. In a somewhat gross way.”
“But I liked this song! Now it’s forever tainted by this memory,” I moaned, turning away. And catching something I never thought I’d see again in my life. My father, leading my mother onto the dance floor.