Crimson Death (Anita Blake, Vampire Hunter #25)(40)
“Ollie said we have to eat outside,” Crista hiss-whispered to Will.
“Well, he’s right, but we have heaters in the backyard. You’ll be toasty, I promise.”
As soon as we entered Will’s house we were hit by a wave of heat, accompanied by the tantalizing smell of meat and spices, and upbeat Latin music playing at about a billion decibels.
The rooms were buzzing with people ferrying plates and trays from the kitchen to the backyard. Will hadn’t been kidding about the turnout—altogether there had to be about fifty people here, what with aunts and uncles and grandparents, along with kids running around between it all, clutching fist-sized snacks they’d managed to swipe from the kitchen. Among the din, I could make out an even mixture of Spanish and English.
Mrs. Tavares, a tall woman who had Will’s freckles and large brown eyes, burst out of the kitchen carrying a tray with a hunk of delicious-looking slow-cooked meat on it, bopping from side to side in time with the music. “Ollie,” she cried, lifting the tray up a little to greet me. “It’s so good to see you again! Thank you so much for coming by tonight.”
“No, thank you,” I said. “I’m so sorry we didn’t bring anything, it was kind of short notice.”
“Ah, I think we’re going to be okay,” she said, nodding at the platter in her hands. “We could feed half the neighborhood with just the side dishes.”
“Should we go help bring stuff out?” I asked Will.
“Under no circumstances. It’s mayhem in there, honestly. We just try not to get in anyone’s way for the next five minutes. You got here at the perfect time, it’s almost dinner.”
“I’m surprised you haven’t eaten yet.”
Will pursed his lips together in a silent laugh. “We don’t eat ’til late. The first few hours of Thanksgiving are for dancing, ponche crema, and explaining to thirteen great-aunts why you don’t have a girlfriend.”
“Ponche crema?”
“It’s kind of like a Venezuelan eggnog, but it’s way better.”
“Alcohol?”
Will rolled his eyes at me. “I’m not drunk. I only had a little bit.”
“My parents would literally kill me if I drank.”
Will led me outside, Crista and Dylan in tow. “I’ve been having wine at dinner since I was a kid. It’s normal.”
Outside, several tables were lined up on the porch, with chairs squeezed in wherever possible. Straightaway, I saw what Will meant about the cold. The sides of the porch were enclosed by detachable clear vinyl sheeting, so while some frigid air blew through under the gap at the bottom, for the most part we were protected from the wind and chill.
A whole bunch of the seats were taken already—mostly by men—with other seats saved with half-drunk glasses of wine, or a white liquid I guessed was the fabled ponche crema, or a well-placed handbag. Fairy lights twinkled above us, glittering and snaking around the rafters and poles, and the standing outdoor heaters gave off a welcome blast of heat to counteract the frozen air that did sneak in. A bunch of the people sitting at the table had a Will-like vibe to them. Whether they shared his well-defined lips, or the delicate shape of his jaw, or his long fingers, you could tell they were blood relatives.
It was like a peek into the future, in an oh-God-Ollie-it’s-too-early-to-think-about-the-future-please-stop kind of way.
Will squatted down to meet Crista and Dylan at eye level. “So, at my house we have a special table for the kids. Kane will be sitting there, and some of my little cousins, too. Do you feel comfortable sitting with Kane?”
Crista gave a shy nod, and Dylan copied her.
“Excellent. Come on, I’ll get you set up. Would you like a drink?”
While Will looked after the kids, I hung back, giving an awkward smile to the people sitting at the table. Were they wondering who the hell these random people strolling into their family dinner were? Should I introduce myself? Should I wait for Will to do that for me?
Will reappeared beside me. “So, the bad news is, there are only single seats left. How would you feel about getting to know some of my family?” I raised an eyebrow at him, and he scoffed. “You know what I mean.”
To be honest, the thought made my heart drum nervously until it reverberated in my throat. My appetite almost disappeared. “For sure,” I forced out, casual, casual, casual. “Whatever works.”
The tables were quickly filling up with piles and piles of food, some familiar, some I’d never seen in my life. On one end of the table was a fat turkey, and on the other end, a plate held an enormous chunk of some type of meat that looked sticky and crispy on top—likely slow roasted, from the way the meat was falling off the bone. Mashed potatoes, rice with peas and olives, glazed yams, little parcels wrapped in plantain leaves, plates of beans, cranberry sauce, salsa, and dozens of salads.
I was starting to form a mental game plan—one bite of everything until I figured out my favorites, and then concentrating on that—when Mrs. Tavares rolled up one of the plastic sheets to provide a clear view into the yard, then stepped out onto the lawn with Kane and two young girls. This seemed to be a sign that things were getting serious, because there was a quick flurry of movement while everyone found their seats.
“We have an announcement,” Mrs. Tavares said, hugging herself to protect against the night’s chill. “Tonight, in their first ever performance as a group, Kane, Camila, and Nayeli will be demonstrating a new cheerleading routine for our entertainment.”