Crimson Death (Anita Blake, Vampire Hunter #25)(41)

I shot Will an amused look across the table as a Taylor Swift song started blaring through the speakers. The family cheered and whistled as the kids launched into a basic-but-adorable cheerleading routine that was composed of mostly box steps, low kicks, and running around in circles. But, in their defense, it was all highly coordinated.

“Kane’s having more fun than the girls are,” one of the men said in a low voice to Mr. Tavares. From the passive-aggressive tone of his voice, it seemed like a dig. “Maybe he should start spending more time with his brother? On the right side of the court?”

Because a boy’s role was to play the game, and it was the girls who were meant to cheer them on. Right?

Mr. Tavares held a finger to his lips. “He’s just a kid,” he hissed. “He’ll grow out of it.”

And what if he didn’t? I wondered. Would he still be as much of a man in their eyes? Or, what if Kane didn’t identify as a guy at all? What then?

Not to mention, what if they found out that Will, for all his time spent on the “right side of the court,” wasn’t straight?

Where did this idea of the “right” way to be a guy or girl fit into real life?

Tearing my eyes away from them, I forced myself to wipe the frown off my face, and joined in on a standing ovation.

I half-expected everyone to go around the table listing things they were grateful for like my family had always done, but, as Will told me later in the night, it was apparently a Tavares family tradition to have a group gratitude discussion over ponche crema not long after everyone had arrived. It was probably for the best, I reasoned—with a family this big, it could get rowdy real fast trying to do a serious activity later in the night.

While the adults jumped into serving themselves, the kids were instructed to bring their plates up to the main table. I started to rise to help Crista and Dylan, but one of Will’s aunts took over the role, generously filling both of their plates with the best cuts of meat she could find.

Crista skipped over to me with a look of urgency while her plate was being filled. She patted my shoulder then leaned in to speak right into my eardrum. “Please, Ollie, can you make sure I get some turkey?”

“You’ll get some turkey.”

“I don’t want all that other stuff. Just the turkey.”

It was kind of a little late for that. Crista’s plate already had a selection of meat, rice, and beans, as well as some other extremely delicious-looking things I didn’t know the names of. “Just give it all a try, and if you don’t like something, you don’t have to eat it. You can have more turkey later if you’re still hungry.”

She screwed up her face, and I gave her a look. “Don’t be rude.”

As for me, I was more than happy to explore the various foods in front of me. Only I didn’t have a helpful aunt picking out the best bits, so I just guessed when it came to loading up my plate. After much experimentation, I came to the conclusion that I had a particular fondness for a kind of potato salad-type thing with chicken, peas, beans, and carrots, all tied together with the most delicious, creamy sauce that ever caused a guy to salivate at the thought of seconds. Will’s older cousin Josephina helpfully explained that it was called ensalada de gallina, and I made a note of the name in my phone so I could find it and eat it again every night for the rest of my life.

“Ollie?”

“Hmm?”

Crista was back at my side, holding up a mostly empty plate. “Can I please have another one of those yellow things?”

Yellow things, yellow things … there was so much food in front of us it took me a full two table scans to figure out what she was talking about. That’s right, those tamale-like things in plantain leaves were bright yellow once unwrapped. But the plate was out of my reach. I went to ask Josephina but faltered when I realized I didn’t know what they were called. I mean, I doubted she’d judge me, but I’d still feel pretty stupid asking if she could pass the plate of “yellow things.”

Will noticed my lost look right away. “What’s up?”

No one seemed to be listening in, at least. “Crista wanted to grab another of those … tamales?”

Luckily, he seemed to know exactly what she wanted. “Oh, yeah, for sure. Come over here, Crista.” He took her plate and piled a couple plantain-parcels onto it. “They’re called hallacas. Seems like you didn’t mind the food so much after all, huh?”

He said it good-naturedly, but I died inside anyway. I’d hoped he hadn’t heard Crista’s whining.

“Well, these things are really yummy. And the turkey, and the other turkey. The shredded one.”

“That’s not a turkey. That one’s called pernil. It’s pork.”

“Oh. I don’t like pork, though.”

“Do you like ham and bacon? That’s pork.”

“Oh.”

“Would you like any more pernil?”

“Yes, please.”

While he served her, Will caught my eye across the table and gave me a soft smile.

My stomach flipped.



After dinner was finally over—and I do mean finally, because after that gigantic spread was done, a dessert course of flan and pecan pie was brought out and it was on for plate number five—the kids started playing together in the backyard. I stayed and watched over them for a little bit, until Will suggested I have a tour of the house. I was reluctant to leave Crista and Dylan alone, but it wasn’t like they didn’t have supervision. Plus, I had to admit, I was curious to check out the room Will slept in every night.