Speakeasy (True North #5)(83)

May turns her chin and kisses my neck. “You are a really smart man, you know that?”

I laugh, because May is the only one who says that. But she’s the only one who matters. And I have to love her up a little so she’ll know I appreciate it.

“Mmm,” she says as I kiss first one corner of her mouth and then the other. “I love you,” she whispers. And that does it. I have to go straight in and kiss her properly.

As my mouth closes over hers, May’s arms wrap around my body, and I quickly reciprocate. And now we’re making out like teenagers in her childhood bedroom.

“Enough of that,” a voice in the doorway says. It’s Dylan. “Dinner is on the table, no thanks to you two.”

“Listen,” May says, stepping back. “You don’t have to share a bathroom with me anymore. Be happy.”

“Yeah,” Dylan agrees. “And I can go drinking at the Gin Mill or Speakeasy and then sleep it off on your sofa.”

“No problem, man,” I agree. “Just as soon as you turn twenty-one. I’m not going to violate my liquor license for your amusement.”

“This from a man who used to throw ragers in the woods.” May’s little brother beckons to us. “Come on, Mom gets cranky when nobody shows up for dinner.”

I shoulder May’s giant duffel bag and carry it out of the room after Dylan. “I hear you. But you too will one day become old and tragically responsible.”

Downstairs, I drop the bag in the TV room next to May’s boxes of books and follow her toward the dining table. I’m a regular feature at Thursday Dinner lately. My sister and my niece greet me when I walk in the room.

“Awek!” Nicole says as I take a seat beside May. She can almost make the “L” sound now. Almost.

“Hi, sugarplum.” At least Nicole still calls my brother “Bimbo.” I hope she never stops. Someone else in our family has to be a bimbo now, because it’s not going to be me anymore.

After dinner, May and I are moving her into my apartment for good. May actually found a one-bedroom place near Colebury that she liked, but after a little soul-searching she decided she didn’t want to sign a lease. “It’s for a whole year,” she said. “And I’d rather spend that year with you.”

Of course I’m a fan of this development. I’ve been working a lot of nights lately, and this will make it much easier to spend time with her.

Audrey waddles into the room with a big platter of roasted salmon. The sight of it makes my stomach rumble. “The vegetables are carrots with Korean spices, along with pea tendrils, asparagus, and radishes with mushrooms under a truffle vinaigrette.”

“I’m dead!” Grandpa Shipley cries. “Is this the menu in heaven?”

I’m nearest to the door so I jump up and take the platter from her. The poor woman’s belly looks like she swallowed a giant watermelon.

Ruth and Dylan follow her with more food heaped onto platters.

“Audrey, you cooked?” May squeaks. “Jeez. Isn’t your due date literally tomorrow?”

“I just had the urge,” Audrey says. “Can’t just sit around and wait for this baby anymore.”

“Maybe it’s nesting behavior,” May says. “Supposedly that’s a thing—when you’re in the early stages of labor you have the urge to cook and clean.”

Audrey rubs her belly in that way that pregnant women do. “I don’t feel great, honestly, but it doesn’t feel like contractions. It just feels like back pain.”

“Interesting,” Ruth says under her breath as Griffin jogs into the room.

“What did I miss?” he asks. “Sorry I’m late. It’s going to be a good sap year.”

“Your wife cooked a feast, and she’s probably in early labor,” Grandpa says.

“What? Really?” Griff goes pale.

“He’s kidding,” Audrey says, sitting down.

“I’ll say grace,” Grandpa says. “Can’t wait any longer to eat those pea tendrils.” He takes a breath and then rattles off a prayer at the speed of sound. “God is great God is good let us thank Him for our food by his hands we are fed give us Lord our daily bread amen.”

I didn’t even know it was possible to pray that quickly. But the old man has his hand on the serving fork a split second after the amen.

And that’s my cue to serve up beverages. As the salmon and vegetables are served around, I pass out little tasting cups—three to each person.

I even give my niece an empty one because the cups are cute and she begs me with her eyes.

“Okay, friends. Tonight I brought you three different non-alcoholic beers that Griff and I have been working on. None have been named yet, because we haven’t picked our winner. But suggestions are always encouraged.”

“I can’t wait!” May says. “I haven’t been able to participate in a Shipley tasting in almost two years.”

“For nine months I’ve had to spit out the ciders we’ve been tasting,” Audrey says. “So let’s do this. Bring on the NA beer. Although I have to say it’s a shame you guys couldn’t cook this stuff up earlier in my pregnancy.”

“That’s okay, honey,” Griffin says. “You can still drink the NA beer for your next four pregnancies.”