What If (If Only.... #2)(6)

I breathe in, steeling myself for what lies beyond the door, and I enter.

“Uncle Griggs!” My niece, Violet, launches herself at me, and I forget everything other than this, holding the most beautiful eight-year-old girl in my arms.

I kiss her nose, and she giggles. “How’s my Vi?”

“Good!” She shimmies out of my arms, patting out any wrinkles threatening to form in her blue dress. She learns quickly. Once free of my grasp, she gets a good look at me. “What happened to your eye?” she asks, her hands then covering her mouth. “Grandma’s gonna be mad at you.”

I laugh. She’s right to be more concerned about my mother’s reaction than how I’m actually doing.

“You should see the other guy,” I say. “Still Uncle Griggs, huh?”

She shrugs. “It suits you.”

It suits me? This kid needs to slow down on the whole maturity thing. Other than her size, Vi calling me Uncle Griggs is the only evidence she’s still a child.

Nat stalks through the foyer, her hands laden with packages of batteries.

“One thing I asked of you, Griff. One thing, and you’re freaking late.” Now she’s close enough to see. “What the FRAK?”

I cover Violet’s ears with my hands. “Hey. Don’t taint my niece’s vocabulary with gateway cursing. We all know freaking and frakking lead to f*cking, and then what’s left?”

“I can still hear you guys,” Violet informs us.

“Shit,” I say.

“Damn it, Griffin!” Then Nat’s hand shoots up to cover her mouth as her eyes go wide.

Violet frees herself from my hands. She looks at both her mom and me and shakes her head. “Merde. You two are hopeless.” Then she saunters off to the great room, presumably where Natalie was headed in the first place.

“What was that?” I ask, knowing exactly what my niece just said.

“She’s learning French for our trip next month.”

“I get in trouble for ear-muffing her, and you’re teaching her how to say shit in French?”

“Well…” Nat hesitates. “I Googled some French slang for her so she wasn’t only learning textbook speak. I may have stepped away for a minute with the window still open. What can I say? She’s a quick learner. I mean, she used it in the correct context and everything.”

I grab the batteries out of Nat’s hands. “I take it the photographer isn’t ready yet?”

She shakes her head.

“So I’m not really late, only in Reed time.”

“Correct.” She sighs, her eyes focusing on mine. “Honey, what did you do? When is shit like this going to stop?”

I cover my ears like I did with Vi. “Shhhh. Remember there are sensitive ears nearby.”

She doesn’t appreciate the joke.

“Griffin…”

“Natalie…”

She crosses her arms and gives me a pointed look. Though she’s only twenty-six, the youngest of my sisters, the disappointment coming from her tears at something inside me. I was almost proud to walk in here and have Mom and Dad flip out at me. Not Nat. She’s the one who roots for me, which means she’s always the one who gets let down.

“Everyone’s in the other room?” I ask.

This time she nods.

“Let’s do this, then.” I lean down to kiss her on the cheek. “Hi, by the way.”

“Hi.” She smiles, and I’m guessing it’s probably the first time this morning she has. “Now get your freaking, frakking ass in there.”

She marches ahead of me, and I follow. Mom and Dad may run the show, but behind the scenes, Nat’s the one in charge, the one with true maternal instinct. She may have gotten pregnant young, but like everything else, she shines at the whole mothering thing. It’s in her blood. In that we’re so different. I love my niece probably more than any other human, but I could never do what Nat does. And definitely not alone.

The French doors leading to the great room swing open, and Jen and Megan burst out to greet us.

“Please save us,” Megan says. “If Mom raises her eyebrows one more time, I swear she’s going to break through her Botox.”

“What about Dad?” I ask.

Jen answers this time. “He’s doing that scary-ass silent thing where he stands next to the piano observing. I think he’s saving the rage for you.”

“Dad doesn’t rage,” I say.

“I know. The silence is worse.”

Jen’s right. There’s nothing worse than someone who turns off everything rather than letting it all spill out. But that would be too messy for Griffin Reed, Sr. And Dad doesn’t do messy. In that respect, I’ve learned from the best, leading a life free of any real complication, mild bar brawl notwithstanding.

“No one has anything to say about how I look?” I flash Jen and Megan an exaggerated grin, waiting for them to reprimand me as well. My plan backfires as I cut the grin short, a shock of pain reminding me of my physical vulnerability.

“Honestly, Griffin.” Jen says. “It’s getting harder to keep up with your bullshit.” She turns to Megan. “Didn’t he come with a busted lip to Dad’s casino night fund-raiser last month?”