Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 88290 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88290 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
By then, there were people lined up behind us, so Regina said that we would be back.
Slipping her arm into mine, Regina led me out of the room toward the kitchen.
“How long do we hafta stay?” Sam asked his mother.
“Not long,” she assured him. “I just want to see if the food was catered or if someone cooked. I could use a glass of wine as well."
He glanced at me, and I mouthed “be good,” at him.
“White or red?” he asked her.
“White,” we both said to him at the same time.
“What?”
“Your mother doesn’t drink red anymore, it gives her headaches,” I reminded him.
“Samuel, I don’t drink red anymore, the tannins bother me.”
He threw up his hands and left us.
“Just like his father, he never listens to me.”
Regina and I made a loop to look at the food, and we both agreed after seeing what it was served in, plus the consistency of the lasagna and the chicken Tetrazzini, that it was not homemade. Plus, there was a lot of it in the kitchen. And while having food catered or not, either way was not a big deal—Regina had no interest in eating there. If it was food the family had prepared, she would have felt like she had to stay and eat. Since it wasn’t, she just had to make a loop and then we could go.
When Sam returned with a glass of wine for his mother, and one for me, he had David and a woman I was assuming was his wife, with him.
“Hello,” Regina greeted them, “how is your mother doing, David?”
“She’s doing okay,” he told her, leaning in to kiss Regina’s cheek. “I was just telling Sam that you look amazing. Mom doesn’t get out much, but Sam was saying that your calendar is still just as full as ever.”
She smiled at him. “Well, I do like to have a full schedule,” she replied cheerfully. “How is your father doing, and your stepmother?”
“Oh he’s good. He lives in Seattle now with actually his third wife.”
“Third? Well,” she said, grinning. “That’s exciting.”
“She’s my age,” he grumbled.
Regina laughed in that way she had where you had to smile because she was infectious. “Oh my goodness, Sam, can you imagine if your father married a woman your age?”
It was doubtful that Thomas Kage even saw women other than his wife. They were relationship goals without question.
“No, I can’t,” he groused at her.
“Oh, oh, I see some more people I know. I’ll be right back.”
She left us then, and Sam turned to David. “If you’ll excuse––”
“I haven’t been introduced to your husband,” David rushed out.
Sam exhaled sharply. “My understanding was that you weren’t interested in ever meeting my family.”
“Yeah, I know, and I’m sorry about that. I was just surprised at the time to find out that you were gay.”
“Bi,” I corrected automatically.
“Oh, sorry,” David stated, looking at me. “I didn’t mean to offend you.”
“I’m not offended,” I explained. “It’s just that we need to be clear. My husband is bisexual, attracted to both.”
“Right,” David agreed with me and then turned to look at Sam. “Could we please bury the hatchet and you let me meet your husband?”
Sam introduced us, and then I met his wife, Kenzie, who looked my husband over like he was a yummy dessert at a bakery. And while I got it, most people checked out Sam Kage, I never loved it when people acted like that in front of me.
“And what do you do, Sam?” she asked, still holding his hand.
“I’m in law enforcement, as your husband said,” Sam answered. “And you?”
Kenzie did public relations work for a car dealership, and David was a logistics manager with FedEx. As we stood there, though, and I shook both of their hands, I realized that the two of them, there, talking to us, was not the problem. They weren’t the ones being weird. It was Sam. He wasn’t happy or at ease. His conversation was stilted, and his body language was awkward. He was going to end up folding his arms soon like he was braced for battle.
“Excuse me, please,” I said, taking hold of Sam’s bicep. “I need to have a quick word with my husband.”
Leading him away, I walked him out the back door to stand on the porch. Once there, I turned to look up into his face.
“Why’re we out here?”
“Tell me what’s wrong with you,” I instructed him.
“Nothing.”
“Yes, there is,” I argued. “I know you.”
He shrugged.
“Please.”
Looking away, out across the yard for a moment, he turned back to look at me, slipping his hand around the side of my neck. “I just don’t want to waste my time on people I don’t give a crap about.”
I nodded.
“I mean, why does everyone do that?”
“Do what?”
“Like, I get it when you’re young and you’re finding your way and figuring out the kind of friend you’ll be by how you treat others and how others treat you.”