Once Faye is seated, I set the tossed salad and garlic bread on the table before returning for the lasagna.
Warren inhales deeply. “It smells amazing.”
“Mmm-hmm. When’s the last time you had a home-cooked meal?” Faye points her fork at him.
“Last week,” he answers.
“Oh?”
“Uh, yeah.” He smiles.
“Why do I get the feeling this was not at Mom’s house?” She continues to prod him as he dishes up some salad.
“Well, it was just Riley and me.”
“From the pet store? I freaking knew it!” Faye dances in her chair
“What? Friends can’t eat together?” Warren asks lamely.
“The looks you two exchanged were not of the ‘let’s be friends’ variety. The two were mooning over each other under the pretense of picking out Monty.”
“What? You love my nephew,” Warren protests.
“I do. But I’m also not blind. Maybe I should start butting into your love life.”
“God. Please don’t.” He shakes his head.
“Oh, is Mom after you?”
“Like a bloodhound after a scent.”
“The usual I want grandchildren before I’m too old?” Faye snorts.
“Never mind that she’s about to have one in less than two months.” Faye balks. “Shit. I am so sorry, Faye.”
“It’s the truth.”
“I know they’re your parents, so forgive me, but they’re being right assholes.”
“Hey, no arguments here. I don’t support the way they’re handling things. I’ve been trying to talk to them.”
“Or supplying that slimy git with information.” I tighten my hold on the fork.
“Maybe if you introduced him, they’d ease up?” Warren suggests.
She sniffs. “I shouldn’t have to.”
“No, but right or wrong, it might bring in some peace. It’s rotten being so disjointed. That’s never been us.”
I watch Faye shrink into herself. Anger flares in my belly.
“It’s not up to her to make it right. She has her hands full preparing for the baby, and Preston is a fucking creep.”
Warren blinks up at me. I lean over and kiss Faye’s cheek. “It’s your birthday, sweetheart, let’s enjoy the night. Why don’t you tell him some of your thoughts on Flora’s middle name?”
Warren gives a quick nod of understanding, and works to shift the tone that had settled over the room.
“I was thinking Magnolia for our grandmother’s favorite flower, or Violeta.”