They all pick on each other—Nate and Nora in particular—with quick, witty jabs and insults, but everyone ends up in smiles even when the words sound hurtful to me. At first, I don’t know how to take it, but eventually I realize that it’s all in fun, and no one is ending up with hurt feelings.
Is this how all large families behave?
I take a sip of the wine.
“This is wonderful!” I say, holding up the glass. “What is it?”
“Some pretentious French wine.” Nate winks at me. “It will go wonderfully with the main course. Oh! Here it comes, now.”
I glance over at the door as servers in black and white uniforms bring in silver domed trays, much like the ones Nate used for the pancakes. They move to stand behind each guest and then place the trays in front of us with practiced synchronization.
I slide my eyes over to Nate, who’s watching me intently. Am I supposed to take the cover off the tray myself or wait for them to do it? Which fork is which? My heart beats faster with my indecision and general lack of knowledge regarding table etiquette.
Nate reaches under the table and grasps my hand in his for a moment, winking at me. Before I can say anything, the server behind me reaches over and removes the dome, and I stare in disbelief.
It’s a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.
“What is this?” I say with a laugh.
“I told Andrea you were a bit nervous about meeting everyone,” Nate says. “I thought this might make you feel at home.”
He’s right. It does.
I relax immediately as everyone—even Nate’s Aunt Kate—dives into their sandwiches. Andrea tells me about making her own peanut butter for the first time and about the homemade grape preserves she found at a local farmer’s market.
When our sandwiches have been devoured, Kate retires for the evening. She pats my hand as she leaves but says nothing to me directly. Andrea refuses any help with the cleanup, so I follow the rest of the group to the billiard room. Servers arrive shortly after, lining the bar with hors d'oeuvres.
“I thought you’d like the sandwiches,” Nate says, “but I also knew they weren’t going to keep Antony sustained through an entire night of eight-ball. I didn’t want him having any excuses when I kick his ass.”
“In your dreams!” Antony grabs a pool cue as Reid racks up the balls. “What are the teams?”
“Cherry is on my team,” Nora says abruptly, “and we’re not playing.”
Nate narrows his eyes at his sister.
“We’re going to talk chick shit,” Nora announces. “That means no boys.”
“Count me out of that shit,” Twos says.
“My sister doesn’t do ‘chick shit,’” Threes says with a laugh. “I think she was supposed to be a boy, too.”
“Fuck you!” Twos punches him playfully on the shoulder.
While the others knock balls around, Nora pulls me over to the couch along the wall near the bar. She grabs one of the trays of appetizers and places it on the coffee table in front of us.
“Antony!” she calls out. “Drinks, please!”
Antony rolls his eyes but still fills our wine glasses before going back to the game. Nate glances over at me, and I give him a nod. He winks at me and then saunters up behind Antony, tapping the back of the pool cue just as his cousin is taking his shot.
“Motherfucker! I would have had that, too!”
I shake my head as they continue on, trying to mess up each other’s shots. Twos makes a point of leaning over the table and pulling the top of her shirt down to distract Reid’s shot, and Threes yells at my landlord about looking at his sister’s tits.
“They’re right there!” Reid yells.
“She’s family, dammit!”
“Not by blood!”