Seven Up (Stephanie Plum 7)

“What do you mean . . . not official?” my mother asked.

“Not many people know.” Like Joe.

“How about Joe's granny?” Grandma asked. “Does she know? I wouldn't want to cross Joe's granny. She could put the jinx on things.”

“Nobody can put the jinx on things,” my mother said. “There's no such thing as a jinx.” Even as she said it I could see she was fighting back the urge to cross herself.

“And besides,” I said, “I don't want a big wedding with a gown and everything. I want a . . . barbecue.” I couldn't believe I was saying this. Bad enough I'd announced my wedding date, now I had it all planned out. A barbecue! Jeez! It was like I had no control over my mouth.

I looked at Joe and mouthed help!

Joe draped an arm around my shoulders and grinned. The silent message was, Sweetheart, you're on your own with this one.

“Well, it'll be a relief just to see you happily married,” my mother said. “Both my girls . . . happily married.”

“That reminds me,” Grandma said to my mother. “Valerie called last night when you were out at the store. Something about taking a trip, but I couldn't figure out what she was saying on account of there was all this yelling going on behind her.”

“Who was yelling?”

“I think it must have been the television. Valerie and Steven never yell. Those two are just the perfect couple. And the girls are such perfect little ladies.”

Gag me with a spoon.

“Did she want me to call her back?” my mother asked.

“She didn't say. Something happened and we got cut off.”

Grandma sat up straighter in her seat. She had a clear view through the living room to the street, and something caught her attention.

“There's a taxi stopping in front of our house,” Grandma said.

Everyone craned their neck to see the taxi. In the Burg a taxi stopping in front of a house is big entertainment.

“For goodness sakes!” Grandma said. “I could swear that's Valerie getting out of the taxi.”

We all jumped up and went to the door. Next thing, my sister and her kids swooped into the house.

Valerie is two years older than me and an inch shorter. We both have curly brown hair, but Valerie's dyed her hair blond and has it cut short, like Meg Ryan. I guess that's what they do with hair in California.

When we were kids Valerie was vanilla pudding, good grades, and clean white sneakers. And I was chocolate cake, the dog ate my homework, and skinned knees.

Valerie was married right out of college and immediately got pregnant. Truth is, I'm jealous. I got married and immediately got divorced. Of course I married a womanizing idiot, and Valerie married a really nice guy. Leave it to Valerie to find Mr. Perfect.

My nieces look a lot like Valerie before Valerie did the Meg Ryan thing. Curly brown hair, big brown eyes, skin a shade more Italian than mine. Not much Hungarian made it to Valerie's gene pool. And even less trickled down to her daughters, Angie and Mary Alice. Angie is nine, going on forty. And Mary Alice thinks she's a horse.

My mother was flushed and teary, hormones revved, hugging the kids, kissing Valerie. “I don't believe it,” she kept saying. “I don't believe it! This is such a surprise. I had no idea you were coming to visit.”

“I called,” Valerie said. “Didn't Grandma tell you?”

“I couldn't hear what you were saying,” Grandma said. “There was so much noise, and then we got cut off.”

“Well, here I am,” Valerie said.

“Just in time for dinner,” my mother said. “I have a nice pot roast and there's cake for dessert.”

We scrambled to add chairs and plates and extra glasses. We all sat down and passed the pot roast and potatoes and green beans. The dinner immediately elevated to a party, the house feeling filled with holiday.

“How long will you be staying with us?” my mother asked.