Epilogue #5
“Darn. Thought you might’ve forgotten. My friend, Esther, said that old people don’t remember things very good.
” I choke on the drink of water I’d just taken, mortified by Hudson’s bluntness.
But Briggs’ laughter spurs on Royce’s, making it difficult to keep a straight face when reprimanding a very astute three-year-old.
“Very well, not very good,” Dayton corrects, focusing on the wrong admonishment. I narrow my eyes at him purposely glossing over the bigger issue, then turn my attention to Hudson, who looks mighty pleased with himself for making everyone laugh.
“It’s not very nice to point out someone’s age,” I tell him as kindly as possible.
“In fact, it’s also impolite to comment on a person’s size or how they look.
” I figure it’s best that I cover all the bases before he starts preschool next week.
The last thing I want is to get a strongly worded email from his teacher.
“But Uncle Bel told Aunt Mia she looks good enough to eat the other day,” Hudson counters, making us all turn wide eyes to the two culprits. Bel’s face has turned a concerning shade of red, and Mia’s lips are pressed together in a poor attempt at acting blasé.
“And that’s why you never listen to anything either of them says,” Raiden intervenes, placing his hands on Hudson’s shoulders and steering him towards the bathroom. “Now go wash up so you can eat your dinner.”
“And then I can have ice cream?” Hudson asks, refusing to budge until Raiden answers.
“As long as you clean your plate,” he responds, giving Hudson a pointed look.
”There ain’t none of those stinky green sticks, are there?” he asks, nose scrunched in disgust.
“No, we aren’t having asparagus tonight.” Raiden sighs in exasperation, but there’s a smile teasing his lips. “Now go wash those dirty hands.” Not needing further encouragement, Hudson takes off towards the bathroom, the promise of dessert spurring him on.
“That kid would move mountains for a sweet treat,” Royce jokes, but I genuinely wouldn’t put it past him.
“And who’s responsible for creating said problem?
” I question, looking to each of the guys in accusation.
Their constant trips to the ice cream parlor after every minor inconvenience are why we’re close to churning our own.
Before I can chastise the guys properly, the doorbell rings, forcing my attention elsewhere.
I check the peephole first–a habit the guys instilled in me, to the point it’s second nature now–and smile when a head of bright blue hair is the only thing I can see.
Pulling the door open, I plant a hand on my hip and cock an eyebrow at the girl waiting on the other side.
“How many times have we told you that knocking isn’t necessary?” I question playfully.
“I didn’t knock,” Blue states blandly, her voice completely devoid of any inflection. “I rang the doorbell.” Her unflappable demeanor and her dryer-than-dry humor can make it difficult at times to decipher her mood, but I’ve come to expect Blue’s personal brand of sarcasm.
“Speak for yourself,” Briggs interrupts, his chest resting against my back as he slides his arm around my middle.
“I believe I’ve told the little she-devil not to come here at all.
Now we’ll have to sage the house when she leaves.
” I extract myself from his embrace and swat my hand at his rock-hard abdomen.
“Be nice,” I grit out, but it’s useless when it comes to these two. I’m convinced they live to torment one another.
“Aw, don’t be such a pussy, Quitter.” Blue pats his cheek condescendingly, making Briggs’ jaw tick at the moniker she’s given him–a jab at him walking away from a very lucrative career in medicine.
“If I were going to hex your ugly ass, I wouldn’t risk doing it at your home and hurting the people I actually like.
” As Blue moves to shoulder past him, she hisses, causing Briggs to nearly come out of his skin.
“Speaking of, where are my two favorite pet sperms?” She calls out, making me sigh in defeat.
There’s no telling what kind of absurdity Hudson’s going to repeat once school starts.
I can vividly picture an angry mob of parents wielding their pitchforks.
“I wish the two of you would come to a truce already,” I gripe, folding my arms across my chest and giving Briggs a look of irritation.
“Not a chance.” He shivers dramatically, and I roll my eyes at his feigned repulsion.
Neither of them will ever admit it, but there’s a fondness between them.
Through their many verbal sparring matches, a tiny, fragile thread of respect has begun to blossom.
Currently, their mutual irritation stems from Blue proposing they open a clinic together, specifically for the underprivileged.
Briggs still isn’t ready to practice again, and he’s not sure he ever will be.
Meanwhile, Blue thinks he’s being selfish because he has the means to help people, and yet he’s refusing.
It’s not that simple, though. Briggs still visits the homeless encampments in a bid to treat the injured, but working in an official capacity, in a brick-and-mortar setting, is a step he’s yet to take.