Chapter 2 #2
“Just keeping it real,” Stu said with a grin, throwing my words back in my face.
“Salad still needs to be put together so knock yourself out.” I grabbed the mitts and opened the oven door.
The lasagna wasn’t ready yet, I was simply switching the positions of the two casseroles.
It was quite satisfying to hear sniffs and then moans of approval as the aroma of rich tomato sauce with hints of spicy sausage rolled from the oven.
While Stu and Grant started a contest to see who could chop various colored bell peppers into the thinnest slices, Tilda began arranging the garlic knots onto a baking sheet while Leo and Phillip basted them liberally with the garlic and herb butter I’d prepared.
This was also part of why I loved these people.
They were as at home in my kitchen as I was in theirs.
Leo and I had been friends since we’d been kids, and Tilda had joined our group in high school the day our science teacher assigned teams in class.
I could still remember Mr. Jacobson telling us that he hoped by putting Tilda in charge as team leader, we’d manage not to blow up the chemistry lab.
We couldn’t exactly argue as we’d spent several Saturdays doing chores around the school as penance for the damage done the year before when we’d thought it would be really cool to see what happened if you put an entire bag of jumbo marshmallows in the vacuum oven.
All had been going perfectly fine until sparks began shooting off inside the oven and then flames started licking out the back.
We’d forgotten to remove the twist-tie that Leo had used to close the bag after sampling just a few because he was “starving”.
It could have had extremely dire consequences if Mr. Jacobson hadn’t been on hand to not only pull the plug on the oven but to grab the fire extinguisher and spray not only the oven but the entire area down with a thick layer of foam, which, of course, we were assigned to clean after the danger had been eliminated.
By the time we were in our senior year of school, both Leo and I had already known we preferred to be in charge.
We’d also learned far more than what happened in a vacuum oven.
We’d learned two very important things that had nothing to do with chemistry.
First, that while there were men whose genetic makeup leaned toward dominance, biology didn’t bar females from having the same tendencies.
We’d also learned that while Tilda could be as bossy and as hard as we were, she was also highly intelligent and taught us that being alphas didn’t mean being assholes.
We’d not only managed not to destroy the chem lab again, but we’d actually won the regional science fair two years in a row.
I guess our pairing did have something to do with chemistry after all, because once we embraced Tilda, we learned a whole lot more about what made girls, well, sugar and spice and all the incredible bits that made them oh so very, very nice.
We’d met Stu in college where he was studying to become an architect.
After graduation, he’d helped the three of us design our club and then Grant joined our group when we’d needed a lawyer to keep everything legal as we’d begun the process of opening Gem.
We’d played in a few clubs in our city, more around the state, but never felt they met not only our needs, but those of the members we'd be trying to attract. Phillip was the most recent member of our crew. He’d become a member of the club and then when he risked his life to save his Little, the two of them had joined our group and become friends for life.
“Okay, by the time this cools enough to slice, we’ll be ready to eat,” I said after the timer buzzed a second time. “Leo, can you call the Littles?”
“Sure.” He dropped his basting brush into the sink as Tilda slid the baking sheet into the oven once I’d removed the casseroles.
“Littles! Grub’s on!”
I jerked up and stared at Leo who stood in the doorway, then shook my head. “Tilda’s right, you definitely could use a refresher course on manners.”
“I beg to differ. As you can hear, my method is quite effective,” he said, tilting his head toward the hallway.
I could indeed hear the sound of many feet moving at a rapid pace. Not only that, I caught what sounded like Grant, saying, “Whoa! Isn’t that um… interesting?”
“You can say that again,” Stu said, which, of course, had Grant doing exactly that.
“Whoa! Isn’t that um… interesting?”
“Are those… they are! Emma, look at all the piggies!”
“There’s so many!” Chloe declared.
I forgot all about Leo as I heard Jenna squeal, followed by a rush of garbled cries from her fellow Littles.
“I know!” Marcie declared as if she had no clue what was about to happen.
For Pete’s sake. I never considered I’d have to declare the dining room off limits. Marcie had to have known we’d be entertaining. Leo and I practically got stuck in the doorway as he also headed out of the kitchen. By the time we’d disentangled ourselves, we were the last to arrive.
“Marcella Louise McKinley, was I not crystal clear on what I expected you to do with all those pigs? Did I honestly need to tell you not…” I began sternly and then pulled up short.
Instead of the piles of boxes I’d expected to find, I was met by my guests all gathered around the table which was beautifully set.
Though, I suppose that depended upon rather one’s definition of “beautifully” included a tablescape featuring pink piggies.
“Yes, Santa Daddy? Do you like it?”
The tiny tilt of her lip and the gleam in her eye let me know she knew exactly where my thoughts had gone.
“It’s just too perfect,” Emma exclaimed. “Look, Daddy, he’s giving her a bath!”
“I see, sweetness.” Phillips crouched down beside his Little to let her show him the place settings.
Every piece of cutlery was carefully balanced on the backs of a pair of pink pigs.
In the center of each charger plate stood a napkin that had been folded into a rectangle.
Inside, a pig was placed with his hooves pointing skyward as if he were indeed soaking in his trough.
One corner of the napkin had been placed at the front hooves of another pig, who’d use the “washcloth” to bathe his little pig friend.
Running in a line down the center of the table were vases with bouquets made from additional napkins, folded like flowers, several petals serving as platforms for yet more pigs.
Poinsettia flowers had been scattered at the base of the vases, more pig snouts peeking up from the blooms.
“It’s very artistic,” Leo said.
“It’s beautiful, babygirl,” I said, which turned that tilted lip into a full-blown smile as my Little wrapped an arm around my waist and leaned against me.
“Thank you, I figured that the least I could do is show you that I’m not a total idiot.”
“Careful there, little girl, or I’ll have to ruin this beautiful moment by smacking your ass. You are not and have never once been, nor will you ever be, an idiot so just throw that into the slop bucket and don’t ever even think that again, understood?”
She wrapped her other arm around me and squeezed tight. “I love you, Austin James Carey, aka my Santa Daddy.”
“I love you too, Marcie Louise McKinley.”
Sparkling green eyes looked up at me and she giggled. “Another good save, Daddy.”
I laughed and then shouted, “Bread!”
What happens when six Bigs and a half dozen Littles all try to get out of one room at the same time?
Chaos, that’s what.
“Knots are burning!”
“No! Not the knots! Save them!”
“Oof, you’re stepping on me!”
“RED!”
What happens when one highly intelligent woman assesses the situation and takes control?
Immediate order, that’s what.
Everyone froze in place at the shouted safeword and then very calmly made a pathway for me to pass.
To everyone’s immense relief, the bread was only a little more golden than I’d planned.
As I tucked each knot into the baskets, Tilda directed traffic.
Leo sliced and served slabs of lasagna while Grant ensured that each Little’s plate included a proper-sized serving of salad, reminding those who grumbled that only Littles who ate vegetables also got to eat cheesecake.
Within minutes, we were all back in the dining room. While the Bigs carefully set the pigs at their places aside, the Littles arranged theirs into circles to “play”.
“I’m guessing there’s a story behind this?” Phillip asked after everyone’s initial hunger had been sated.
“That’s Marcie’s department,” I said. “I’ll let her tell it.” I expected her to launch into how her order had gone awry, but I should have known better.
“Well, our story begins a long, long, time ago in a kingdom far, far away…”