Elijah #3
I shook my head, and Milo shrugged, more distracted by his thoughts than his curiosity about what we could be talking about.
Not that it would have been a big deal if he knew, because Marshall’s words had the effect of soothing my raw nerves as we entered the event room where our family waited.
It was a nice, if brief reminder that I still had Milo even if everything went badly.
He had disappeared on me, abandoned me when I needed him most, but he’d hurt himself in the process, because he had needed me as well.
We weren’t perfect, but we always had a way of balancing each other, and that felt even more true than before.
“There we go,” Mason piped up as we entered the room. “About time you...holy hell.”
That drew everyone’s attention, and every head turned toward the three of us in confusion.
I could see my siblings as they glanced between Milo and Marshall, forgetting I existed.
Not that I blamed them, the first time I’d met Marshall, I’d been blown away by the resemblance between biological father and son.
“It’s like looking through a time warp,” Dom said, leaning forward to peer at them.
“Hopefully that isn’t a prediction of Milo’s future,” Marty said in a low voice from her place next to Dad at the head of the table, glaring daggers at the three of us. “Marshall.”
“Matilda,” Marshall said in a quiet, respectful acknowledgment. “And...Marcus, right?”
Dad looked around the room, reading the tension coming off his wife in waves, but he stood up anyway and shook Marshall’s hand. “I didn’t know we’d be having company; it’s a good thing I always order extra from the kitchen.”
“I...appreciate that,” Marshall said slowly, and I wondered what was going through his head.
Not a single person in the room had any doubts about how Marty felt about Marshall, especially because there had already been a family dinner that had discussed the topic.
Yet here was my dad, getting up to greet Marshall cordially when I didn’t think Marshall would have blamed him for sitting there in silent agreement with his wife. “If that’s alright.”
Every head turned again, but their eyes were on Marty, who was still staring two holes through Marshall’s forehead.
Unsurprisingly, there were a few glances toward Milo, who had also stepped forward to stare at his mother.
I couldn’t see his face, but I could imagine the mixed look of pleading and stubbornness making his boyish features look hard and stern.
“Well,” Marty said in a stiff voice. “You’ve stuck around this long this time, I suppose we’ll see.”
Most of the tension in the room eased, though not hers.
Milo huffed because that wasn’t even close to what he’d wanted from his mother, but he was smart enough to know that was as good as he would get for the moment.
Maybe he remembered that not so long ago, he had done something to hurt someone important, and stuff like that didn’t just magically disappear.
Even more so when those people had a complicated history like Marty and Marshall, and without the kind of resolution that Milo and I could have.
Moira was the first up from the table, setting a hand on Marshall’s shoulder and guiding him toward one of the three chairs. “Here, come sit next to me. If you sit closer to Mason and Jace, you’ll never get any food on your plate. We have manners down here.”
Jace scowled. “Don’t associate me with that animal.”
Mason gave him a side-long smirk. “Maybe you should have thought about that when you decided to share a bed with me.”
“Sex is probably the only reason he hasn’t killed you yet,” Dom said with a snort, gesturing around. “Sit down, idiots. Or do you need Moira to show you where your seats are too?”
I let Milo sit next to Moira, while I sat on Milo’s other side next to Dom. I looked around and frowned. “Where’s Micah?”
“He is staying the night at a friend’s house,” Moira said as she scooted closer to the table. “If all goes well, we might even see this friend of his here at the hotel next weekend. We’ll see.”
“Can you believe it?” Mason asked. “Little weirdo made a friend that wasn’t one of us.”
“Don’t call him that,” Jace grumbled.
“Look, he is weird, even you admit that.”
“Just don’t call him a weirdo.”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever you say, Daddy .”
Which set off a round of groans. As much as we knew they were a couple and had a sex life, no one wanted to think about either of them being Daddy .
Some things were better kept to yourself, even if they were said as a joke.
..which I hoped it was. I didn’t want to imagine that Mason was the sort to get off on calling someone ‘Daddy’ in bed.
..or that Jace was the sort to get off on being called that.
Trying to ignore Mason, I glanced at Moira again. “And Kayden? Stowing him out of sight as well?”
Moira gave me a meaningful look, and I shrugged.
Micah not being there was pretty telling, or at least gave me the idea that she knew full well this might be a family meeting that a minor shouldn’t be part of.
Not that the conversation would get raunchy, well, no more than usual with Mason around.
Better safe than sorry. Kayden, however, was not a kid, and his sensibilities didn’t need to be considered, especially when he wasn’t shy about making dirty jokes alongside Mason to try and scar Jace for life.
Come to think of it, Jace seemed to enjoy having people around who gave him hell, huh, there was probably something to that, but I didn’t want to think too hard about it.
“No,” Moira said finally, rolling her eyes. “But he has a late shift tonight. He’ll be out until well after midnight. He did say to keep him updated on any ‘juicy’ details. His words, not mine.”
“How…ominous,” I said pointedly, ignoring the way Mason shot me a knowing smirk.
Mason grinned as he hopped up, eyeing those of us at the table without a drink before moving over to the little bar. “Do you drink, Marshall?”
“Nowhere near like I used to,” Marshall said with a chuckle.
“It wouldn’t take much to drink less than a drunk fish,” Marty said, raising a brow.
“That’s true,” Marshall said, accepting the criticism with more grace than Milo took it, who now glared at his mother. “Then let’s say I drink considerably less than I used to, but I still have a drink or two with dinner on occasion.”
“Hmmm,” Mason said after a moment, clearly forming an idea in his head.
“Don’t,” I told Marshall when he opened his mouth. “Mason likes to make a game out of making drinks for people based on their personality, mood, and the kind of day they’ve had. All stuff he thinks he knows about people.”
“I’m very good with people,” Mason said, causing everyone at the table to give a harsh snort. “Rude.”
“He is actually good at picking right, though,” Moira told Marshall in a low voice. “And if he’s wrong, he’s determined to get it right the next time. I didn’t say that, though, he’ll get an even bigger head if he thinks someone in the family actually gives him any credit.”
“He’s pretty good at stroking his own ego,” Milo said.
“I heard that,” Mason said, dropping drinks in front of Milo and Marshall before returning to his seat just as one of the staff pushed the large cart laden with dishes into the room and left it there.
It was nice to have someone else cook, but we didn’t need the staff to worry about serving; we could lay out dishes just fine.
“I’m very good at stroking many things.”
Marshall squinted at him. “You sound...a lot like someone else I’ve got to know recently.”
“Really, who’s that?” Mason asked as Dom hopped up to help Moira get the cart and set the dishes out for us to serve ourselves.
“My ex,” Milo muttered before thinking, still horrified by the idea that there was any similarity between Mason and Raf.
“Which one?” Mason asked in a wry voice.
Jace frowned at him. “You are not going to give someone shit because they’ve had a few exes. I know your body count; your glass house looks sensitive to stones.”
“You’ve never complained before.”
“This isn’t complaining, this is facts.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
“Raf,” Milo grunted as he eyed the bowls nearest us.
“Oh, why did you break up?” Marty asked, her tone softening considerably as she stared at Milo. “I liked him.”
“Yes, you two were sweet together. Why ever did you break up?” Mason asked in a tone so thick with sarcasm and wry humor it was a miracle it didn’t form a solid mass and drip from his mouth.
Okay, so Mason definitely knew.
“Stop,” Dom said, but he was trying to cover his mouth to hide the laugh and was doing a horrible job.
And Dom.
“Both of you quit,” Moira ground out. “Leave them alone.”
Them? Okay, and Moira knew too.
Dad leaned over to Marty and loudly whispered. “You ever feel like something is going on and you’re the odd man out?”
“We’ve raised six children who keep a certain level of closeness that any parent would want them to have, we’ve spent years being the odd ones out,” Marty told him, squinting.
“Can we...save talk about my personal life for after dinner?” Milo asked, his eyes bouncing nervously around the people at the table. “I’d like to enjoy my food.”
“Yes,” Arlo agreed. “Personal talk is for dessert. Or after dinner drinks.”
So Marty and Dad didn’t know, and...Arlo probably didn’t either, but he was and would forever remain the hardest sibling to read.
He looked completely unbothered as he began scoping out a steaming pile of mashed potatoes and grabbing some chopped chives to sprinkle on top.
Meanwhile, Dom was busy cutting his meat while shoving pieces into his mouth in a way that did not hide his laughter, and Mason kept shooting looks to our end of the table until Moira hissed, and Mason jumped right after a slight jerk from Jace.