29. Juno
CHAPTER 29
JUNO
By saguaro’s ovaries, was I about to kiss Lucius again?
Maybe. I certainly wanted to, and if Dad hadn’t called out, I might have. How would Lucius have reacted? For a moment, it seemed like he was flirting with me, but maybe he was just getting deeper into the role?
Ugh, I really need to keep my libido under control. In my defense, Lucius looks particularly delicious today—and I blame all the phone conversations for that.
Now that I know him better, it’s hard to view him as solely a grumpy asshole. Not that he isn’t that, of course—there are just so many other sides to him, including the man who loves his grandmother so much he’s willing to go to incredible lengths to make her happy.
As I walk into the kitchen, I see that everyone’s left the most visible ‘head of the table’ spots empty for us. Very subtle. If we were getting married here today, that’s where we’d sit.
“Where is Lucius?” Mom asks, looking much too worried, all things considered. What does she think, that I broke up with him in the minute they left us alone? Or cannibalized him?
“He’s right behind me,” I say. “Probably washing his hands.”
Sitting down, I examine the table.
There’s enough food to feed a dorm full of hungry fraternity brothers—assuming they haven’t binged on caterpillars. As usual, experience and my enhanced sense of self-preservation tell me which dishes are Mom’s. Lucius’s contribution also stands out: a tray of fancy little tarts with smoked fish and cream cheese, caviar on crackers, tiny crabcakes, and cucumber sandwiches along with other hors d’oeuvres. Clearly, Elijah is behind some of these selections, given how well they’d go with British afternoon tea.
“Ah, there he is,” Mom says and flaps her eyelashes coquettishly at my date.
Seriously? With her husband right there? Then again, my grandmothers are also checking out Lucius admiringly. I guess he brings that out in anyone who likes males.
“Everything smells delicious,” Lucius says, his lips curving in an uncharacteristically warm smile. He throws a quick glance at Elijah, who nods approvingly.
What was that about? Did the butler coach him on how to be nice at dinner?
“Wait ’til you taste Lily’s paella,” Dad says and points at the dish I already suspected of having Mom’s particular touch. There are anise hyssop flowers in it (used as garnish?), which will add a licorice taste where it doesn’t remotely belong.
As everyone takes turns explaining what they brought, I ladle myself a little bit of everything and make a big show of getting some of Mom’s paella. I’m actually curious about it. The ingredients in this dish can vary greatly, so how badly could she mess it up?
The answer: spectacularly. I put a tiny spoonful into my mouth and find it very difficult not to spit it out.
When I think of herbs and spices associated with paella, things like paprika, turmeric, oregano, garlic, pepper, rosemary, and saffron come to mind. None of those are here. What I do detect is vanilla. And nutmeg. And soy sauce, for some reason? And what’s with the croutons? Oh, and let’s not forget the barely cooked rice, the overcooked, rubbery seafood, and enough salt to give everyone instant hypertension.
Mom is truly a virtuoso when it comes to making food inedible. Not for the first time, I wonder if there’s something wrong with her tastebuds—she munches on the paella gladly and looks like she’s genuinely enjoying it.
I catch Lucius putting a forkful of the atrocity into his mouth and watch to see how good he is at hiding his reaction.
His eyes widen. His chewing becomes labored. With clear difficulty, he swallows the mouthful. Then, with great feeling, he loudly says, “Wow, Lily. This paella is out of this world.”
Damn, that was good. He channeled his real emotions into that lie—which was not even a lie. This food is truly not of this world. It’s what the Upside Down monsters must eat in Stranger Things .
Dad looks at Lucius approvingly. “As of this moment, you have my blessing if you want to marry my daughter.”
“Dad!” I feel like I might fall through my chair.
“When are the two of you getting hitched?” Mom asks excitedly.
“Mom!” Make that fall through my chair and the floor.
“And when can we expect great-grandkids?” my two grandmothers ask, somehow in unison.
“Could you make one of said kids a boy?” the grandfathers chime in—also in suspicious synchrony.
“Did you rehearse this?” I ask in a choked voice. I now want to fall through the whole fucking mountain and keep going to the center of the Earth.
Lucius smirks at me. I suppose that’s better than running away screaming, which is how a real boyfriend would react to all that marriage-and-kids noise.
Hiding the smirk, Lucius faces my family and solemnly says, “Thanks, John. I’ll keep your blessing in mind. For now, Juno and I aren’t there just yet.” He looks adoringly at me. “Right, sweetie?”
“Right, shnookums,” I say. “Unholy matrimony will have to wait.”
Is Mom pouting? And are my grandparents really that upset, or have they simply swallowed some paella?
Speaking of paella… Looking extremely uncomfortable at being in the middle of all this family stuff, Elijah grabs himself a plateful of my mom’s dish. What a huge mistake.
Lucius eyes his butler with pity, as do all the members of my family who aren’t Mom. However, as soon as Mom looks his way, Lucius’s expression changes to that of curiosity, and he asks her how she and Dad met.
Wow. If it was Elijah who suggested that ice-breaker, he deserves a raise—or to be saved from that paella. Left to his own devices, Lucius would’ve probably asked Mom some crazy question from that online list—like what type of clown she would like to eat.
Mom’s face becomes animated as she launches into the story of their meet-cute. She and Dad are childhood sweethearts, so their treacle tale starts back in middle school.
Because I’ve heard the story a million times, I tune it out and watch Elijah instead.
With great confidence, the butler shovels the first spoonful into his mouth.
As the paella assaults his poor tastebuds, his pupils dilate, and his face turns a greenish hue.
To Elijah’s credit—or that of his butler school—he doesn’t otherwise show his distaste. He just swallows the mouthful with a micro-expression that reminds me of how children take pills.
He chews the next spoonful in a style reminiscent of a camel. That doesn’t seem to help much. The torment is still noticeable on his face if you’re looking for it. Then, with the mien of a man headed for the gallows, he takes another spoonful, and another.
He must want the pain to be over with quickly. Makes sense. I would’ve done that in his shoes—assuming I couldn’t sneak some paella into my purse.
In the valiant fight against the paella, Elijah comes out the victor—and for the rest of the meal, he sticks exclusively to the items he brought from the limo.