Chapter Twenty-Two
Sophie…
I spend most of my birthday party walking bowlegged and praying it isn’t as noticeable as I’m afraid it is. Michael, damn him, takes every opportunity to softly pat my ass, flaring a reminder, bright and embarrassing, of how we spent our afternoon.
Maisie, of course, didn’t tell me that she’d invited everyone - I mean, every MacTavish brother, sister and cousin, my friends from college, and everyone came.
Luna, Arabella and Mason’s wife Afton ran in and out of their houses on the square, bringing out additional food, sending their husbands to raid their wine cellars and liquor cabinets for more booze.
The mid-summer sun reluctantly sets, casting long shadows over the kids running across the lawn, shrieking and laughing.
Tables groan with Orkney scallops and Scottish lobster, platters of steaks and ribs from the MacTavish cattle farm near the Cairngorms. Roasted vegetables and salads and platters of fruit, even some American favorites that I've missed like corn on the cob.
On a table of its own, my mother's beautiful birthday cake, adorned with fresh flowers and fruit.
Even the Chieftain and Mala arrive, smiling at me as if this is like any other birthday we'd celebrated before. As if everything is fine, everything is forgotten. I’m grateful for it, but I can’t forget how Mala had casually replaced my mother that day with a new chef.
“Nice party.” Xenia sidles up next to me, sipping on a glass of Chardonnay.
“You know, you are the living embodiment of like, a super hot 50’s housewife with your perfect blonde hair and that set of pearls over your sundress,” I say, admiring how Xenia manages to stay non-sweaty, no grass stains on her skirt.
“That is, a super hot 50’s housewife who is also an astronaut, a nuclear physicist and a neurosurgeon,” I add.
She gives me a little, demure smile. “Really, though. This is a pretty impressive affair.”
“It’s amazing,” I agree. “I know Maisie took point, but it turns out that all the women got involved. Even Catriona and Lucas flew up to the clan’s cattle ranch yesterday to bring down enough red meat to clog every artery in Edinburgh.”
“Yes, well, your husband was the most obsessive and uptight of the party planners. I had to clear the airspace over this neighborhood for seven hours as a ‘security measure,’” Xenia says, doing the quotation mark thing with her fingers.
“Do you know how much negotiation it takes to divert thirteen international flights? "
"Oh my God!” I'm horrified and yet also impressed. “How on earth did you pull that off? Wait. Don’t tell me. I’m not ready to learn of all the dark powers you have at your command.”
"Well," she shrugs modestly.
“I mean, he made you divert jet liners? That's so wildly sociopathic!” I shake my head. “It didn’t have to be such a big deal. We could've had it in the house.”
“A good chieftain has to be a bit of a sociopath to do his job." She gives me a little smile and wink. “And when you're running his digital defense department, a little sociopathy comes in handy there, too. Excuse me, I have to check on the drones. They’re armed." She strolls off into the dusk.
Wait, Jordan murmurs in my head, drones? You bagged yourself a husband who ordered armed drones for your birthday party.
Yeah, I don’t know how to respond to that, I think.
Eventually, I must force my mother to sit with the threat of placing one of the kids on her lap at all times to pin her down, after she attempted to run around all evening refilling platters and clearing dishes.
“Why do ye think we hired a dozen servers?” Arabella scolds her.
“I know ye, woman. Taking care of people is muscle memory for ye by now, but why don't ye just put those dainty wee feet up and let someone else do the work for a change?” To drive home her point, she plops her two-year-old boy Brodie on Mom's lap.
In what I suspect is a well-rehearsed routine, Brodie holds out his grubby little paw, and Mom pulls a sucker from one of her many pockets and hands it to him.
“You know that your mother is some supernatural combination of Julia Childs and Mary Poppins, right?” Luna asks, moving the chair next to her closer to me in invitation.
“Oh, without a doubt,” I agree fervently, watching Brodie wrap his arm around Mom’s neck, imparting some deep toddler wisdom to her. Within minutes, Luna’s kids Collin and Rowan are clustered around her, too.
Afton, Maisie, and Sloan join us at the table. “It’s good to sit down,” Maisie sighs, “I dinnae know how event planners do this shite all day.”
“This was so much work,” I say apologetically, “it’s very sweet of you all, but…
” I can feel sweat gathering at the back of my neck.
Every time I’m with any of the MacTavishes now - except for Maisie - there’s always an awkward little moment, a break in the conversation as we skate too close to what happened.
Now I’m surrounded by all these women, and I don't know how much of what happened is common knowledge.
What's worse, I don't know how everyone feels about my mom now. If they’re trusting her with their kids, then surely…
“Hey, did I ever tell you that my dad tried to have me killed?” Afton volunteers.
The water I’d been drinking goes up my nose.
“I beg your pardon?” I cough.
“Yep,” she pops the ‘p’ cheerfully. All the other women at the table nod wisely, as if this is common knowledge. “He ordered my bodyguard to do it, just to make it sting that extra bit.”
Glancing over, I see her bodyguard Talon, who is supposedly off shift and yet is still standing close by in his dark suit, a silent mountain of menace.
“Oh, not Talon,” Afton corrects. “The bodyguard I grew up with. I didn't let him kill me, and I didn't let Mason kill him.” Her smile fades. “He passed away a couple of months ago from a heart attack."
"I'm so sorry,” I say, squeezing her hand. “That's a complicated relationship. It's hard to know what to grieve, I'm guessing.”
“You know, in the end, he redeemed himself,” she says.
“He worked in the clan’s security department and he did an honorable job.
The point is, there's a lot of things that can drive people to do something they could never have imagined.
And as a mother, there is nothing that you won't do to try to save your children.
And there's not one of us here that doesn't understand that.”
My eyes are a little watery as the others nod.
“We should also point out,” Sloan says with a smile, “that sure, it was terrible and awkward and everything, but it got the desired effect. You and Michael are finally together. He's much less cranky. Ethan doesn't want to murder him on a daily basis so really, it's working out for everyone.”
“Ethan?” I cover my mouth, trying to suppress a horrified little gurgle. The Scottish Demon? The executioner who terrifies everyone? I still have nightmares where he sits in the Chieftain's office, flipping his viciously sharp knife up and down between his scarred fingers as he stares at me.
“They work together the most closely,” Sloan shrugs. “I hate to speak ill of your husband-”
“Oh, go ahead,” Maisie says, “I’m his sister and I speak ill of him all the time.”
There’s a round of laughter, everyone’s cheeks are flushed from the wine and the warm evening, there’s a sense of relaxation here that I rarely see with these people.
“Ethan complained all the time that Michael had lost his sense of humor. He was cranky, no fun to work with…”
What kind of work?
I’m too scared to ask. For fuck’s sake, Ethan’s the one who kills people. Has Michael been tagging along, like a “Bring Your Cousin to Work” day?
“They handle a lot of the international affiliates together,” Sloan smiles at me, and it’s unnerving, like she knew what I was thinking. “It’s not all murder.”
“Of course-” My voice is pitched so high that only bees could understand me. I gulp down some water. “Of course not. They both have a much wider range of skills, of course.”
“Of course,” Arabella agrees, clearly trying not to laugh. “Though really, if it’s mayhem they’re looking for, they go to my Logan.”
“If there’s an international diplomatic incident, they’d call Mason,” Afton laughs.
“Yes!” Maisie claps approvingly. “Of course, if ye want to take over a small country, ye call Lucas. Catriona is generous about lending him out.”
“Oh, yeah,” I agree. Catriona’s husband Lucas owns an international security company that’s so successful, some of the MacTavish guards asked to jump ship to work with him. “Remember his rescue operation in Morocco? He taught the Atlas Mountains a lesson they’ll not soon forget.”
“Now, for undercover operations, Kai is your man,” Luna says. She pushes back a strand of her silver-blonde hair. “After he kidnapped me, it took me twenty-four hours to realize he wasn’t the bad guy.”
“Is that what we call chasing ye through the forest and saving ye from those psychotic British arseholes?”Arabella smiles innocently.
“Oh, he’s still chasing her through the woods,” Sloan says. Everyone’s dead silent for a moment before we all burst into uproarious laughter as Luna covers her beet red face with a napkin.
“I’m realizing that not one of you has a meet-cute that’s safe to discuss in polite society,” I say, trying to catch my breath.
“No, they’re really more like villain origin stories,” Sloan says.
“You’re missing the final piece to the Jenga tower of MacTavish men.
” It’s Scarlett, her grin almost as bright as her flaming red hair as she skips over to the table.
“When you want something obliterated by fire, it would be my Wallace that you need.” She points at her husband, who is heading over to my birthday cake with a grin and a flaming torch.
“Light ‘em up, honey!” Scarlett yells.
With a brilliant, eye-searing flash, the oversized candles on my cake explode into flame.
My cheeks flush as everyone gathers around to sing “Happy Birthday” to me. I’ve seen most of these faces for so many years, their stories almost as familiar to me as my own. There was always a bit of a distance, though, a separation between them and me. Now though, their smiles are open, friendly.
“Make a wish,” Mom says, beaming proudly.
Looking at this magnificent cake, beautiful with the pink and lilac flower decorations and fragrant with almond and vanilla, I get an idea. Closing my eyes, I wish for a plan that will bring my mother happiness, and I blow out the candles.
“Thank the Lord there were only twenty-three candles,” Michael whispers, kissing me. “He nearly set our roof ablaze. Happy Birthday, butterfly.”
As Mom and Maisie cut the cake into generous slices, everyone grabbing a plate, I breathe in deep and hold it. It’s a habit from childhood that I’ve never been able to break. If I hold my breath long enough, nothing bad can happen. We can be happy.