Chapter 14 #2
“I wasn’t even there for you,” Axl went on quietly. “He walked in, and suddenly, everything was gone, including me. You were all about him.”
“Axl told us that,” Auggie added. “Before Mag even met you.”
All the rest I knew.
But that last was news.
“We don’t trust people easy, Lottie,” Mag said. “But the people who might become a part of the lives of one of our own, that’s worse.”
“I’m sure sisters can be tough to crack,” Boone shared. “They might not show it, but brothers…”
Boone let that hang but I understood him.
They weren’t brothers of the blood, and blood was thicker than water, but doing what they did for a living, all having served before, the trust that had to build, the men those experiences had made them, what they had was stronger than steel.
“We’re here right now, for you, and we’ve known you two weeks,” Auggie reminded me. “The Morrison women are gonna love you, Lots. You got nothing to worry about.”
I felt Mo’s arm tight around me, holding me to the strength of his big body.
And I saw all Mo’s boys around me, giving me strength.
I’d fallen for Mo.
And along the way, I started falling for all of them too.
I looked at Mag.
“Evie for you. She’s a nerd. But she’s gonna sort your shit.”
Mag blinked.
I looked to Auggie.
“Pepper for you. Just trust me on her. Perfect.”
My attention went to Axl. “Hattie. You’ll flip your shit for her. And she totally won’t for you. You’ll have to work for it. But she’ll make it worth it.”
Axl tipped his head to the side, openly intrigued.
Finally, I turned to Boone.
As suspected from nuanced vibes I was getting from him, there was something guarded in his expression, and I wasn’t sure if it was me he didn’t want to see it, or the others.
So I went out on a limb he didn’t know was a limb.
“Ryn,” I stated. “Kathryn. She’ll be beyond your wildest dreams. Your wildest dreams, Boone.”
There was a flash of understanding that told me I’d guessed correctly, and I moved quickly in order not to allow the others to catch it.
I’d have that conversation with Boone later.
Alone.
I turned in Mo’s arm, looked up at him and said, “I just need to finish sorting my purse and get my shoe on, baby. Then I’m ready to roll.”
Mo looked down at me a beat.
Then he smiled.
Pep talk delivered, I was good to go.
Still smiling, Mo dipped way down to touch his lips to mine and let me go.
I sorted my purse, but it was Mo who crouched down to put on my shoe.
And with hugs and kisses on the top of my head from the guys while standing by Mo’s truck, and promises from Mag that the next time they came over, he’d bring beer, we were on our way.
I was not surprised at Mo’s mom’s house.
He’d told me, in order to raise five children after his father ditched them without doing them the favor of actually ditching them, his mom worked hard to become a CPA.
She’d semi-retired the year before, a partner in a big firm in town.
She still worked VIP clients, two to three days a week, because if she didn’t, she’d go crazy seeing as she didn’t knit, paint, birdwatch (or the like).
She’d also downsized houses after Mo had entered the Army out of high school years ago.
So the brick Park Hill bungalow with the pergola over the front porch, brick path, thick, green lawn and tidy but not effusive landscaping that included black-eyed Susans in their final blooms was expected.
Sadly, by the time Mo parked behind a shiny Chevy Silverado, the pep talk had worn off.
This was the reason Mo turned to me and took my hand.
I gave him my gaze.
“The men hated Tammy,” he announced. “They hated the ones before her that they knew. And they didn’t hide it. Part of me was pissed at ’em. Those relationships weren’t working and the way the guys treated the woman in my life, it didn’t help.”
I didn’t like to think of how even one of them not liking me would feel.
Fortunately, I didn’t have to.
“But I gotta admit, they were right,” he went on.
“I should have ended things. Lookin’ back, havin’ you, I see that now.
But they already knew it. They knew I didn’t have what I deserved.
Now I know, and they know I do. With that, do you think, the minute they meet you, Ma and my sisters won’t feel the same way? ”
I loved what he was saying to me.
I loved that he found it in him to say it to me.
I still knew I needed to win over the women in that house, not for me.
For Mo.
But I leaned into him and replied, “I’m glad you now know what you deserve, honey. And I hope I always give you that.”
“I don’t hope it, I know you will,” he returned, came to me, kissed me hard but closed-mouthed, and pulled away. “You ready?”
I was not.
I nodded.
He let me go, shifted to open his door but turned back to me.
“I help you out.”
“Right, okay,” I whispered.
It was then Mo nodded.
It felt funny sitting there, waiting for Mo to help me from his truck, but it felt nice when he did.
Like I was what I was by Mo—loved and looked after.
We were halfway up the walk when the front door was opened by a blonde woman who was tall—not as tall as Mo, but really freaking tall, and built—not like Mo, of the feminine, curvy variety.
She took one look at me and shouted, “Holy crap! That dress!” She then turned her head back toward the house and kept shouting. “I’m going on a diet immediately! After crab cakes, of course. And meringue cake, of course again!”
With my dress, I’d gone black. I only had clingy because I only did clingy. It was sleeveless and halter neck with a racer back. It was also mid-thigh with a small slit on the left side.
It was me.
And I thought they should know who I was, no matter how nervous I was about it.
The woman at the door turned back to us as we walked up the three steps to the porch then immediately back to the house she yelled, “She’s teeny! And she’s everything .”
Oh my God .
I wasn’t exactly teeny.
But I was beyond thrilled she’d taken one look at me and described me as everything .
Before I could feel the fullness of this relief, Mo ordered, “Marte, quit shouting.”
“Mo, get her in here,” Marte ordered right back.
“Mom wouldn’t let us touch the hors d’oeuvres until Lottie arrived and she made mini-corn muffins and smoked salmon sandwiches.
You know Taylor isn’t into fancy food, but he’s into eating, and since he hasn’t since lunch, he’s getting cranky.
As for me, if I don’t eat something soon, I’m gonna kill somebody. ”
“Right then,” Mo returned, and now we were standing on the welcome mat in front of her. “You wanna get out of the door so we can actually come in?”
“’Course,” she replied, but didn’t do that. She pushed a hand my way and said, “Hey, I’m Marte. And I’m the least annoying one, no matter what Mo says to you.”
“That’s a lie,” Mo muttered.
I took her hand, smiling because this night was starting a whole lot different than I expected.
“Hi, I’m Lottie.”
“Jeez, Marz, what’s with the bar-the-door routine?
” another tall, blonde, built woman asked, doing this while physically shoving Marte out of the way only to take her place.
“Hey, I’m Lene and I’m just gonna say right now, Rick brought his poster of you.
And if you don’t want to sign it, just don’t.
I told him it was rude. Not at the first dinner.
Not when Mom’s making us dress up and demanded we get babysitters.
More like when Paul has his Columbus Day barbeque.
And heads up, Paul uses every excuse to barbeque.
So that’s not weird, for him . Labor Day, Memorial Day, Veterans Day, totally Fourth of July.
Even Halloween. He tried to barbeque a turkey for Thanksgiving once, and Signe lost her mind. ”
I couldn’t help but stare at her, but when she stopped talking, I asked, “Your husband has a poster of me?”
“Don’t be nervous,” she advised quickly.
“He’s not a stalker or anything. He’s just a huge fan of those Rock Chick books.
I swear, I nearly had to take him to the hospital, he was laughing so hard at the part where your sister goes to the poker games with her girls.
” She leaned toward me. “He’s gonna ask you to ask them to sign his books.
Don’t feel weird about telling him to shove off about that either. I got you, girl.”
I kept staring at her.
They knew who I was.
They knew what I did.
And she was okay with her husband having a poster of me.
I had a variety of posters from back in my Queen of the Corvette calendar heyday.
And in most of them I was clothed.
Albeit scantily.
“Do you mind if I actually take my woman in the house?” Mo requested, sounding beleaguered. “Or does one of you wanna bring a plate of corn muffins out here?”
“Oh, right, sorry,” Lene said, then grabbed my hand, and I could do anything in heels, but I nearly tripped at the strength of her dragging me inside, inviting, “Come in, come in.” She barely got me a foot into the living room when she yelled, “Look everybody! Lottie’s here!”
There were no children, and I would realize later this was about Mo’s mom not wanting to bombard me with all that was her family.
What was in that living room was enough.
At first glance, it was innocuous. Women in lovely dresses. Men in trousers and shirts, like Mo. Classy platters of elegant-looking food. Candlelight. Sinatra on low in the background.
She’d gone all out.
The whole thing was the shit.
And every Morrison sister had the same look, so much so, they didn’t appear to be just sisters, but quadruplets.
They also had the same type.
Their men were all tall and huge (if not bald), like their brother Mo.
I met Signe, Trine, Paul, Taylor, Rick, and finally, Ingrid, Mo’s mom.
She folded my hand in both of hers and gently moved me further into the room, saying, “It’s so lovely to have you here, Lottie. Thank you for coming.”
“Really, my pleasure,” I murmured. “Thank you for asking me here.”