Chapter 6 #2
“To Gem and the best two partners a woman could ever ask for,” Tilda said, tapping her glass to mine and then turning to look at Leo. “And before you ruin the moment by making some stupid, juvenile joke, I don’t mean partners in that way so pull your tongue back into your mouth.”
Leo shook his head. “Never crossed my mind,” he assured her. “But I’m not opposed to a little side bet on who I believe will be your next partner.”
Tilda’s head swiveled to look across the restaurant and then turned back, her cheeks a bit flushed. “Even if I was a betting woman, I wouldn’t make that bet.”
“I didn’t think so,” Leo said, tapping his glass against hers.
“To all-new beginnings,” I said, earning a smile from Tilda and a knowing grin from my best friend.
That was really the night our dream started to become our reality.
The scrape of a chair brought me back to the present.
Every year, including this one, we gathered at the same IHOP to celebrate Gem’s beginning.
Only this time, Dawn wasn’t serving, she was sitting beside her Mommy, Tilda.
Marci, Jenna, Chloe, Emma and Henry were seated between their Big and their honorary Aunt or one of their Uncles.
Instead of a booth, we were gathered around several tables pushed together, taking up the majority of the back corner of the restaurant.
We might have started this journey as three but were now a family of twelve and I wouldn’t want it any other way.
“It’s hard to believe it’s been five years since we opened Gem,” Tilda said.
“The best six years of my life!” Dawn proclaimed leaning over to kiss Tilda’s cheek.
Marcie laughed and looked around the table. “That’s right. You were the first of us to join the original group before Gem was even completed. I’ll never get tired of hearing the story about how you made sure that Littles weren’t forgotten when planning Gem.”
“I just made the suggestion. Mommy, Uncle Leo and Uncle Austin were the ones who made it come true,” Dawn said softly.
“Regardless, it’s so romantic,” Emma said.
No one disagreed and our annual toast to a happy anniversary was loud and garnered attention of the diners around us, some who good-naturedly lifted coffee mugs and water glasses to toast as well.
It took far longer to order, and that timeline lengthened as Littles made a choice then changed their mind when something else their friend ordered sounded more appealing.
I felt for the waiter who already looked a bit befuddled as he scratched out an item and begin to scribble the change on his pad. Marcie smiled up at him.
“Sorry, Greg, I’m afraid we can be a bit much,” she said.
Tilda shot her an approving glance. She really did have a thing about addressing anyone who served in any capacity by their name, and it had rubbed off on everyone in our group.
“That’s okay, at least you’re not running around screaming,” Greg said.
“Well, no promises,” Jenna teased, causing Marcie to laugh and Greg to look a bit concerned.
“She’s kidding,” Leo assured him. “The first one to jump up and start running around screaming can be assured they’ll be given a very good reason for doing so. Right?”
A chorus of six voices parroted, “Right!”
If Greg managed to get through this meal, he’d definitely deserve the tip I planned on leaving. Once he had taken everyone’s order, he hurried to turn it in.
“Okay, I know this night is about celebrating the birth of Gem, but with time getting short, it can also be a chance to finalize the party plans,” Tilda said, taking charge. “Who wants to go first?”
Dawn’s hand shot up and with her Mommy’s nod of consent, she said, “I picked up the posters today and I want to give kudos to Marcie for creating such fabulous graphics. We might be pushing pigs, but the posters make them look like enchanting creatures everyone will simply have to own.”
“In other words, she prettied up the porkers?”
Henry asked the question in the same serious tone I’d bet he used when interviewing suspects of a crime. I’d also bet that by the time the new year rolled around, as a group we would have exhausted every single word ever created that began with the letter “P”.
“Exactly!” Dawn confirmed. “I didn’t think bringing a full-size one to dinner was such a good idea—”
“She means I nixed that the moment a cylinder the size of a water-main pipe dropped out from beneath her skirt,” Tilda cut in.
Dawn just giggled and shrugged. “I tried to wrap the poster around my thigh, but it took so many wraps that my leg was too fat to pull my jeans over it. So, I rolled it up without my leg being included and tried a skirt. Here’s a tip: if you’re going to stuff something heavy up your skirt, don’t count on flimsy ribbons to hold it in place, you need something more like wrist cuffs.
Besides, trying to grip that huge thing between my thighs not only made my muscles ache, it made me waddle like a little duck. ”
When stunned silence was the response to that, she looked around the table and then turned to look behind her as if expecting to see what had turned her audience speechless.
“What?” she finally inquired when nothing appeared to be shock worthy.
“Nothing,” Emma was the first to speak. “I think that as great as Marcie is in creating graphics, you are pretty good at creating visuals with just words.”
“Yeah, especially words like ribbons, cuffs, heavy, stuff, huge, thighs, muscles, oh, and waddling. Though I admit if I was the one waddling, I’d have a totally different image of where I’d been clenching something,” Henry said.
Watching color bloom from Dawn’s neck to travel up her face and settle in her cheeks was lovely.
What was lovelier was to watch her slap her hand over her mouth to stifle her giggle.
I’d been pretty impressed at her openness the night we’d first met her, and the intervening years had only had my respect grow.
“That’s why we make such a great writing team, right, Mommy?” she asked.
“That’s one reason,” Tilda agreed with a smile. “But back to the point?”
“Right, pictures. I’ve made a collage out of the photos Marcie took so you’ll get an idea and if we all agree, then I’ll get everything printed and ready to pass out and plaster everywhere.”
“Isn’t it a tad bit early to advertise?” Leo asked.
“Not according to Henry,” Chloe said. “Remember? He said people had to see something more than once for it to imprint on their subconscious.”
“I think that was hearing something often, but I think seeing the graphics will also have an impact,” I said. “A good advertisement has people itching to get their hands on whatever is being promoted.”
Jenna sat forward, her hand waving above her like a helicopter rotor blade.
“Go ahead, Jeanna. You can tell us what has you about to explode while Dawn passes the tablet.”
“Thanks! I just got a brilliant idea, and it’s yours, Uncle Austin!”
She ignored my blank expression as if I’d understood which I most certainly didn’t. “Which is?”
“Stuffies!”
“What about them?”
“Well, first of all, they are just adorable, but more importantly, they are something you can keep forever. The pigs we’re selling are precious, but their whole purpose is to be smashed and eaten.”
“Don’t forget—”
“I know, Chloe! The ultimate gift is the sharing of blessings and hopes of prosperity, good luck and all those yummy feelings, but when it comes down to it, those pieces of peppermint wind up in your belly. Then what do you have left?” She held out her hands and dusted them together. “Nothing but the memories.”
“You still have the cute little velvet bags,” Emma said. “I already have some of my favorite jewelry in mine.”
“Don’t forget the mallet,” Henry offered.
“What’s that good for? It’s tiny,” Chloe said.
“You’d be surprised how powerful tiny things can be,” Marcie said, giving me the side-eye.
“Fine, so you have bags and itty-bitty hammers, sure. But besides Emma, how many people are going to save the bags, much less remember the joy of smacking the pigs? But if we sell stuffed pigs along with the peppermint ones, people can treasure the memory forever!”
“I love that!” Emma declared. “Granted, not every member is going to want one, but I’d bet there won’t be a Little who doesn’t. Oh, we could sell different sized ones. Like the family of our candy ones!”
And just like that, they were off. I sat back, looking at my friends smiling in indulgence as everything from campaign names to clothes for the stuffies was discussed. Even Greg was asked whether he thought Piggie Pals or Porky Chums was more appealing.
His tip percentage increased when he gave it some thought as he set down plates of food and finally shrugged and diplomatically declared, “Why not offer both?”
Two hours passed in the blink of an eye as we marked another year of being blessed down in our memory banks. Marcie lifted her dish of ice cream to spoon up a semi-melted bite when the spoon paused halfway to her mouth. She quickly slapped the dish back onto the saucer.
As if that was going to keep the slip of paper I’d placed on that plate hidden.
“Finish your ice cream, babygirl,” I instructed. This time the side eye might appear accusatory to some, but I found it adorable.
“It’s melted,” she declared.
Poor Little girl. I might have bought the fact that melted ice cream wasn’t appealing if she hadn’t followed that statement by not only putting the spoon between her lips that held the paused bite but then licked it quite thoroughly when she removed it.
“Are you done?” Greg asked, reaching for the plate and bowl.
I watched the battle taking place within her.
It was so easy to see that part of her wanting to declare yes, thus removing the dish and plate from her existence.
Then again, on the opposing side was the fact that she knew if she’d seen the paper waiting for her, someone else could as well.
The deciding factor had to be what they’d read and, since the slip was folded, she had no clue as to what they might be.
Though I supposed the fact that she was aware I was remaining silent, letting her direct her opposing forces on her own, didn’t hurt.
“Almost,” she said, wrapping her fingers around the small dish.
“No hurry, enjoy,” Greg said, moving around the table to remove those dishes people were finished with.
“You’re one very sneaky Santa Daddy,” Marcie whispered, tilting the dish just enough so she could slip her fingers beneath it to pull the slip free. Her fingers closed into a fist around the paper, making holding her spoon awkward.
I reached over and slipped the spoon from her fingers and scooped up the remaining bite of ice cream. Holding it to her lips, I said, “Open.”
If I thought her adorable before, the flaring of her nostrils and the instant dilation of her pupils as she parted her lips, made her the most beautiful creature on the planet.
She took the bite and swallowed before shaking her head. “Remember those Santa Clause movies?”
“How could I forget, we binge-watch a marathon of them every year.”
“Then you’ll understand that you’re not Tim Allen’s Santa, you’re Martin Short playing Jack Frost.”
I chuckled. “Except for one thing.” Her nose crinkled and I leaned forward so only she could hear. “Jack Frost gets off on making things cold and uncomfortable, while I plan on making you very hot.”
“And bothered,” she quipped without hesitation, and I laughed so hard, every head at the table turned toward us.
“Care to share?” Leo asked, the smirk on his face letting me know he knew I’d rather not.
“We’re just talking about which Christmas movie is our favorite,” Marcie said.
She wasn’t only adorable and beautiful; she was quick on her feet as well. As titles were tossed out, coats were gathered. Bigs helped Littles into them, and we formed a line to weave our way back to the front of the restaurant.
“Merry Christmas,” Greg said, his smile sincere. “Come back anytime.”
“We will!” a dozen voices proclaimed, and I knew, pig or no pig, we were all truly blessed indeed.