Page 23 of Merry Mayhem
He grins. “Then you’re going to fit in just right around here.”
I chuckle.
“Was the wedding you and Violet went to in Autre?” Thea asks me. Or technically, she asks the collar of my shirt because she’s not making eye contact.
Okay, I don’t want to lie to them. So far, so good. But now, how do I answer this?
“The wedding wasn’t in Autre, no,” I say. That is true. However, I have no idea where the wedding was. But there were no weddings in Autre in the past month.
“Sounds like it was a doozy,” Bebe says.
I grin. “Really embarrassing for two grown women to end up on the floor wrestling in a wedding cake, isn’t it?” I say, repeating the story Violet told me.
Again, not a lie. That did happen at the wedding Violet went to, and thatisembarrassing.
Harley laughs. “Embarrassment is all in the eye of the beholder,” he says.
“Some people deserve to be thrown into a cake,” Bebe agrees.
I chuckle and can’t help but watch Thea’s reaction.
She rolls her eyes, but there is a smile teasing her lips.
“It’s rude,” Bruce says. “Someone spent a lot of time on that cake, presumably. They could’ve thrown each other into the macaroni and cheese. That’s a far easier thing to put together.”
Thea’s father sits back in his chair, grinning. “So, you’re not opposed to people throwing each other into food. It’s more about which food?”
“Coleslaw,” Harley says. “Coleslaw is a big ass mess, but it’s not a lot of effort to make.That’swhat you throw someone into if you’re trying to make a point.”
“What was the point?” Ruth asks. “Weren’t they just mad, and pushed each other, and the cake happened to be there?”
Bruce puts a hand on his chest. “Well, I certainly hope not. That’s an even bigger travesty. That poor cake is just a victim, then.”
“Agreed. If you’re going to push someone around, you have to be aware of your surroundings,” Bebe says. “You want it to be messy and uncomfortable, to do a number on their clothes and to make it difficult for them to just walk out nonchalantly, but you don’t want it to be something dangerous.”
“Like the table with the forks,” Harley says, nodding.
I snort and again look at Thea. Her smile has grown, but she is still simply taking bites of crawfish étouffée without comment.
“Well, forks, of course,” Bebe says. “But I was thinking that you want to avoid hot dishes. Or things that will stain.”
“If you’re mad at someone, why do you care if the food stains their clothes?” I have to ask.
“Well, of course, it depends on who it is. But the chances are you’re going to be over it in the morning. You don’twant to damage their clothes permanently. Like gumbo. That would stain. Or barbecue ribs—those not only have sauce that will stain, but those ribs could poke someone somewhere they shouldn’t get poked.”
“Whereshouldsomeone get poked?” Eli asks.
“Well, I—” Bebe starts.
“Butt cheek,” Harley says.
“Butt cheek,” Bruce says at the same time.
They look at each other and both say, “Exactly.”
I look at Thea again. She’s definitely laughing silently, and now she meets my gaze.
We share a grin, and I feel heat spread all the way to my bones.
