Page 102 of Darcy
“I’m Penelope,” she begins. “But you can call me Mama P, like everyone else. Y’know, when Slate rang me up and told me my boy was hiding a secret girlfriend, and asked if I wanted to meet you, I couldn’t believe they’d all actually found someone to suit all four of them—”
Darcy, caught up in the whirlwind that is my mother, is speechless as she’s dragged into the house and towards the kitchen.
I glare at the remaining trio on my parents’ doorstep. Even Arlo is here, fidgeting at the back.
I’m being backed into a corner, and I don’t like it one bit.
“You. Called. My.Mom?” I hiss at Slate. “Low. Fucking. Blow.” I can’t even yell like I want to.
The second Mama hears even a hint of fighting, the two of us will be stuck together for the entire afternoon. On one memorable occasion, she made Slate and me share everything—cutlery and chairs included—and hug one another every ten minutes until we got along.
My mom is terrifying.
Slate shrugs. “All’s fair in love and war, my brother.”
“Arlo, Malik wants to show you his train set,” Mama calls, and the guitarist gleefully slips past me, saved by my nephew. “Ethan, you better go and summon your dad from his shed. Oh, and Dodger and Slate, can you help Mikey with the patio chairs?”
“Sí, jefa,” Slate calls back, and I glare at him.
“Stop smooth talking me, boy,” she calls back. “I already made your favourite mac and cheese.”
Slate’s grin turns soft, and I relax just a fraction. Guilt quickly rises, taking the place of my rage, at the reminder that Mama isn’t just mine—not really. She unofficially adopted my band mates years ago, happily filling in for their own absent moms.
For all their quirks, I lucked out with my family, but the guys weren’t so blessed.
Sighing, I let the two of them into my parent’s craftsman style bungalow and follow them through the kitchen towards the back door. My mom is chatting away at Darcy in the other room, and my fists clench.
Why is she here?No. I don’t need to ask that. She’s here because Slate did something to make her change her mind.
Something that put her back on a messy collision course with our band.
The back door creaks under my hand, and I make a note to wire Destiny some more money to get it sorted. My parents won’t take my money, but my sister’s husband, Mikey, gets away with fixing the little things for them.
Dad’s shed is tucked away at the very end of the garden. The glint of light in the window tells me he’s smoking—again—and I’m proved right when I open the door and get a lungful of that familiar tobacco smell.
Every time I come in here, I lose the tension in my shoulders. No matter what happens, Dad’s shed with its tool-lined walls and the lone star flag hung from the rafters will never change.
“If Mama catches you doing that, she’s going to be pissed,” I tell him, smirking.
He rolls his eyes and turns away from the mirror that’s hidden inside his old military helmet. When he angles it just right, it serves as his early warning system should Mama come up the garden path.
The cig still hangs from his lips as he looks me up and down. “Dinner done?”
“She’s ready for you to light the barbeque,” I confirm. “The band is here too.”
“Good.” He shuffles over to his workbench and starts putting away his tools. “They bring that girlfriend your mom was excited about?”
So, he was in on it too? Why am I not surprised?
My dad may be quiet and reserved, but he’s just as nosy as Mama. If not more so. No doubt, even my other sisters—who live in a different fucking time zone—have probably heard about this by now.
“Yeah.”
“Good.”
I thought my parents would be against the whole idea of us sharing a girl, even though they’ve known about our intentions for years. It’s different to actually see it in practice. Apparently, they really meant it when they gave us their blessing all those years ago.
Dad and I lapse into easy silence as he finishes his smoke, then I follow just behind him as he limps down the garden path towards the patio.
