Page 17 of His Vivacious Angel
“Stop calling me that!” Lainey gives him another kick, sticks her tongue out, and then the girls race upstairs with a round of giggles.
I can’t help smiling at their antics. Having been an only child, I’ve always been envious of those with a bunch of siblings, though I do feel bad for Grayson, who drops down on the gray tweed couch to sulk with his arms crossed.
Autumn jabs me in my side, and I make the most humiliating squeal of surprise. “See, I told you they’d have fun,” she says.
Even Sebastian has turned around in Autumn’s arms, drawn by the younger children, his face dry of tears. He kicks his feet to be let down and joins a slightly older boy who is building towers out of a large set of wooden blocks.
My shoulders loosen, and I lightly rest my hand on Autumn’s lower back, bending a little so she can hear me. “Good call.”
“Interesting. Very interesting,” Bailey says, rubbing her large baby bump, one generous hip cocked to the side. Her silvery-blue eyes lack the ethereal quality that Autumn’s have. “You know Shayla babysat for James, so he was technically her boss too.”
I did not know that. I drop my hand and step away when Autumn gives Bailey the middle finger and says, “Shut up. It’s not like that.”
“You owe the jar another two dollars for that middlefinger,” Shayla says to Autumn with a huff before turning away when a child calls for their mom.
Eden and Miranda rejoin us, carrying two trays wrapped in aluminum foil. “Do you mind taking these with you?” Miranda asks.
My stomach does this weird little twist. As much as I’d been looking forward to game night earlier, I find myself wishing I could stay here, with Autumn and all the crazy kids. The house is warm and heavily spiced from the hot, home-cooked meals. It’s so cozy and exactly what I imagined holidays would be like with a large family, and my chest aches for what I’ve never had. Never will have, now that both my parents are gone, and it is exceedingly likely that the boys will grow up to hate me, a poor substitute for their real dad.
But I say, “Sure,” and pass Benjamin and the diaper bag to Autumn so I can take the trays.
“Have fun, BigDawg,” Autumn says with a snort, walking away, making my stomach twist that much harder.
I’d have a lot more fun with you,I immediately think, no matter how many sarcastic jabs or narrowed eyes she’d throw at me.All kinds of fun.My feet drag when I cross the street toward the Fischer household.
“Forest! Glad you could make it,” Sherman says from the right side of the house at the top of the driveway, wrenching me from my thoughts, the garage door open behind him. “Come in, come in, and meet the crew.”
It’s pleasantly surprising to find I’m not missing out on the whole family gathering atmosphere, what with the large gaming group Sherman has assembled, seated at a plastic picnic table in the middle of the garage. Another table boasts numerous potluck dishes along with coolers of beer and sodathat the rest of the crew brought. I’ve already had second helpings of the blueberry pie Autumn made earlier. Also surprising—how put out I’ve been that the others have each had a slice of it too. I want her pie all to myself.
When the guys all get together next weekend to watch the kids while the women go out—it’s tit for tat, I’ve been assured—maybe I can convince Autumn to make another pie that I can hide at my house so no one else can get their hands on it. I’ll even pay her to do so. She’ll love that.
This group is just as loud, not at all self-conscious, when they adopt outlandish accents and voices for their characters, as we throw the polyhedral dice and move our pieces around the game board. Eden’s husband, Martin, has untamed, red curls and perhaps the most preternaturally deep voice known to mankind. It makes sense why he has exploded in popularity as an audiobook narrator. It’s like meeting a real-life celebrity, and I admit, I’m a little star-struck…which greatly embarrasses the otherwise painfully shy man as his medieval knight slaughters his way out of the ambush that attacked our camp.
“Your turn,” Autumn’s younger brother, Brady, says to me. Funnily enough, because of the age difference between the Fischer siblings, he’s closer to his niece’s and nephew’s ages and attends the same elementary school as Josephine. He’s just as intense and laser-focused on the game as the rest of us adults, though.
Taking a page out of everyone’s book, I up my terrible, fake British accent to say, “Aha! It’s my favorite time in the game. I roll an investigation check to loot the bodies!”
I do a double-take when I catch Sherman grinning broadly as he watches me with something almost feverish in his eyes, leaning forward with his elbows on the table.
“Uh, are you okay? Did you—do you need your, uh, pills?” I cringe terribly inside to have brought up his medical issues, in case he’s intensely private about his health.
He laughs instead of getting offended. “Not unless Autumn pops out and finds some new way to torment me.”
“I know exactly what you mean,” I say, relaxing back in my metal folding chair.
Sherman lifts his brows. “Don’t tell me she’s giving you trouble at work. If so, I’ll talk to her.”
Huh. So maybe Autumn hasn’t complained about me. “No, no, nothing like that.” The last thing I want is to unload on my boss, like a tattletale who can’t manage his one employee, just two weeks into the job. I don’t want Sherman to regret hiring me.
“Good, good.” Sherman takes a swig of his soda, so I do the same with my beer, glad to move on from talk about work.
I can’t remember the last time I was able to let loose a little and have a beer. After tonight, chances are good that Sherman won’t be as icy with me when we get back to work on Monday. Phew.
“You know Autumn?” Shayla’s husband, James, asks, tipping his beer up, his long black hair a shaggy mess. He’s the only one in the group who is as skinny as me.
Sherman appraises his son-in-law with concern, not for the first time. “Already told you twice that Forest works at the firm. He’s Autumn’s direct supervisor.”
“Right, right. I forgot.” James yawns, likely as exhausted as I am, as I’m sure the infant Shayla was feeding isn’t yet sleeping through the night. As if he can read minds, James says to me in commiseration, “I haven’t slept in ten years. Daddy-brain, am I right?”
