Cal laughs and claps. Flint puts him down and gives Lily a rocket launch too, just to be fair, before he finally notices me. “You ready for a beer?” he asks, grabbing both twins and leading us into the kitchen.
“When am I not?” David says. He sighs.
“Wasn’t asking you, man. It’s your house,” Flint says, laughing. The kids are each riding on one of his shoulders. Most parents would be a little nervous about that, but David seems too tired to care. He yawns pretty widely.
“Sorry if I’m not the most scintillating conversationalist. Work’s been a drag,” he says to me. We enter the kitchen. Personally, I think Callie has even more reason to feel tired. She’s got two pots going on the stove, the cat rubbing against her leg, and the phone clamped against her ear. To the side, Jessa’s making a salad very slowly, smiling at all the ingredients she sprinkles in.
“This beet root is very blessed,” she says to me, grinning as she chops. I don’t know what you say to that.
“Jessa, isn’t that ready yet?” Flint says, sounding bewildered. “How the hell does it take you forty minutes to make a salad?”
“Everyone, be calm. The leaves start to wilt if there’s tension in the air,” she says.
“How the hell did we come from the same family?” Flint wonders, but he kisses her on the back of her head. Callie slaps him on the shoulder and mimes something. It’s probably an in-joke, something about whoever she’s on the phone with, because they burst out laughing. Jessa gives me some pine nuts to toast ‘gently.’
I really like it here. Moments later, I’m chatting with David while flipping the nuts around in a skillet. I was an only child growing up, and there used to be many long nights when my parents were working in their study. I’d be left to ramble around the house all on my own, so this much energy in the evening is kind of overwhelming. But wonderfully overwhelming.
“Are you ready for your flight? Got your Airborne and your Dramamine?” Callie asks Flint when she gets off the phone.
“Dammit, that was one time!” he says. She smacks his arm.
“Please, you used to hurl chunks whenever we drove more than thirty minutes in the car.” Callie knocks him on the back of his head, playfully.
“The 90s called, and they actually don’t want the phrase ‘hurl chunks’ back. They say it’s been kind of an embarrassment for a long time, and they’re glad you’re taking it on,” he drawls. He steps gracefully out of the way when she kicks at his ankles. “Teaching your children violence. I approve.” He grabs two beers out of the fridge and tosses one to me. I catch it; no broken glass this time, baby. “Come on, Young. We’ve got business to discuss outside.”
No, we don’t. But when Jessa bumps into me while opening a cabinet, and I knock into David, I see what he’s trying to do. With six bodies in the kitchen—seven if you include an in again, out again Chance—it’s a little crowded. Plus, would I rather drink beer, or would I rather have Jessa hover over me, making sure I show her salad the proper amount of deference?
“Business things. Yes. Much business. So wow,” I say, following him out the door. We head onto the back porch, looking over the yard in the twilight. “Question. Does everything in the northeast smell like pine and heaven?” I ask, taking in a deep lungful of air. I’ll have to bring some back with me to Los Angeles, after all.
“Pretty much. Except for February. Then it smells like exhaust fumes.” He looks at the beer and laughs. “Damn, I forgot the bottle opener.”
“Allow me.” I pull my keys out of my pocket. I’ve got a handy mini beer opener attached, always good for parties. I break open the refreshments. Flint’s eyebrows lift in approval.
“I always like a woman who’s well prepared,” he says, clinking bottles with me. I take a drink.
“I didn’t do too well in the Nature Girls’ school of forestry, but I picked up a few tips in the wilds of college.” I relax against the porch railing, and Flint relaxes right alongside me.
“You don’t really strike me as a party girl,” he says, but looks at me with a grin. “Were you much of one?”
“No, you’re absolutely right. I was always the go-getter. Perfect grades, clean dorm room, perfect boyfriends.” I sigh, remembering all the not-fun I had in college. Well, it wasn’t terrible. It was just kind of boring.
“Why didn’t any of those perfect boyfriends stick?” He doesn’t look at me when he asks. Instead, he studies the label of his bottle. Friendly curiosity, that’s all.