“Come here, girl. Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes? How are you? How’s Eddie?” Mom peppers Celia with questions, and she answers them as quickly as she can, equally excited to see my mom again.

I catch up to them about the time they reach Granny’s rocking chair. I slide my arm around Celia’s waist and tuck her into my side. My possessive gesture earns a scowl from Mom.

“Good to see you, too, Mom. Yes, I’ve been quite well,” I say, feeling a bit dejected. Where’s my hug? Where’s my squeal?

My comments earn me a swat on the back of the head, followed by a hard tug of my arm. Once I reach lip level, Mom gives me a loud smacking kiss on my cheek, then she wipes away the remnants in classic Mom-style.

Granny stands and crooks her finger at me. I bend down so she can cradle my face in her delicate, wrinkled hands. Her eyes shine with such love and pride. Under her gaze, I feel tiny pricks of heat and moisture in my nose and behind my eyes. I sniff to beat it back, because I’m a man, damn it. I scoff in the face of teary-eyed bitches. Do you think Clint Eastwood cries when his grandma hugs him? Exactly.

“Granny, I have someone I’d like you to meet,” I say as I clear my throat and shake off the girly feelings.

“I see that,” Granny says with a smile as she turns her attention to Celia and grabs her hand. “My daughter speaks very highly of you, Miss Celia. I feel as if I already know you.”

Celia unwraps her arm from my waist and encloses Granny’s outstretched hand between both of hers. “Maybe you do,” she whispers back with a tiny smile.

Granny pulls Celia toward her and wraps her in a hug. I hear the familiar screech of a hearing aid, and Granny’s hand flies to her ear.

“I’m so sorry, dear. This hearing aid could wake the dead.”

“Don’t apologize. The sound doesn’t bother me at all,” Celia says. Now I know she’s just trying to be polite, because that noise is shrill enough to make you piss your pants.

“Where’s the old man?” I ask, almost hoping he’s out somewhere and won’t be able to make it. I know it’s wishful thinking, though, because he doesn’t get out much anymore. I wish I didn’t feel that way, but it’s hard to know what kind of mood he’ll be in lately.

“He’s resting,” Mom says, a frown tugging at her lips. “We had a rough day.”

“Oh, did we?” I raise my eyebrows in question.

“Why don’t we all have a seat and enjoy this sunset. It’s tea time, Cain,” Granny says with a slightly raised voice, effectively stopping the current conversation. “Grab glasses for you and Celia inside, will you? Dear, you must taste my sweet tea. I add just a smidge of peach and a slightly bigger smidge of vodka.”

“That sounds tasty.” Celia’s giggle filters through the foyer as I walk inside to get the glasses.

Granny’s table is covered with dishes, and I swear I’ve entered my personal nirvana. Crawfish fettuccine, homemade garlic bread, salad, and a chocolate cake the size of a small country stare back at me, and I rub my hands together in anticipation.

“Granny, from the bottom of my growling stomach, I thank you,” I say as I reach for the garlic bread to pass it around the table.

She leans over and swats my hand, and I pull it back with a scowl. “Boy, you know better than that. Lila, sweetheart, will you please say grace?”

“Of course, Momma,” she says, and we all join hands. I lace my fingers through Celia’s, and she gives me a quick squeeze. “Lord, we are humbled by your blessings. Thank you for my loving family, beautiful new friends, and—”

I hear the footsteps approaching before I see him. Sarge saunters into the dining room and lays his hand on the base of Mom’s neck.

“Lila, sweetheart, that’s a fine story you’re telling, but we’re all starving to death. Wrap it up, sweets,” he bellows with a laugh, not caring much if everyone else joins in.

Mom plasters a smile on her face, acting unfazed by the interruption. “And we thank you for this delicious food to nourish us. Please watch over us and those we love. In God’s name we pray.”

“Amen,” we all say in unison.

Sarge stands still behind Mom, his hands squeezing the back of her chair and eyes each of us, one by one. He stays on Celia for a moment before darting his eyes to me with a smirk.

“I see our boy brought company. Anyone going to introduce me?”

“Sarge, this is my friend, Celia,” I say evenly, unable to get a read on his mood.

Celia stands and reaches across the table to shake Sarge’s hand, but he bends down and taps his lips to her knuckles instead, winking as his lips leave her. I have to admit, the old man’s still a charmer.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Celia smiles and tilts her head. “Tell me, why do they call you Sarge? Were you in the military?”

“No, I’ve never had the honor.” His gravelly voice fills the room as he leans forward and places both hands on the table. “They call me Sarge ‘cause I’m a mean sonuva-bitch. Always have been.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that. I have a feeling, deep down, you’re a big old softie.” Celia matches Sarge’s wink with a sweet-as-sugar smile.

“Ha! Deep down, girlie, I’m pretty sure I’m nothing but piss and vinegar. I don’t think I could find it in my black heart to be mean to you, though. You’re a pint-sized sweetie. You’d fit right in my pocket,” he says with a wheezy laugh before pointing at me. “I like this one, Tucker, she’s a keeper.”

“Yes, sir. Who wants fettuccine?” I ask with a big smile, ignoring his slip up. Celia places her hand on my thigh and squeezes. I bow my head and meet her understanding eyes with a slight smile.

As dinner moves along, I try to guide the conversation to safe topics:

“Summer is heating up fast this year.”

“This chocolate cake is amazing.”

“How do you make garlic bread again?”

Titillating conversation? Not at all, but I’m making a concerted effort not to date the conversation—I can’t be expected to be fascinating, too.

“Sarge, how did you and your wife meet?”

He waggles his eyebrows and chuckles at Celia’s question. He gazes lovingly across the table at Granny and smirks. “She couldn’t resist my masculine charm.”

“Is that so, Malcolm? I remember things a little differently,” Granny says as she turns her attention to Celia. “I was engaged to a friend of his. Mark Comeaux.”

“Really? Engaged?” Celia laughs.

“Oh yes,” Granny admits with a solemn nod. “I met Malcolm at a church bazaar. We hardly spoke a word to one another, but we knew with just one look. Malcolm turned to Mark and said, ‘I need you to get that ring off my future wife’s finger or I’ll have to ask you to step outside.’ The rest is history.”

“I’ll never tire of hearing that story,” Mom says with misty eyes.

“She was a vision … still is. Now, that’s true love, girlie,” Sarge says with a wink in Celia’s direction. “I’ve been married to this beautiful woman for … for…”

Sarge’s gaze shifts around the table, gathering clues, trying to make sense of it all. Confusion is etched on is face, and agitation follows close behind.

“Tucker?” His puzzled eyes leave me and swing to my mother. “Lila Jane, where’s my boy?”

“Malcolm, why don’t you come upstairs with me? I need you to see about changing the hallway light,” Granny says, standing and reaching out her hand to Sarge.

“He’s gone, isn’t he? And who the hell are you?”

Shit, that stings. I know it shouldn’t. My head tells me it’s normal, expected, for him to be confused. But my heart feels different. He glares at me with bewildered eyes.

I turn to Celia and lean into her, needing comfort, reassurance maybe … I’m not really sure what I need, but whatever it is I want it from her. She meets me halfway and laces her fingers with mine.