Page 110 of Miami Ice

Why can’t I be like Ella? Ella tells me this is Dad and Tasha’s problem, not mine. I know she’s right. But I can’t help but feel anxious for them all the same.

I decide to try and push the thought from my head for now. “Beckham, what would you like to drink?” I go over to the counter, with beer and white wines in metal buckets filled with ice, and other things to make cocktails lined up next to them.

“A Diet Coke would be fine, if you have one,” Beckham says.

“WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO IT’S FOOTBALL TIME, ARE THE EATS COMING, TASHA?” Drew yells out. “I’ve got my expandable pants on so I can be STUFFIN’ MYSELF!”

Oh my God, Ella wasn’t exaggerating. Drew is already shitfaced, and we haven’t even sat down to eat.

Suddenly I hear the volume on the TV go way up, and the intro music for the NFL game is blaring through the house.

“Please turn that down,” Tasha yells.

“STUFFIN’ STUFFIN’ STUFFIN’, I’m going to be a STUFFIN’ MUFFIN. Or a STUD MUFFIN!” Drew yells.

“Maybe he’ll shut up if we stuffin’ him up,” Tasha snaps.

I want to die. What on earth is Beckham thinking? I busy myself with getting a Diet Coke out of the fridge, then get a glass and fill it with ice for him. I retrieve one for myself, but I’m thinking at this point I’m half-tempted to get a mimosa so I can pretend this is not Beckham’s first introduction to my family.

“At least Drew has a personality,” Kaitlyn hisses.

“Oh yes, he has that. The personality of a buffoon!” Tasha retorts.

I dare to do it. I glance at Beckham. He’s already looking at me, and the corner of his mouth is quirked up in a bit of a smile. He slides next to me, puts his hand on my waist, and dips his head down next to my ear, so only I can hear him.

“Two things, Cupcake. I’m entertained. And I know this is not you, but them. If we’re together in the future, I don’t seeyou sniping with Ella in the kitchen or endlessly throwing back mimosas.” Then he kisses my temple. “Remember that.”

He stands back up and picks up the glass of Diet Coke from the countertop. I stare at him, my heart now racing inside my chest.

He mentioned a future.

I know it’s ridiculous to hang on that one word, but I do. Because I can kind of see it, too.

I raise my glass of Diet Coke to his. “A toast.”

Beckham quirks a brow. “We’re having a toast?”

“Yes,” I say, smiling at him.

“Wait, I have one,” he says eagerly. “A toast to the complete lack of Christmas decor in this home.”

I pretend to glare at him. “No, that should not be celebrated at all.”

He laughs. And I try not to, but then I’m laughing, too.

I only hope I’ll still be laughing by the time dessert is brought out.

* * *

I was completely delusional when I thought I’d still be laughing by the time we all finished eating the main course.

Tasha and Kaitlyn went at each other the whole meal. Drew continued to drink, didn’t eat, and decided he was just going to lie down for a bit as something was bothering his stomach.

Which would be fine.

Except he chose to lie down on the area rug in the living room and completely pass out.

But Blue did take advantage of Drew not being at the table, because he grabbed the turkey that was on his plate and ranoff with it, sending the rest of the plate clattering and shooting cranberry sauce across the tabletop.

---