Page 55 of Very Special Forces

Garrettshuddered.

"Comeand help me with serving dinner," said Mom.

"Do Ihave to listen to anymore advice?"

"No,"said Mom, gazing at Solomon. "Is he a briefs or boxersman?"

"Mom!"

"Apparently there's a correlation between tight underwear,too much heat and low sperm counts."

"Oh,God." What I really wanted to say was, someone shoot me. Someone inthe room had to be armed.

"Oh!What if you get a honeymoon baby?" said Mom. "You could call itHoney. Or Moon. Or give it the name of the location."

"I willnote that down." I wouldn't.

Mombeamed. "So you are thinking about names. That's wonderful. I'm sohappy. The last of my babies is having babies."

"Thereis no baby in the singular, never mind the plural. I'll take that,"I said and I swiftly grabbed the dish of potato salad from theside. "Where are we eating?"

"Outside. It's too nice a summer night to sit inside and it'sgetting too crowded around the table. It will only get worse whenVictoria and Poppy need highchairs. And you." She patted mystomach, then paused, and prodded cautiously.

I suckedit in. "I had a baguette for lunch," I explained. Also, maybe Iwould throw this blouse out. Clearly, it wasn'tflattering.

Mom'sface fell. "Take the napkins too. Garrett! Daniel!" she called."Come help with the food."

Igrabbed the napkins and took the food outside, pausing to kissSolomon on my way.

"What doyou need help with?" he asked.

"Pick adish and bring it and don't answer any of my mother's questions," Isaid. "She's on a strictly need-to-know basis for the rest of herlife."

Solomonfrowned but didn't question why since he'd been here often enoughto know my mother had achieved a level of invasive questioning thatshe wasn't even embarrassed about. My dad may have been a detectiveduring his long career with MPD but it was my mom who kneweverything about everyone.

I laidthe potato salad dish on the garden table and dropped the napkinsnext to it, then returned to the kitchen, passing a neat line ofother food carriers. By the time I deposited a platter of roastchicken, hewn into chunks, the garden table heaved with food and myfamily members were all attacking it. I grabbed a plate and joinedin, then sat in a yard chair.

Danielmoved around with bottles of wine, filling glasses, while Jordhanded out juice boxes to the kids and Dad announced he'd alreadychilled beers in an ice cooler. Patrick, the oldest of my nephews,produced a speaker that synced to his phone and the garden filledwith the latest pop music.

Solomonpulled over a yard chair and sat next to me. "That is a lot offood," I said looking at his plate.

"I'm abig man. This is only starters."

"I'mboth astounded and intrigued about where you put it."

Solomonlaughed. "Francesca White called an hour ago to ask about a fewwedding details," he said, changing the topic. "We need to have ameeting tomorrow. I said we would go at ten. Does thatwork?"

"Itdoes. Did she say what it's about?"

"Finalizing some arrangements. Nothing serious."

"Can youbelieve it's really happening?" I asked.

"It wasalways going to happen."

"In acouple of weeks, you will be officially part of this." I waved myhand holding the wine toward my family.

"Don'tscare him," said Jord, leaning in to pass Solomon a beer. "You'llbe okay, man," he said to Solomon.

---