Page 97 of Rules Of Engagement: St. Louis
“Oh God,” Naomi muttered, gripping my hand tighter as we walked to the door. “How many people are we talking about?”
“Not that many. My dad, my brothers, some aunts and cousins.”
“Define ‘some.’”
“All of them.”
She stopped walking. “Christian.”
“You’ll be fine. I promise.”
The front door opened while she was still debating on taking another step, and my father appeared with his arms spread wide.
“There’s my boy! And this must be the woman who’s got him walking around with that stupid grin on his face.”
“Dad, this is Naomi. Naomi, my father, Ron.”
“Ron Valentino,” my father said, taking her hand and kissing it dramatically. “But most people call me the funniest man in St. Louis.”
“Most people are being generous,” I said.
Naomi laughed. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Valentine.”
“Please, call me Ron. Mr. Valentine makes me sound old and respectable, and I’m neither.”
We followed him into the house, and immediately, the noise hit us. Voices were talking over each other, children laughed, and music was playing from the kitchen. It was chaos, but organized chaos.
“Uncle Christian!”
A pink dress and pigtails launched at my legs. I looked down to see my niece, Sade, Xander’s six-year-old daughter, wrapping her arms around my knees.
“Hey there, troublemaker.” I picked her up, and she immediately started chattering.
“I had so much fun at school this week. My teacher bought us pizza for lunch two days in a row.”
“Yeah?”
“Yes! I was so happy because my, my, my daddy packed me some vegetables with my meatloaf in my lunchbox, and I didn’t want that. But I would’ve eaten it, but luckily, I got pizza.”
My laughter echoed through the house, and I turned to eye Naomi, who was laughing with me.
“I got a new Barbie house, it’s the biggest one I’ve ever had. I love my daddy so much. We had teatime and he dressed up in a tutu with me.”
My eyes widened. “Did he?”
“Yes!” she said with enthusiasm. “Oop!” she smacked her mouth with her hand.
“What?”
“He told me not to tell anyone,” she said through a distorted voice.
I laughed harder. “It’s too late. You told.”
She removed her hand and whispered. “You can’t say anything, pinky swear.” She held out her little pink, and I shook my head.
“Un, Un, little princess, I don’t know if I can hold it in.”
Her eyes widened and she looked affright, which made me laugh harder.
