Another Devereaux Thanksgiving in all its splendor.
My brother David and our father had already assumed their positions on the couch in front of the flat screen, in spite of our mother’s complaints that dinner wasn’t finished. My closet-anorexic, want-to-be-Goth sister Jamie was hard at work pushing food around in circles with her fork—as if that was fooling anyone. And if my criminal defense attorney sister-in-law didn’t shut up about her latest case it wouldn’t be at all fair to hold me accountable for my actions. I mean seriously, sharing all the gory details about a double homicide while we were eating? What the hell? My appetite had bailed on me before the stuffing made it half way around the room. If she’d only brought the machete-like murder weapon with her. Damn.
“You okay, baby?” Aaron whispered, giving my thigh a nervous pat under the table. After five years of marriage he knew all the signs that I was about to go postal—from the rocking of my right foot to the continual running of my fingers through my hair.
“Can we go yet?” I begged, keeping my voice low enough so only he could hear.
That earned me one of his snort-like laughs. “I’d make a break for it with you, but you know we’d never make it. Your mom moves like a Ninja.”
True enough. Even now she was watching us out of the corner of her eye. Besides, we had rather big news to share if I could only get up the nerve. Of course, I’d also have to convince my father to drag his eyes away from the Lions game for a few seconds so I could tell him he was going to be a Grandpa. I rested my hand protectively on my belly while I debated what to do.
“Holy Shit! Crocodile Dundee knocked you up!”
The room fell eerily silent as all eyes shot to my slightly distended stomach. I’d considered a hundred different ways to tell my parents over the last four months, carefully weighing the pros and cons of each, and in one microsecond my bitchy-ass sister had stolen the moment from me. But it was her derogatory nickname for my Australian husband—one she knew I hated—that pushed me over the edge.
“God damn you, Jamie!” Aaron and David’s wife had to work together to restrain me while I took reckless, roundhouse swings at her across the table.