Four or five people called out greetings as we entered the house and I waved at the crowd gathered around the living room.
Kara was right, the greats were there. I made my way to Great Grandpa Poet first. I bent down to be level with his spot on the couch.
“Which one are you?” he joked, pulling me into a hug. “Handsome devil.”
“Hey, Gramps,” I said, taking my time with the hug. Gramps was older than dirt, and I had a feeling we didn’t have much time left with him—which was the reason I made a point to have dinner with him and my nan at least once a week.
He knew exactly which twin I was.
“How ya doin’?” I asked, falling back onto my haunches so he didn’t have to look up at me. “Surprised you guys aren’t at home.”
“Your grandmother wanted us to hit the road with her,” he said with a smile. “And I couldn’t pass up the chance to ride shotgun in that apartment on wheels.”
“Don’t get lost in there,” I joked.
“Go to the John and end up in another state,” Gramps cackled.
“You’re on the state line,” I said, shrugging my shoulders. “That could actually happen.”
Gramps guffawed and I grinned at him. He had a past—hell, all of us did—but to me and Curt, he’d never been anything but the gruff, old great-grandpa that told shitty jokes and could stop bad behavior with a look. Getting a laugh out of him, or a look of pride, or even a pat on the back in passing had always been the highlight of my week.
“Where’s your beautiful wife?” I asked, looking around.
“She’s in the kitchen,” he said, reaching out to pat my knee. “You go say hello.”
“Alright,” I said, standing up. Gramps coughed. “You need something to drink?”
“I’d take a bourbon,” he replied, wiping his mouth with a handkerchief.
“I meant water,” I said with a chuckle.
“I meant bourbon,” he replied, waving his hand at me as if to shoo me away.
“Ah, my favorite grandson,” Grandma Brenna said as she met me in the hallway. “When did you get here?”
I leaned down and kissed her cheek quickly since she’d already started moving again. “I just got here,” I said as she walked away from me. “And don’t think that I haven’t heard you say that to every grandson you have!”
“And it makes every one of them feel special,” she called back, grinning over her shoulder at me.
“I kind of love your other grandma,” Charlie said, coming up behind me. Standing on tiptoe, she tried to throw her arm over my shoulder. It didn’t work until I wrapped an arm around her waist and lifted her up so we were hip-to-hip.
“How did you stop growing at twelve?” I asked, walking us toward the kitchen while her legs dangled.
“I come from small people,” she said easily. “But I don’t mind. That just means I can date anyone because they’re all taller than me.”
“You don’t care about a person’s gender but you do care about their height?” I asked in surprise.
“Hey, man,” she said, shaking her head with a sigh. “The heart wants what it wants, and I like my partners—man or woman or neither—taller than me.”
“Maybe it’s not that you want them taller,” I said as I dropped her back on her feet. “Maybe you’re just conditioned to be attracted to taller people because everyone is taller than you. You ever think of that?”
Charlie grimaced at me. “Well, now I will.”
“Figure out that riddle,” I said, pointing at her.
“Don’t point at me.”
“Why not?” I asked, still pointing. She’d always hated it. When we were kids, she lost her mind if someone pointed at her.
“Knock it off, ass,” she said through her teeth.
“Really bothering you, huh?” I asked conversationally, trying my best not to smile.
“Draco,” my nan called out in admonishment. “Stop poking the bear and get over here.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I said, dropping my hand.
“You’re going to pay for that,” Charlie said under her breath.
“You don’t scare me,” I whispered back.
“I should,” she hissed.
I was laughing as I caught Nan around the waist from behind and hugged her, resting my chin on her shoulder. “Whatcha makin’?”
“Biscuits,” she said, patting my arm at her waist with a hand dusted with flour. “Making about a million.”
“I got here just in time,” I said, giving her a squeeze before letting go.
“Hell,” she said, looking at me as I rounded the counter and sat down across from her. “I’m going to be baking these all night at this rate. People just keep showing up.”
“I get the first batch,” I said, raising my hand.
Nan smiled. “Sometimes, I marvel at how much you’ve grown and sometimes, I look at you and you’re eight years old again, raising your hand for a biscuit.”
“Can’t help it,” I said, leaning my elbows on the counter. “I love your biscuits.”