She chuckled. “Not at all.”
“How did cake tasting go? Did you guys decide on a flavor?” I asked. It shocked me that Nick had convinced his fiancée, the baker, to let someone else make their wedding cake, but if she was so busy, it made sense. Not everyone was as obsessive about control as I was, I guessed.
Megan looked at Nick, her cheeks flushing pink. “We’re torn between two, I think. Lemon and carrot. But I also really loved the double fudge.” She laughed. “Or the red velvet.”
“Well, you have time to think it over, right?”
“Definitely. A few weeks, at least, before they need our decision,” she said, taking a sip of her wine.
“How’s business, Brad? Glad tax season’s over?” Nick asked, glancing across the table at my husband.
Brad nodded, sliding his phone into his pocket as he lifted his beer from the table, a slick ring of condensation in its place. “You have no idea, man,” he said with a hearty laugh. “Starting to get back to business as usual…but next year will be here before I know it.”
Nick laughed. “I tell you what, your business slows down, and then we pick up. Isn’t that right, Laura? People get that income tax and come straight in for whatever dental work they’ve been putting off all year.” He shook his head.
I nodded in agreement. “We can’t seem to keep any slots for walk-ins over the summer, that’s for sure. It’s just a shame, you know? Dental insurance really isn’t that costly.”
“But it doesn’t cover much, does it?” Megan asked, then covered her mouth. “Sorry, was that rude?” She patted Nick’s cheek. “Speaking as someone with quite a sweet tooth, I’ve always heard such horror stories about it. I’ve paid out of pocket my whole life.”
Nick inhaled sharply. “Well, some of it’s better than—” The schpiel I’d heard him give to our patients over and over was interrupted as Natasha’s voice pierced through the crowded restaurant. I could always pick out her tones in a crowded room. I think at that point, we all could’ve.
“That’s not the point, Jaren,” she grumbled. “The point is that he needs to be home when we tell him to be home. If you keep letting him get away with breaking curfew, it’s just going to get worse.”
“The boy’s nearly eighteen, Natasha. What do you want me to do? Ground him? We can’t do that.”
“Like hell we can’t. He’s nearly eighteen living under our roof, is he not? I don’t care if he’s forty. Rules are rules, and I won’t have my son running around all hours of the day and night.”
“I just don’t think there’s a lot we can do. You know Marcus already said he could move in. You enforce too many rules, and that’s exactly—”
“That boy ain’t movin’ in with his broke friends, and you know it. It’s a threat because he knows you don’t want that to happen. If you keep giving in—”
“What am I supposed to—” Jaren stopped talking, rubbing his forehead with exhaustion, as he seemed to realize we were all watching them get closer to our table.
“Hey, everybody, sorry we’re late,” Natasha said. She was still dressed in her jeans and black polo, with the logo from the restaurant where she worked sewn into the upper shoulder.
“It’s okay, love,” I said, as Jaren slid in next to Brad and Natasha took the outside seat. I reached up, squeezing her hand across the table. “Good to see you.”
Her nose crinkled at me as she smiled back. “You too, doll.” She sighed, and I watched the calm wash over her as she fell into place in our group. Raised by a single military father, Natasha came across tough and unbending, but I’d seen her break. I knew the softness with which she held her son during the first few days of his life; I’d watched her cry on the day we put her father in the ground. She was my best friend, aside from Nick, and my closest confidant. It was just necessary to get past the hard outer shell to appreciate her the most.
“Work’s good?” Nick asked Jaren, who was pouring some of the beer from the pitcher into his glass.
“Hm? Oh, yeah. Busy as always,” he said, setting the pitcher down and taking a drink. “You guys?”
Brad and Nick nodded, mumbling about their busy schedules. Megan reached in her purse, pulling out a pink baggie, and I tensed. Not again.
“Jaren, I brought you a few more of those cowboy cookies you liked so much. We had a few extra at the shop.” She smiled sweetly, sliding the bag across the table. Jaren’s eyes shot toward Natasha, but their exchanged glance was interrupted by Megan again.
“Oh, and Natasha, I just love your earrings. Where did you get them?”
Natasha’s answer came hesitantly as Jaren pulled the pink bag of cookies toward him awkwardly. “Thanks. They’re from Target.”
“They’re adorable. I love the simplicity.”
Natasha nodded, her hand moving instinctively toward her earrings. “Thanks.” As sickeningly sweet as Megan was, there wasn’t an ounce of ill-will in her words. She was just that nice. When Nick introduced her to our group a year ago, we’d thought it was a put-on because she was the newbie and she wanted to impress us, but a year later, she was still doing all that she’d done before. She always brought Jaren, who had an unmatched sweet tooth, new desserts to try, she sent baskets of flowers and goodies to Natasha and me at work, she donated constantly to the charity Brad ran, and she sent all her friends and customers to Andy’s garage whenever they needed repairs. Some of her gestures were big, some were small, but she was kind as if it were an instinct and that was very clearly just who she was.
“So,” Brad said, interrupting the awkwardness with a hint of humor in his tone, “who do we think Andy will show up with tonight?”
We all exchanged
