Wet

She smooths down the front of my T-shirt. “I promise . . . and I’ll be home before you know it.”

That following Thursday, I finally return to the family di

I’ve just let myself in the front door when Ma drags me to the kitchen.

“What’s up?” I ask.

She puts her index finger up to her mouth. “Shhh.”

“Okay, what?” I whisper.

“Patrick is bringing a girl to di

I fold my arms over my chest. “Did you set this up?”

Ma waves her arms dramatically. “I certainly did not. This girl is a hippy.”

She spits out the word like it’s dirty.

Now that’s unexpected. “He’s interested in a hippy?”

“He’s not just interested, they’re dating. They may have already had s-e-x.”

She whispers the letters and I have to suppress a laugh.

I hold out my hands. “Well, that’s what people who like each other do.”

“Not you and Elle,” she points out.

I close my eyes and count to three. There’s no point in arguing with my mother before the evening even begins. I respond the only way I know how.

“Yeah, but we’re weird.”

“Well, you might want to figure that out. I like Elle. I think she’s good for you.”

Is she teasing me, or is this my mother’s way of suggesting that I get together with Elle?

I let Ma get back to cooking and head to the living room where Trisha is arguing loudly with Dad about politics. The evening is showing great promise for being a hot mess.

I’m finally able to distract Trisha away from politics with an update about Elle, including the latest news that she’s in Stockton with her mother to help her after her surgery.

Dad looks uncomfortable hearing about the bypass surgery and he excuses himself to check on Ma.

“Is he okay?” I ask Trisha.

“His doctor just put him on cholesterol medicine. Between that and the knee surgery, he seems to have finally realized that he’s an old man and it’s all downhill from here.”

“Geez, Trisha. You didn’t tell him that, did you? You make it sound like his days are numbered.”

“Face facts, Paul. It’s just a matter of time for all of us.”

“Well aren’t you Suzy Sunshine.”

She shrugs. “I’m a realist. Life is hard and then you die.”

If she keeps going on like this, I’m going to need a stiff drink. It occurs to me that the night she spent helping Elle probably only supported her bleak outlook.

I’m about to change the subject when the front door opens and Patrick steps in with a shit-eating grin on his face. He’s followed by a woman in a long gauze skirt and Birkenstocks. He takes her hand and leads her into the living room.

I have to focus on not letting my mouth gape open. Apparently what we have here is the perfect example of the saying that opposites attract.

“Umm, Paul, Trisha, I’d like you to meet Skye,” Patrick says.

I glance at the girl and then back at Patrick. Who is this Patrick? How could he look so different in just a month? His hair is longer and messy like he just had wild sex and finally got out of bed. Holy hell! What if he did? Clearly the S-E-X agrees with him—he looks great. I decide not to chide him about the African print shirt he’s wearing . . . at least for now. Instead I focus on Skye.

“Hi, I’m Paul.” I reach out to shake her hand and notice she has that he

“Hi, Paul.”

She doesn’t seem to have any make-up on and her wavy hair falls almost to her waist. What do you bet that she doesn’t shave her armpits? That’s just not okay in my book, but unless she starts wearing tank tops when she’s around us, it’s not my problem.

Trisha clears her throat. “I’m the sister, Trisha.”

As they shake hands, Skye nods. “Yes, I’ve heard all about you.”

Heard about Trisha? Been warned about Trisha is probably more like it.

Trisha gives Patrick a dubious look.

Skye addresses Trisha again. “Hey, your husband’s a floral designer, right? That’s so awesome. I work in a flower shop in Silver Lake.”

Trisha seems pleased that someone finally refers to Mikey with some regard. “Yes, his shop is in Burbank. He does a lot of work for the studios.”

“Cool,” Skye replies before leaning into Patrick. He wraps his arm around her waist.

“Let’s go meet Ma and Dad,” he says to her. She nods and gives us a little wave.

“So this is the first time you guys are meeting her? I ask Trisha, wondering how Ma knew she was a hippy.

“Yeah, a couple of weeks ago he showed us her Website that tells about her yearlong trip hitchhiking around Europe.”

“Well that explains why Ma is spooked by the idea of her. So how in the world did those two meet?”

“He was asking questions on some travel blog that she answered. They start having longer conversations and realized they live in the same area. Next thing we know he’s a vegan and won’t wear leather shoes or belts.”

“Vegan? Ma must love that. And how does he keep his pants up?”

“He’s wearing some kind of rope belt. I mean, what the hell is happening to him?”

The high point of di

Ma narrows her eyes and purses her lips. “It’s vegetable casserole.”

Dad keeps pushing the lumps around. “Where’s the beef?”

“There isn’t any.”

“We aren’t poor, woman! This isn’t the potato famine. I need my meat.”

Patrick squares his shoulders. “Dad, Ma knows that you like your meat. But she made this especially for me and Skye. We’re vegans.”

“What’s a vegan?” Dad asks.

“We don’t eat any form of animal products,” Skye explains.

His brows knit together. “No meat? You eat milk and cheese though, right?”

Patrick shakes his head. “Nope. Milk and cheese are animal products, Dad. ”

Dad turns to Trisha, and whispers. Since I’m next to them I can hear their conversation. “Is this a cult? Do we need to be worried?”

“No. It’s not a cult, although it may as well be.”

“There are several vegans at my work,” I say trying to lighten the mood.

Trisha nods and turns to Patrick. “Between vegans and gluten-free people, you guys are trying to take over our food chain. It may just be an L.A. thing but half of the selections in my favorite bakery are now vegan or gluten free. What the hell?”

Patrick jumps in. “It’s healthy. And Dad, you’re trying to cut down on your cholesterol. Eating vegan is a great way to go.”

“I don’t think so,” he replies as he pushes his plate away.

Trisha rolls her eyes, Ma growls, and I try a bit of the grub. I may not like it but I’m relieved that I don’t gag.

Skye looks nonplussed.

I turn toward her. “Sorry, we’re not trying to be rude, but we’re kind of traditional with our food.”

She smiles. “That’s okay. I’m used to it. My parents don’t like it either, and Patrick warned me that you guys aren’t vegan.” She turns to Ma. “But I think it’s very sweet that you went to all this trouble for us.”

Ma smiles. Points for Skye . . . obviously she’s clever. I’m sure you can’t survive hitchhiking around Europe without street smarts and people skills.

“I reserved my tux,” I tell Elle the next day on our phone call.

“You got black right?” she asks.

“No, it’s white with an Elvis cape and rhinestones. What do you think? Of course it’s black.”