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“It’s your father, now come here and give me a hug.” Will wrapped his arms around Diora. “How’s baby?”
“Kicking like mad, having its own party in there, I’m sure.” Diora waddled into the living room, the soft netting of her pink fairy outfit wafting side to side. The fancy wings attached to her back didn’t provide any lightness as she trudged towards a seat.
“Hey, man, all ready for fatherhood?” Will asked a man in a wizard costume, presumably Dumbledore as he wore thin glasses, a long white beard pulled into a ponytail at the front and fancy robes trailing on the floor.
“As ready as I’ll ever be,” he replied.
A short caterer approached carrying a tray of drinks which looked like test tubes. “Can I interest you in a glass of champagne, sir?” he asked Will, who lifted a tube and took a sip.
“Thanks.”
“And you, sir?” the caterer-turned-waiter asked Diora’s husband.
“No thanks. Permanent on-call taxi duty for me.” He pointed to Diora and her protruding belly. “Any day now.”
The waiter nodded. “Perhaps you’d like a sparkling mineral water, soft drink, or juice?”
“Lime mineral water please,” he said and the waiter disappeared to the kitchen, returning with two tubes of green-tinged liquid, handing one to Diora also.
“And what would the birthday girl like to drink?” The waiter turned to me.
“Champagne, please.” I regretted my decision as soon as he’d handed me the tube and I’d gulped half of it in one hit. How I was supposed to get through this party without needing the bathroom and an entourage of assistants to help with my underwear I had no idea.
Diora’s husband kissed my cheek and handed me a small gift. Will took it from me and whisked it away to a dedicated gift table, on which sat a vase containing the flowers Selena had sent and an envelope propped against it. I wondered if I’d designed the vase myself. It was unique, shaped like a spiralling splash of water wrapping around the stems. Nice.
“Thanks,” I said with a smile and walked to Diora in the Bliss Garden to give her a motherly hug, which triggered a five-minute talking spree about the three stages of labour and the types of aromatherapy oils she planned on using, along with matching music to maximise the effectiveness of the uterine contractions. I expected her to whip out a remote device like the one I’d used in the meeting and give a PowerPoint presentation, complete with graphs and animations and sound effects, but was saved by the bell.
“Happy birthday to our favourite daughter-in-law!” A woman in a green dress with a large blue beehive hairdo and big fake eyes came through the front door, along with a large man with the same eyes wearing a white T-shirt which was obviously filled out with extra padding around the stomach.
“Doh, I forgot the present!” The man ducked outside and returned moments later with a wrapped gift.
Well, well, well… looked like my parents-in-law were Marge and Homer Simpson. So, The Simpsons were still popular twenty-five years in the future! They hugged me and asked why I wasn’t in fancy dress, so I told them I was the twenty-five-year-old Kelli and they too, like Ryan, thought it was a good idea.
Marge walked through the living room ‘ooh-ing and ah-ing’ at the decorations and her beehive got caught in a string of origami flowers hanging from the ceiling. “Oh dear, what have I done?” She tugged at the string and instead of coming loose from her beehive it came loose from the ceiling. “Oh, I’m terribly sorry,” she said, glancing at Ryan, then at her husband. “I knew I should have come dressed as Madonna.” She continued tugging at the flowers stuck to her beehive but they didn’t budge.
“Leave them in, I think they look good,” Ryan said, snapping a photo of Marge. “Now, you two, over here.” Ryan gestured for Will and me to stand near the Bliss Garden. He took a photo with his e-pad and did the same with Diora and Dumbledore, and my parents-in-law who I’d be calling Marge and Homer until I discovered their real names. Or, I could always call them Mum and Dad. Daughters-in-law often did that, didn’t they?
I wondered what Grant’s parents were like. I knew they were divorced, but apparently still co-owned an investment company and lived in the same street. I was due to meet them tomorrow afternoon on our way to the luxury cabin we’d booked for the weekend. Perfect timing, considering Grant and I would have an announcement to make.
“Can I offer you a drink, sir?” In true Homer fashion, my temporary father-in-law accepted a beer from the waiter and wandered to The Galaxy outside. Marge followed, getting stuck on another flower on the way.
I downed the rest of my champagne as the doorbell rang again. Kasey walked in baring a little too much flesh than was appropriate for someone of her size. She wore a brown dress – or more accurately, piece of fabric – wrapped around her body like a diagonal sash and her hair was messed up on purpose. “Me, cavewoman,” she said gruffly.
“And me, caveman.” A man walked through the door after her, nothing but a brown sash covering his groin and a scruffy fake beard attached to his chin. If he was a scientist, he looked like he spent more time outdoors than in and more time at the gym than the lab. He was toned and buff, he was hot, he was…
Max Sheldon! The underwear model Kasey had a crush on since forever and who would have been joining me at my twenty-fifth birthday party.
Kasey married Max Sheldon? How did she score someone like him? He’d had women falling at his feet, could have any woman in the entire world, yet he chose… my sister?
I lifted my jaw from the floor and welcomed them into the house with a kiss on the cheek, and a lingering embrace for Max, because I wanted to feel if his muscles were as firm as they appeared. They were. “It’s great to see you, Max, you’re looking… very natural.”
He gave a caveman grunt, then laughed. “The outfits were Kasey’s idea and a good one too. Especially considering today’s warm weather.”
Kasey sidled up to her husband. “It’s going to be even warmer tonight,” she whispered, but not soft enough that I couldn’t hear, and Max flashed a cheeky grin and wrapped an arm around her, drawing her in for a kiss.
Crash! My champagne tube fell, the shards of glass reflecting flickers of light from the fairy lights around the room.
“Damn! Sorry,” I said to the nearest caterer, who deftly scooped up the broken glass and extended some kind of mini sucking machine which eliminated the remaining shards.
