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Adam eats some veggies and dip while Marla gushes over me.
“You look so beautiful,” she says, going to the fridge and taking out items. “They’ve kept you from me. Afraid I would be too overbearing. I mean, it’s like they don’t even know me.” She rolls her eyes then winks.
Adam shakes his head, chomping down on another carrot with ranch dip.
“I made all your favorites. Cucumber sandwiches.” She places a tray on the table. “Pasta salad with my famous Italian dressing.” She shoves a bowl into Adam’s stomach, and he fumbles to grab it, a carrot hanging out of his mouth. “And caramel brownies.” She points toward the counter where there’s a tray.
“Lucy’s experimenting with her food,” Adam says.
I shoot him a glare. “Adam.”
“Experimenting?” A crease forms on the bridge of Marla’s nose.
“I’m just trying new foods, figuring out what I like. It’s not a big deal. This all looks delicious.” I give Adam a ‘shut the hell up’ look behind Marla’s back.
“Oh, I could have added something different. You hated pickles. Want to try those now?”
“I hate pickles?”
“And love cucumbers. Sounds crazy, but to each their own.” Marla grabs a decorative plate and piles the cucumber sandwiches on it.
Adam reaches into the fridge, takes out a jar, and cracks it open, giving me a visual of how strong his biceps are. Then he places the jar in front of me. “Have at it.”
I pick up a fork Marla’s taken out for the pasta salad and grab a pickle out of the jar. “What didn’t I like?”
Adam shrugs. “You’ve never liked them since I’ve known you.”
I eat one, and the tart acidic taste of vinegar with the pickle tastes good to me. I take another bite.
Adam’s eyes widen. “Looks like another taste bud changed with that fall off the horse.”
“You like it? She likes it?” Marla glances over her shoulder from the sink.
“Lucy likes it,” Adam says in the same manner of that old commercial about Mikey liking it.
I roll my eyes, but it is funny. “Please don’t start that.”
He grins. “I like pickles, so I’m glad you’ve seen the light.”
I hold the one I just plucked out of the jar out to him in case he wants one.
He laughs, directing my wrist to bring the pickle to his mouth, then bites the end off it. “Guess we’ll keep them in the fridge at home.”
It isn’t until I catch Marla staring at us that I realize how instinctual what we just did was.
Adam must realize it afterward too because he goes back to his veggies and dip and clears his throat. “Where’s Dad?”
“He’ll be here soon. He’s out doing some bids, but promised he’d take a lunch break.”
She opens the screen door, revealing the table she’s set out back for lunch. Only in Alaska. It’s an unseasonably mild spring day, but if we were in the lower forty-eight, they’d probably balk at eating outside in this weather. But I remember that you only get so many months of decent weather in Alaska and you enjoy every last bit of it you can.
“I have lemonade, or soda, or anything you want. Show her, Adam.” Marla begins taking the food outside.
“Want to play hot or cold?” Adam asks. “You search and I’ll tell you if you’re close to the drink fridge?”
“Joke’s on you, I remember.” I stick my tongue out at him playfully.
“Well then.” He holds out his arm. “By all means, lead the way.”
