Page 38 of Consuming Logan

Chapter 13

“Did you walk to the orchard for the apples?” Logan whispered when Ava waltzed up next to him. This Sunday, a warm body occupied every one of the fourteen chairs surrounding the formal dining table. The tradition of rotating the family dinners had started five years prior when Ava had purchased her first home. A two-bedroom 1940’s style bungalow in the waterfront community of Marek Park. Ava still owned the house, but Logan had insisted she move in with him after returning from deployment. The formal dining room with its contemporary fleur-de-lis buffet table, china cabinet, and serving butler made the Walters family Sunday dinners a breeze to host. The appetizers had been removed, the main course served, and now it was time for the dessert. Literally and figuratively.

“Nope. I was hiding out in the kitchen,” she grinned, both hands covered in bulky red oven mitts. She playfully bumped his chair with one hip as she reached forward placing the hot caramel apple pie with scalloped crust on the table. Ava had hand-rolled the dough this morning, carefully shaping the lattice work before sealing the edges with an egg wash. A delicious blend of tart apples, cinnamon sugar, and butter crust assailed him. His mouth watered just watching Ava slice triangular wedges and smother them with fresh churned vanilla ice cream. He made the decision to feed the savage beast within before telling both sets of parents to expect a stork delivery in four months.

“You should’ve told me. I would’ve followed.”

She took her seat next to him at the head of the table. Next to Ava, sat her parents, followed by Granny Lou and Deacon Hill. The self-proclaimed holy man was absolutely wicked when it came to a free meal. Ava’s brother, Aron chatted with his Zari about football, of course. The oldest of the Walters offspring, Shayla had arrived last week for the announcement party, but decided to stay close by Ava after the attack. Marianne occupied the seat opposite Logan, in the middle. Next to him, his mother cleared her throat.

“How much longer is this culinary adventure,” Maribelle rasped. “I didn’t realize Shell Cove was a dry county. I would’ve brought my own bottle.”

Ava winked. “Your monkeys. Your show.”

“Everything will be fine,” he reassured her. “They’ll be happy.” His mother’s attempt at civility was painful to watch. Her responses, most of them on a time delay, had the rhythm of a wounded bird trying to get airborne, but falling flat. His father’s face held a blank expression. While Aunt Marianne—well, Logan thought her a rockstar. She laughed at Deacon Hill’s attempts at seduction, joked with both Ava’s parents, and shared her love of romance novels with Granny Lou.

“One can hope,” she said, shrugging her shoulders.

One, not two. Interesting choice of words. Ava had reluctantly told him what happened between her and Maribelle in the emergency medicine department. Logan thought he had witnessed his mother at her worse, but after Ava’s depiction of that night, he hadn’t.

“Ava,” her mother said, “you’ve barely swallowed a bite of this delicious meal you prepared.”

“I had a big breakfast,” she nodded, picking at the pie filling with her fork.

Logan had noticed the loss of appetite too. Ava had told her mother the truth, with one exception. More of an omission really. Not a single morsel had stayed in her belly for long. Not the milk, the juice, and definitely not the cereal.

“Good for you, Ava.” Robert Lee smiled. “Breakfast is the most important meal of the day.”

“Yes,” Maribelle added, tipping her glass in mock toast. “With your boyish figure I’m sure all that muscle burns through calories.”

Logan shoved his plate aside, his head ringing from the direct hit. Beside him, Ava jerked as if she’d been punched. The color drained from her face. Why did he hold out hope that his mother would accept Ava? Because he’d always felt like he had to perform and excel to get her attention. He’d exceeded every standard—academically, financially, and politically—she’d set before him. He’d been fine with her demands, but not when applied to the woman he planned to live the rest of his life with. In this, his was the only standard that mattered.

“Damn it, mom,” Logan swore. “This is the last time you step left and swing that right hook.”

Underneath the table, Ava gripped his right knee, squeezing. His signal that truce between her and Maribelle had gone the way of the Pinto, up in flames.

“That’s interesting,” Ava said, voice level, “I’ve read that aging eyes struggle to distinguish figures. But, I’ll keep that in mind since I’m eating for two.”

Silence fell over the room’s occupants.

“A baby,” Ariss covered her mouth with both hands. She blinked several times as if to ward off tears. Moisture gathered in her eyes. “We’re going to be grandparents, Drew.”

“Yes, mom,” she sighed, a smile on her face. “I’m four months along.”

The entire Walters family stood to their feet, encircling him and Ava. Logan looked on as his future in-laws, hugged each other.

“Congrats, big sister,” Aron said from the far end of the table.

Granny Lou, hugged Logan. “I’ll select the pattern for my great grandbaby’s first quilt tonight.”

“And I’ll get my niece or nephew a set of custom storybooks,” Shayla beamed. “Have you two decided on a name?”

“Wait. Wait,” Maribelle interrupted. “Who’s the baby’s father?”

“Of course, it’s my baby,” Logan grumbled, taking the offense personally.

“Oh no this old heifer didn’t,” Ariss Walters snapped. “You sorry excuse for a mother. I will snatch the blonde out of your head through your pampered behind.”

His mother drew her spine tall and military rigid. “Lay a finger on me and I’ll have you arrested.”