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“Come in. Come in.” They took off their shoes and made their way into the house.
“It’s so wonderful to meet you. Amy’s boys haven’t stopped talking about you.”
“They’re a wild bunch. Fun kids.”
“Wild indeed.” Derek’s mom took Dylan’s arm and led him through the entryway. Standing behind the beautifully set table were his oldest sister and Seo-Joon. The former was opening a wine bottle while the latter waved to them.
After pouring herself a large glass of wine and taking a large sip, Amy came over to greet them. Under the pretense of kissing her brother on the cheek, she whispered. “It’s catered.”
“Oh, thank god,” Derek said.
“Are two of the boys coming?” Dylan asked, gesturing to the two extra set places at the table. “Or…?”
“The Velcro baby’s upstairs asleep and the others are with Joanna.” Amy’s smile seemed more forced than usual as she grabbed the extra places off the table. “I probably just went to autopilot. You know, sleep-deprived mom brain.”
Derek didn’t buy that for a second. Maybe Ken’s college-age kids were supposed to come and she didn’t want to make a big deal about it. They all had to know Michelle wouldn’t…
“Hopefully no more gas station sushi for Joanna,” Dylan said.
“She did mention she has new appreciation for her microbiology class. I was glad to hear it.” Amy’s voice dripped sarcasm as she filled glasses for Derek and Dylan.
His mom returned to the dining room. “Ken said we should go ahead and start.” The bizarre thing was that his mom didn’t seem upset, even though the inconsiderate guy was just blowing them off. And maybe his kids were too.
They all loaded their plates, and dinner continued the way most family dinners did these days, which meant it became a back and forth “conversation” (argument) about tax law between Amy and his mom. Seo-Joon was a patent attorney, but his main interest outside of that was Star Wars miniature figure painting. Derek figured this would be right up Dylan’s alley, so he prodded the conversation in that direction, but it wasn’t until Dylan interrupted Amy’s and his mom’s conversation that there was a subtle shift in the energy in the room.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Dylan said, whipping around from discussing the best paints to use for shading Wookiee fur to turn to the two bickering CPAs. “If you were doing that, are you saying there would be a tax advantage to not categorizing a business like that? Can you explain why? I’m a small business owner, but I never understood that. Just relocated everything to Maryland a couple years ago. Money stuff’s pretty much my Achilles’ heel. I haven’t really been satisfied with the accountants I’ve been using.” He shrugged modestly.
Pounced. Yes, pounced. That was the only word for what Amy and his mother did. They spent the rest of dinner mapping out sometimes-conflicting tax strategies for Dylan’s business to the point where the guy asked for an actual piece of paper so he could take notes. If Derek hadn’t been dating him and Amy’s husband hadn’t been sitting right there, his sister might have swooned when he asked some highly incomprehensible question about tax code that nevertheless made her light up.
Derek hadn’t seen his mother this happy in a long time. Getting to monologue about the intricacies of the recent changes in IRS tax regulations with both a weirdly captivated audience (Dylan, despite what he said before about being bored by money stuff) and a bemused captive audience (Derek and Seo-Joon).
Derek had thought his mom was happy during that conversation with Dylan. Until a tall man in a yellow jumpsuit walked in through the door. His mother leaped up from the table and actually almost skipped over to the man with an expression of beatific delight on her face. The man who was… was… whoa.
He couldn’t blame his mom for thinking he was attractive. Derek was honest enough to admit that this man with his shiny black hair and high, chiseled cheekbones and, honestly, rather impressive build was objectively attractive. The only problem was that Derek had not expected him to look ten years younger than his mom was. At a minimum.
Which meant—oh god.
Derek shot up to standing, making the dinnerware rattle. “I’m sorry, but how old are you?”
Every face in the room turned to Derek. Dylan was literally biting his lips together, probably to keep from laughing. Amy was pouring herself another glass of wine, and Seo-Joon had steepled his hands together like a bookie watching a horse race.
His mom, never the shrinking violet, walked over and smacked him on the back of his head. Hard. “Derek. Manners.”
The new arrival took off his work boots and then stopped at the tiny powder room next to the front door, presumably to wash his hands after all of his various creature-related activities that had made him late to dinner. He had a wide, warm smile. At least, Derek would have thought it was warm if he didn’t suspect this man was looking for some kind of sugar mama. God, please let him never think those last two words again about his mother. He needed to detox his brain. Or bleach it. A mental autoclaving.
The situation got worse when Ken came back in, and his mother said a thoroughly nonverbal and thoroughly horrifying hello to her new husband.
Derek plopped back into his seat and concentrated all his attention on eating.
“You okay, babe?” Dylan said under his breath.
“Totally fine. Why?”
“Because I think the steak’s already dead, so you don’t have to disembowel it.”
Amy actually snorted. “I think I should keep Dylan,” she said in an offhand drawl as if she was an Italian mob boss considering murdering all the members of a feuding family in order to steal a single talented lieutenant. She turned to Dylan and patted his hand, keeping her face deadpan. “I’ll do all your taxes. Don’t worry. I take care of my own. You’ll be in very safe financial hands.”
Seo-Joon gave his wife a highly affronted look. “Ames, stop trying to be a crime boss.”