Amy stopped to watch them all through the window for a few minutes before rejoining them in the backyard.
"There you are," said her mother. "I was beginning to think you went all the way to Milwaukee."
"I couldn't find the bottle opener." She set the six pack down in the center of the table.
"They're twistoffs," said Peter.
Amy rolled her eyes. "I like the bottle opener, jeeze." She grabbed one for herself and passed another beer to Bruce, who chuckled lightly as he used the churchkey to prey off the cap. "Oh, you're just humoring me. You find this amusing, don't you?"
"Hey, I didn't say a thing." He grinned warmly.
Amy poked him in the ribs. "I was going to apologize for leaving you alone out here with this Inquisition for so long, but now I'm not sure." She leaned back against him, and smiled as he closed his arms around her.
"All right, enough of that," Vincent declared. "We've all got a beverage?" They all raised their bottles obediently. "Then I'll go first."
"Big surprise," muttered Amy, and Peter sniggered. Maxine threw them both a look, but Vincent loftily ignored it all.
"To Amy," he began, "who got absolutely creamed at the polls, but not nearly so badly as the pundits predicted."
"You are so dead, F. Scott."
"Yeah, yeah. You fought the good fight. You didn't compromise your principles--"
"Which is why I lost."
"And I think I speak for everyone when I say, we couldn't be more proud. You'll get 'em next time, kid."
"To Amy!" they chorused, and the longnecks made a cheerful clinking sound in the quiet garden.
Bruce squeezed her, and she looked up at him, grateful and content.
"And," said Maxine, prompting them to raise their drinks again, "to Bruce." Amy beamed.
"Bruuuce!" her brothers bellowed like they were at a Springsteen concert. He shook his head and laughed.
"I hope you're adequately prepared for what you've gotten yourself into," Maxine continued. "And welcome to the family."
----
Please forgive the adverbs. And, y'know, the XTREME SUGAR QUOTIENT.
omg this is SO SAPPY you should probably just kill me now.
"There you are," said her mother. "I was beginning to think you went all the way to Milwaukee."
"I couldn't find the bottle opener." She set the six pack down in the center of the table.
"They're twistoffs," said Peter.
Amy rolled her eyes. "I like the bottle opener, jeeze." She grabbed one for herself and passed another beer to Bruce, who chuckled lightly as he used the churchkey to prey off the cap. "Oh, you're just humoring me. You find this amusing, don't you?"
"Hey, I didn't say a thing." He grinned warmly.
Amy poked him in the ribs. "I was going to apologize for leaving you alone out here with this Inquisition for so long, but now I'm not sure." She leaned back against him, and smiled as he closed his arms around her.
"All right, enough of that," Vincent declared. "We've all got a beverage?" They all raised their bottles obediently. "Then I'll go first."
"Big surprise," muttered Amy, and Peter sniggered. Maxine threw them both a look, but Vincent loftily ignored it all.
"To Amy," he began, "who got absolutely creamed at the polls, but not nearly so badly as the pundits predicted."
"You are so dead, F. Scott."
"Yeah, yeah. You fought the good fight. You didn't compromise your principles--"
"Which is why I lost."
"And I think I speak for everyone when I say, we couldn't be more proud. You'll get 'em next time, kid."
"To Amy!" they chorused, and the longnecks made a cheerful clinking sound in the quiet garden.
Bruce squeezed her, and she looked up at him, grateful and content.
"And," said Maxine, prompting them to raise their drinks again, "to Bruce." Amy beamed.
"Bruuuce!" her brothers bellowed like they were at a Springsteen concert. He shook his head and laughed.
"I hope you're adequately prepared for what you've gotten yourself into," Maxine continued. "And welcome to the family."
----
Please forgive the adverbs. And, y'know, the XTREME SUGAR QUOTIENT.