We trudge downstairs, one after the other, only Vick managing to avoid the creak in the stairs until we’re all practically running pell-mell into the dining room, halting at the entrance like we’re trying to act all cool, before walking to our assigned seats.
Brody is already there, sitting at the table with his beer bottle settled next to his glass, talking animatedly with Uncle Tristan about the PLL and the changes to the league rules and regulations that don’t have a single thing to do with me.
It seems good, calm even, as I take my seat next to him. We bump knees when I squeeze in next to him, pulling my chair in. Brody glances back at me when this happens, a happy grin on his face as he helps me push my chair in closer to the table so I can avoid any potential food-in-lap disasters
