“I don’t, but additives are evil, right? Organic is good. Fresh and organic is really good.”
“This is California. You can buy organic baby food.” Lily was pretty sure it was available in the rest of the country, too, but it had to be available here. You could buy organic rope in California, for God’s sake.
“I can?” Relief warred with doubt on Cynna’s face. Relief won. “I could buy a bunch of it. I could buy a blender, too. See, the Rhej gave me this steamer thingy. It’s for vegetables, and all you do is dump them in and put water in the base and set the timer, and they cook. It’s real easy. It probably wouldn’t be a big deal to blenderize steamed veggies if I ran out of organic baby food or something.”
“There you go.” Lily patted her friend’s arm. “Between blenderized veggies and organic baby food, it will work out.”
“Yeah.” Cynna turned to survey the crowd. For a moment they ate brownies in silence.
It was good to see Cynna like this—obsessing over silly stuff, more like her usual self. The acquisition of a couple of the early memories had been hard on her, but tonight she’d shaken that off.
Lily finished first—she’d ended up with a single brownie after all—and fingered the little object in her pocket. She needed to find Cullen and give it to him. And there was another way lupus parties were different. No one wrapped presents—lupi were such guys sometimes—nor was there any set time to hand over your gift.
The presents themselves were different, too. Lupi considered it tacky to buy a baby gift. They were either handmade, hand-me-down, or “for the baby jar”—which meant cash. Most gave cash. Lily could relate to that. Cash gifts were a Chinese custom, too, though not at baby showers, and the money was tucked into red envelopes, not a big glass jar.
But the close friends of the father-to-be were supposed to either make a gift or pass on something with a story attached. The story was part of the present, a tale of all those who had slept in the cradle, gnawed on the blocks, or been warmed by the quilt.
This was one lupus custom she hadn’t needed explained. With their hand-me-downs and handmade presents, the clan claimed the child. The objects were made by clan, used by clan, woven into the history of the clan. They didn’t come from the external, human world . . . which had made it hard for her to decide on a gift, because she did come from the external, human world. And she didn’t know how to make anything except an arrest.
Cynna ate the last bite of brownie with a sigh of pleasure. “That was good, but now I need liquid. Not water and not milk—I’m ready to party.”
“Dr. Pepper?” Lily smiled at Cynna’s current definition of partying.
“Right. If there’s anything left. Man, there must be a thousand people here. Come on.”
Lily smiled as she followed. Cynna hadn’t come to the FBI via conventional law enforcement the way Lily had, so she’d never learned to estimate crowd size. “Roughly half that, I think, counting the kids.”
“Still, that’s a lot. Lots of presents, which is good.” Cynna patted her protruding belly. “Lots of work for you, though.”
“Not really.” They’d reached the tubs filled with melting ice and soft drinks. Lily dug out a can of Dr. Pepper for Cynna and took a Diet Coke for herself. “Rule and the Rhej handled almost all of the baby party stuff.”
“Yeah, but you did the shower, too, and then there’s all those weirdo calls you’ve been getting.”
“At least those cases are easy to clear, and otherwise things are pretty quiet right now.”
“You know you shouldn’t say shit like that.”
Lily snorted. “You’re superstitious?”
“Of course not, but you’re never supposed to say things are quiet. That’s when you get hit with three urgent cases or a performance review or you get sick or—”
Lily held up a hand, laughing. “All right, already. I take it back. Things are hectic and my plate is full, and yes, the party was lots of trouble. And worth every bit of it.”
“Oh, now you’ve done it. I tear up over commercials these days.” Cynna sniffed, grinned, and added, “I guess all this organizing is good practice for your wedding. Have you set the date yet?”
“Not yet.” She tipped her can and drank.
“You’re avoiding the subject.”
“No, I’m thirsty.” Lily glanced around. “I need to find Cullen. I haven’t given him my present yet.”
“Now you’re changing the subject.” Cynna was downright gleeful. “You’re scared.”
“I’m not scared.” She loved Rule. She not only wanted to spend the rest of her life with him; she had to. The mate bond gave them no options there, but she’d stopped resenting that, so getting married would just put a legal gloss over what was already true. There was no reason to be scared; the annoying lump in her throat wasn’t fear. It was . . . aggravation.
“I’m not scared,” she repeated. “But I’m contemplating Las Vegas. My mother is insane.”
“What flavor of insane are we talking?”
Lily gestured with her Diet Coke. “Every flavor a wedding can come in. The dress. The date. Flowers. Attendants. Doves.”
“Doves? Doves as in big gray birds?”
“White ones, actually. She wants to release dozens of white doves when Rule and I say our vows. Not exactly the right aesthetic message when the groom turns wolf on occasion, is it?”
Cynna snickered. “Oh, yeah, some of your guests might miss out on the aesthetic message. They might think the doves were a party game. Flying appetizers.”
Lily pictured a bunch of well-dressed men taking one look at the doves, Changing, and racing off yipping after them. A smile tugged at her mouth. “Maybe I should let her have her way. It might be worth it to see her face if . . . But no.” Reluctantly she abandoned the fantasy. “They wouldn’t really do that. Besides, I don’t know if we’ll have any lupus guests.”
Cynna squeezed her arm. “You’ll have Cullen. And I bet there’ll be more, once they get used to the idea.”
“Maybe.” She didn’t like thinking about what marriage might do to Rule’s standing with his people and veered back to the part she had some control over. “I do not want birds crapping on me at my wedding.”
“That’s a strong argument against. I guess you’ve pointed out the crap problem?”
“Yeah, and admittedly she let that notion go, but she’ll just come up with something else.” Something grand and showy and expensive. To think that only a couple weeks ago, Lily had worried that her mother wouldn’t accept the marriage. She shook her head. “Never mind about my mother. Today is all about you.”
“All about the little rider, really. But since he can’t appreciate his presents yet, I get to help.”
“Still haven’t settled on a name?”
“Do you have any idea how hard it is to find a name neither of you has any strong associations for? Cullen likes the old-fashioned names. And magically, the older names are stronger, so—”
“Does that count?’ Lily asked, startled. “I thought the idea that names have power over you was an old wives’ tale.”
“Oh, that part’s bullshit—for us, anyway. It’s true for anyone who has what Micah calls a true name, but humans mostly don’t, or we don’t know it. No, for us names don’t so much have power as affect power. We don’t understand how, but . . . well, look at your people.” She waved a hand, accidentally slapping the bare back of a fair-haired man who was talking to two equally bare-chested men. “Whoops. Sorry,” she said with a grin when he turned around, one sandy eyebrow raised.
Lily knew there were a lot of superstitions about names in Chinese culture. She hadn’t really paid attention—it had seemed like one of those relics of the past the older people cling to. “Hi, Jason,” she said to the fair-haired lupus, who was eyeing Cynna appreciatively; and, “Flirt later,” she told Cynna, taking her elbow and getting her moving. “We really should get you back to Cullen. It must be nearly time for the dancing.”