For the Love of the Law

Epilogue | My Idea Of Perfection

Everyday of the week was different, right? Sure, Monday's were Monday's and Tuesday's were Tuesday's, but what happens on those days was never the same. For example, one Thursday, you're at work, getting along with your day and trying not to wish for the weekend. The next Thursday, you win lotto. 

Every day is different.

But Sundays. 

At least, for me anyway.

"Marley, for the last time, please hand me the gravy before I stick my fork in your eye." 

"Empty threats, Harls, empty threats. I don't even have it anyway." 

"Just give me the damn gravy, I know you're hiding it-" A tap on my shoulder stopped my sentence halfway, and I glanced upwards to see a grinning Stan standing above me, wearing a grin like the Joker and holding a pot that looked suspiciously like our gravy one. 

"Now none of you can have it, because I gave the last of it to Flynn." 

Rat bastard. 

I turned to Flynn, who paused his chewing and smiled as sheepishly as he could with a mouthful of food. My eyes narrowed, the glare making his eyes light up in amusement even more, which made me even more annoyed.

"I see where our loyalties lie, Stan. I'll remember this, now." 

"It's only a little gravy-"

"I can't just eat my chicken and potatoes without gravy." I sent me glare his way, and Stan fought a laugh, but he was failing miserably. 

"Alex, I think you're children have become brainwashed by all my delicious chicken I bring over once a week. Harlow looks a little rabid." 

"Stan you don't even make the chicken!" I cried, throwing my hands up in the air. Stan gasped, as did dad, and I spun my head in his direction as everyone froze, dad and Stan locked in eye contact. 

Dad looked shocked, and Stan looked panicked. 

"You don't make the chicken, Stan?" Dad asked, eyes wide and almost vulnerable, like he had just found out the biggest kept secret in history rather then the orgins of the Sunday night chicken roast.

"O-of course I do, Alex. What Harlow means is that I don't breed the chickens." Stan saved his ass quick, and dad looked down at his plate, contemplating what Stan had said. I'd forgotten that Stan had never told dad he brought the chickens for Sunday dinners, but the whole situation just seemed ridiculous. "My backyard is big enough for poultry." 

And do you know what dad did? 

He brought it.

"Harlow, that's a silly thing to say anyway. Of course Stan doesn't breed chickens. You should know that."

Oh, of course dad. My mistake. Silly girl.

Stan shot me a look that said 'tell-him-and-I'll-kill-you', at around the same time Marley erupted in laughter so sudden, he started to choke on his peas. 

"Oh," cough, "my God," wheeze, "you're all c-" cough "razy. Jesus."

 Flynn leaned over, patting him on the back a couple times as Marley continued to cough and laugh, spluttering until his throat cleared and he sent Flynn a grateful look. "I'm going to have to agree." 

"You can't talk," Marley laughed some more, but there was a real warmth in his eyes, something that had me staring at him for a few seconds, my heart jump starting in my chest at the obvious signs of Marley's happiness. "You're crazy for loving my sister."