Not his mother and her sisters. They were chatty but they enjoyed chatting in the language of their Mongolian tribe. Something they didn’t get a chance to do unless they went to visit, but that could be a challenge. Those who’d spent their entire lives on the steppes tended to mock the cousins’ American accents, so his mother and aunts were less confident there. But in each other’s kitchens, they were nothing but confident. Besides, he’d just passed them sitting in the living room.
He even walked back to make sure. And the four women were silently perched on the family couches, backs straight, claws out, restlessly tapping their crossed legs. He didn’t really find their claws concerning. It was their silence that had Finn heading toward the kitchen with more speed than he had before.
He pushed open the swinging door and froze.
The “vermin” sat in his chairs and on his counters and on his kitchen table. One was painting her toenails, another was eating his cheddar cheese and crackers, a third was writing quickly in a notebook with a pencil, and a fourth changing channels on his TV until she found some reality show that involved people dating and marrying others recently released from prison.
There should be a fifth, but he didn’t see her.
It didn’t matter either way.
Taking a moment to calm himself down, Finn loudly asked, “Why are you in my kitchen?”
“Hey!” Max jumped off the table to greet him with a big smile. “Look at you . . . mister! First one up.”
Finn narrowed his eyes at the middle MacKilligan sister. “You don’t know which one I am . . . do you?”
“You’re one of the three,” she said with a shrug. “Your mother was here with three old ladies.”
“Please don’t call them old.”
“They were friendly.”
“No, they weren’t.”
“Hope we didn’t scare them, though. Because they just turned around and walked right out.”
Finn couldn’t help himself. He snorted a laugh. “Yeahhhh. I don’t think that’s an issue.”
“Great!” She gestured at the table. “We brought Danish. We couldn’t agree on what you guys would like, though, so we brought Italian, French, and pastries from that Jewish bakery about two miles from here.”
“That was my idea,” one of the badgers noted without lifting her head from the notebook in which she was writing copious notes.
Max rolled her eyes. “We know, Tock.”
“They weren’t even going to go to a Jewish bakery.”
“Let it go, Tock.”
“Just going to bypass it altogether.”
“Give it up already!”
“I even made sure it was kosher . . . just in case.”
“Yes, because the name Malone makes it obvious these guys are so very kosher.”
“You don’t know.” The one named Tock lifted her head and looked at her friend. “I’ve actually lived on a kibbutz.”
“Weren’t you asked to leave?”
“That was not my fault. Was it, Nelle?”
The one painting her toenails abruptly glanced up. “Need I remind you I was not even there?” she said in what sounded almost like a British accent. “I was in Rome that summer with Streep’s family. Having a delightful, innocent time, I might add.”
“Innocent? Really? Let’s ask the Pope if it was so innocent.”
“They proved nothing,” another badger announced, pointing a finger. “Nothing!”
“See?” Nelle said sweetly, going back to her toenails. “Streep says they proved nothing.”
Rolling her eyes, Max explained, “What Tock is really doing is pointing out that she’s half Black and half Israeli. But it’s New York, so no one actually gives a shit. Anyway,” Max continued, “we bring breakfast and good cheer for you and your brothers.”
Finn took a moment to rub his eyes and let out a breath. Because, wow, the honey badgers were a lot to take this early in the morning.
Or, quite honestly, any time during the day . . . or night.
“Why?” he finally asked.
“As part of our thank-you.”
Oh, no. “Part?”
“Yeah. We owe you. For last night. You could have paddled your giant paws off into the night, but you didn’t. You came and saved our asses. And we pay our debts. Or, at the very least, we’re starting to try.”
Finn shook his head. “No, no. You don’t owe us anything. So you can leave.” He blinked. “What are you doing?”
The one who’d been painting her toenails had suddenly jumped up and, being careful of the fresh enamel, waddled over to his side, and lifted her phone up.
“I’m taking our picture. I’m Nelle, by the way.”
“Yes. I figured that out. Now why are you taking my picture?”
“There’s a running thing me and my friends have about guys who look good when they just wake up, and you definitely fit the bill.”
“He does, doesn’t he?” Streep agreed.
“Eh,” Tock muttered, her focus now back on her notebook.
Finn covered the phone with his hand. “Do not take my picture.”
“Seriously? But I’ll totally win with you. My other friends are mostly full-human. The late-night partying, extreme dieting, and exhaustive drug use of their supermodel boyfriends almost ensure a lock on this month’s contest.”
His hand still over the phone, Finn simply turned his head and glowered at her.
“Got it,” she finally said, lowering the device and returning to her seat and nail painting.
“Right,” Max said, gleefully clapping her hands together. “Now, what do you need from us? A painting you’d like to have but can’t get your hands on? Like a Matisse or a Warhol? Although I find his work pretentious.”
“I’m not having this argument with you again,” Nelle sang while changing nail polish colors.
“Perhaps an extremely rare bottle of wine.”
“There’s that billionaire Internet guy in Connecticut who just purchased a case of those bottles from the time of George Washington,” Streep noted. “We can grab a few bottles from him for ya.”
“Oh, wouldn’t that be nice?” Max said, grinning at him.
“Grab a few bottles?” Finn asked, confused.
“She means steal, sweetie,” Tock clarified. “Max always means steal.”
“Well, I’m not made of money!” Max snapped before plastering on that disturbing smile again. “Or maybe you’d like us to deal with someone you and your brothers find annoying?” She wiggled her eyebrows. “We’re really good at that.”
“No girls, though,” Tock said. “We don’t handle girls.”
Max frowned. “Since when?”
“Let me rephrase. We don’t handle girls for guys. It’s called loyalty to the pussy and we honor it.”
Max nodded and looked back at Finn. “She’s right. We do have loyalty to the pussy. We don’t beat up girls unless they come at us first.”
Dearest ancestors in heaven, how could he end this conversation?
Finn cleared his throat. “Look, this is all great but . . . we don’t want anything. Could you just go?”