Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 100202 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 501(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100202 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 501(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
I was in major trouble if I got turned on by the sight of her calves.
“I mean it,” Callie repeated.
“I’ve been uncomfortable since we pulled into the driveway,” I told her honestly, juggling the crockpot of mashed potatoes I’d made from scratch a half hour ago. Uncomfortable was an understatement. Stepping foot on this property again after eleven years was like casually ripping scabs off wounds I’d never taken the time to heal.
Callie flinched. “I never should have asked you to do this.”
“It’s okay.” Fuck, was my collar actually tightening?
Right there, next to the walkway, was where Dad had thrown Mom’s things into a pile after the funeral.
This porch? This was where I’d watched Reed walk away, leaving me with an alcoholic father who couldn’t stand the sight of us and a devastated fourteen-year-old little brother. This was where I’d transformed from a grief-stricken sixteen-year-old boy into an angry sixteen-year-old adult in the span of a heartbeat.
“We can go—” Callie started, concern etching two lines in her brow.
The door swung open, and Ava smiled at us. “Welcome!”
“Hey, Ava!” Sutton walked right in, unzipping her coat as she went.
Ava glanced between Callie and me, her dark brow furrowing. “Need me to give you guys a second?”
I took a deep breath. Callie had given up half her house and almost all her privacy for me. The least I could do was eat Thanksgiving in the house I’d grown up in. “Nope. We’re all good. After you, Callie.”
Callie shot me a look of pure apology that wasn’t needed and followed Sutton inside, walking past Ava.
“I brought the potatoes,” I told Ava. Then I took my first step inside for over a decade.
It didn’t smell like her, not anymore. Mom had always preferred the scent of apples and cinnamon in the fall, but there was only pumpkin pie in the air.
The faded red curtains Mom had made when I was ten were gone, replaced by cheerful checkered ones, and the hallway runner was new too. But it was the same house. It was her house, the one he’d wrecked, then let fall into disrepair when he’d been too self-absorbed to show up for anyone else, even his sons.
The same photos lined the entry, but there were a couple new additions too. The brunette in the first picture was Dad’s new wife, Melody. I didn’t know her. I honestly didn’t want to. I didn’t hate her, or even dislike her…there was just apathy where she was concerned. Had to admit, though, she won a point for hanging pictures of my mom along the hallway. Dad had made it a point to remove everything that reminded him of Mom those first few months, so Melody must have found them where I’d hidden them away in the garage for safe keeping.
“You have her eyes,” Callie said quietly, coming to stand next to me. She’d lost her coat and the bottle of wine, which told me I’d been standing here lost in my thoughts for far too long.
“Yeah.” I tried to force a smile, but there was nothing there. The usual lightness I felt around her, the peace that made it easier to breathe, had been replaced by a fifty-pound sack of concrete in my stomach. “I’d better take these in.”
I walked into the center of the A-frame house, where a vaulted ceiling rose to the roofline, and stared at the dining area. Ava had set the table for five, complete with linens and a centerpiece.
The last Thanksgiving I’d spent here had been a crockpot turkey breast on our laps because Crew had a competition that morning and Dad was nowhere to be found. It was the only Thanksgiving Reed hadn’t come home from college for.
“I’ll take those,” Ava said with a smile, reaching for the crockpot. I surrendered it only because I didn’t know where she was putting everything.
The jingling of piano keys sounded, and I pivoted, seeing Sutton at the bench of Mom’s piano.
“Sutton, honey. No.” Callie shook her head.
“She’s fine,” I told her. “Mom would hate that it wasn’t being used.” I shucked off my jacket and hung it on the coatrack.
Callie jumped into helping Ava.
And I…I stared.
I couldn't tell which was the bigger anachronism—me or the decor. There was a new couch. New television. New pillows. New art. None of it was Mom’s style, even though the house had been her love. Everything looked like it didn’t belong here, but maybe I was the one out of place, out of time.
“Can you play, Weston?” Sutton asked me.
“A little.” My feet took me to her, and I sat on the empty space on the leather bench, my fingers finding their places on the keys like it hadn’t been fifteen years since I’d touched them.
Play for me, Weston. I heard Mom’s voice in my head as clearly as if she were laying there on the couch behind us. She’d spent most of her time there that last year, an invisible illness stealing her away before they could even diagnose what was wrong with her.