20. Aaron
CHAPTER TWENTY
AARON
I pull up to my parents’ house, the familiar sight of the white two-story farmhouse settling something deep in me, even as my chest tightens with the weight of why I’m here. The place hasn’t changed much since I was a kid—same wide porch, same rocking chairs that have seen major action since Dad retired. The flowerbeds along the front are still meticulously kept, a mix of roses and marigolds that Mom insists are “timeless,” even if they’re a little too perfect for my taste.
And Emma says marigolds are the stinkiest flowers out there. They may be pretty, but she doesn’t like them much.
I look over to her as I park behind my dad’s old Jeep. “They’re going to love you. Everyone does.”
She leans her head back against the rest as she turns it toward me. A soft smile graces her pretty face. She’s tired, and I know it. Heck, I am too. “You’re just saying that, because no one has ever cracked Fonda.”
I grin back at her. “You have a special way with people.”
“I haven’t met anyone’s parents in a long time,” I say.
“You’ve met them.”
“You shoved them out the front door before I even got their names.” She looks toward the front door. “I feel like she’s watching already.”
“Oh, she is,” I say, following her gaze. My nerves fire at me, and my mind races in a dozen different directions. “I’m almost done with the Lindsey addition.” Why I brought that up, I’m not sure.
“Yep,” she says, because I’ve told her that already. She reaches over and takes my hand in hers, grounding me and settling some of my frenzied thoughts. “Then you’re going to start on the park bench.”
“Right.” I run my free hand through my hair. “Should we go in?”
“I think she might come out if we don’t.” Emma somehow gives me the reassuring smile, and she stays put so I can come open her door, kiss her quickly, and lead her up onto my parents’ porch. My stomach buzzes like I’ve swallowed a hive of angry bees after evicting their queen.
“Jenny and Rawlins,” Emma mutters under her breath. “Jenny and Rawlins.”
I open the door and call, “We’re here, Ma,” though I expect her to be hovering only inches from the door. To her credit, she’s standing at the end of the couch, an embroidered dish towel in her hand. I smile at her, because, fine, I’m a momma’s boy.
With the scent of coffee hanging in the evening air, I go to hug her. “Oh, my boy is home,” she says fondly, squeezing me tightly. She releases me, her eyes already fixed on Emma. “And his lovely girlfriend.” She opens both of her arms, and Emma smiles and eases into them.
Her eyes drift closed, something soft and vulnerable on her face. In that moment, I realize she hasn’t hugged her mother in years. Decades. Something in my chest pinches, especially as she whispers something to my momma I can’t hear.
When they part, Momma’s already wiping her eyes, and I look from her to Emma and back. “Everyone okay?”
Emma nods, and migrates into my side, where I hold her in place securely against me. Momma sniffs and turns to go into the kitchen.
“Daddy’s pulling the Dutch ovens off the fire. Anyone want coffee?”
I look down at Emma, but she shakes her head. “I’m too keyed up for more stimulants,” I say to Momma. In a much quieter voice, I ask Emma, “Will you be okay here if I leave you with her?”
“You still haven’t introduced us,” she whispers. “Where are you going? ”
“To get Thomas out of his room,” I say, taking her hand and going into the kitchen just as Daddy comes in the back door. “Daddy, this is Emma. Emma, my father, Rawlins. My momma is Jenny.”
“It’s so great to meet you.” Daddy wears the biggest smile I’ve ever seen and he shakes Emma’s hand, hugs her, and sweeps a kiss along each of her cheeks. So old school.
She flushes, and I’m not sure why. It’s a touch warm in the kitchen, but nothing too bad.
I meet her eye, and she nods. “I’ll go get Thomas,” I say, and it takes everything I have to turn my back on my gorgeous girlfriend and leave her in the kitchen alone with my parents.
Momma’s already talking to her as I enter the hall, and I remind myself that Emma is really good with people.
Thomas’s bedroom door is open, which means he heard me call out my arrival. He’s got a bright desk lamp on, shining down on his hands as he paints a figurine. I knock lightly on his doorframe and wait for him to lift his head.
“Tommy,” I say. “Em and I are here for dinner, and we want you to come out.” I smile at him, because I do love my brother. I’ve just always had to meet him where he is, and there’s always this touch of distance between us that I can never quite bridge.
He’s six years younger than me and has always been my opposite. Quiet, introverted, more comfortable in his own world than in ours. And I’ve always been on the other end of the spectrum—loud, active, constantly moving.
“You’re looking good, brother,” I say. His dark hair is longer than it was the last time I saw him, curling around his ears, and he’s got a streak of blue paint on his cheek. His focus is intense, his hands steady as he works on a tiny, intricate piece of armor.
“What are you working on?” I walk over to the desk and look at his figurines.
“Space Marines,” he says, his voice clipped. “Ultramarines, specifically.”
I nod like I know exactly what he’s talking about. “They look cool. I really like that guy’s shield.”
“They’re not just cool,” he says, glancing up at me with a frown. “They’re the finest warriors in the Imperium of Man. They’re genetically enhanced super-soldiers.”
“Right,” I say, trying not to grin. He’s always been like this—so passionate about his hobbies, so sure of himself when he’s in his element. It’s one of the things I admire about him, even if it also makes me feel like an outsider in my own family sometimes. “Sounds intense.”
He stands up and hugs me, and I sink into it for a moment, finally feeling synced. “Is dinner ready?”
“I think so, yeah.” I watch him for another moment, wishing I knew how to connect with him better. We’ve had the same conversation a hundred times—me asking about his hobbies, him either giving me short answers or going on and on about things I’ve never heard of. It’s like we’re speaking different languages.
“Let’s go,” Thomas says, and if there’s one thing he doesn’t kid about, it’s dinner. I let him lead the way out into the kitchen, where we find Emma standing over a Dutch oven with a wooden spoon in her hand. I pause, because Daddy doesn’t even let Momma touch his Dutch oven potatoes.
But Emma’s stirring them up like she’s the one who’s been here for hours, peeling, dicing, layering in bacon, and babysitting the coals. She laughs, and of course she’s already seamlessly integrated herself into my family.
How she does that, I’ll never understand.
Hey, her grandmother liked you , I tell myself, but I still have a pinch in my gut that tells me that Em’s better at being a Stansfield than I am. And I don’t know why that bothers me, only that it does.
“Get over here, boys,” Momma says in her no-nonsense voice. She had to use it constantly on both of us growing up. If she didn’t, I actually wouldn’t hear her, and Thomas takes his time with everything—unless Momma speaks in that voice.
We both go into the kitchen, and I sweep my arm around Emma and nod to my brother. “Em, this is Thomas, my younger brother. Tommy, this is my girlfriend, Emma. ”
“Hello,” Thomas says. He shakes Emma’s hand, and she practically vibrates with energy.
“It’s so great to meet you, Thomas,” she says, glancing at me. “Aaron tells me you like Lord of the Rings .”
“They’re my favorite movies and books,” he says.
“I’ve just started them.”
“For the first time?” he asks. “How old are you?”
“Thomas,” Momma says gently. “Not everyone likes to read, remember?”
“And girls don’t always like Lord of the Rings ,” he says.
“I’m sure lots of girls do,” Daddy says easily.
“He uses a lot of words,” Emma says.
“I didn’t know you had time to read,” I say, giving Emma a look.
She gives me a semi-heated glare. Or maybe it’s ice-cold. It’s hard to tell in the split second she looks at me. “I listen to the audiobook on the way to the shop and home again.”
“Listening to books isn’t reading,” Thomas says.
“What?” Emma scoffs and pushes one palm against Thomas’s shoulder. “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. Listening to audiobooks is exactly like reading a book.”
Momma smiles as she puts a big bowl of frog eye salad on the table. “Thomas, not everyone has to agree with you. ”
“I know,” he says. “I didn’t even argue back about the audiobooks.” He smiles at Emma. “I have an Aragorn costume, and Aaron dresses up as Legolas.”
“Is he the elf?” Emma asks.
“Yep.”
“Yes, I’ve seen that costume,” Emma says, giving me a warm look now. Listening to her interact with my brother in an easy, natural rhythm has me falling head over heels in love with her, and I have to find a way to catch myself.
“All right,” Daddy says. “We’re not talking about orcs and elves all night. Tommy, ask Emma something about herself.”
A healthy pause fills the kitchen while Momma pulls a huge roasting pan covered in aluminum foil out of the oven.
“What do you do for a living?” Tommy asks.
Emma grins and grins. “You know what? Let me show you.” She exchanges a glance with me and adds, “Did we leave that out in the truck?”
“I forgot about it,” I admit.
“I’ll be right back.”
“We’re eating,” Momma says, but I give her a look that tells her this is important. She presses her lips together as Emma jogs lightly out of the house, leaving the door ajar. “She is just lovely,” Momma gushes. “No wonder we haven’t seen you or heard from you much.”
I tear my eyes from the front door and look at her and Daddy. “I’ve been around and communicative the normal amount.”
Daddy shakes his head, and Momma swats me with her handmade tea towel. “Not true, Mister.”
“Well, I have a big build right now,” I say, my voice wounded.
“And a pretty girlfriend,” Tommy says.
Momma gasps, and I even look at Tommy with my jaw dropping open. Then I start to chuckle. “You think she’s pretty, Tommy?”
“She is,” he says matter-of-factly. “Maybe I could ask Melinda out. She’s pretty too.”
“You should,” Momma says, and I nod along.
“Do you think I’m too focused on her?” I ask, my eyes drifting back to the doorway. I don’t want Emma to overhear this, though I’ve told her how I hyper-focus. I’m just not sure she really understands what it means, how it dominates my life sometimes.
Before Momma can answer, Emma comes barreling back inside, her Lord of the Rings inspired arrangement in her hands. “Okay, got it,” she says, breathlessly. It doesn’t matter if Momma answers or not, and I wouldn’t believe her even if she told me no, I’m not too focused on Emma.
I know I am, and I don’t know how not to be.
Emma arrives and holds up the arrangement, which looks really poky to me. “It’s mostly thistle and eucalyptus,” she says. “With some very pretty calla lilies, and orchids, and roses.”
All of the flowers are white, creating a nearly monochromatic vibe with the dusty green leaves.
“Very long-lasting, like the fires of Mordor.” She hands it to Tommy, who looks at it like he’s been presented with the One Ring to Rule Them All. “I named it Gondor’s Glory .”
I stiffen, because Tommy has strong feelings about Gondor.
“This is a gift worthy of the elves,” he says, finally looking up. “Thank you, Emma.” He sets down the arrangement and steps over to her to hug her.
“Wow,” Daddy whispers, and Momma’s pressing one hand to her heart as her eyes fill with tears.
And I know that I’m not the only one falling in love with Emma Newberry.