Chapter 20 #2
She’s cradling the sleeping baby against her chest, her expression soft and glowing, and when she smiles at me, I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life.
“I’m gonna tell her tonight,” I tell them. “I’m gonna give her mom’s locket.”
Some time later, I find the boys on the floor, cross-legged in front of the TV in Noah’s bedroom. His face is scrunched up in determination, thumbs flying over the controller.
Alex leans forward, elbows on his knees, concentrating like he’s in the Daytona 500 instead of playing Mario Kart with a seven-year-old.
“Dude, you cheated!” Alex shouts when Noah gets first place, slamming his controller down.
“I did not! You just stink!” Noah shoves his arm, initiating a wrestling match.
I clear my throat. “Alright, you two, dinner’s ready. Get in here before I gotta break up a fight.”
Noah cheers, dropping the controller and running into the kitchen. We can hear him telling his parents how he kicked Alex’s butt all the way in here.
Alex acts annoyed, but the corners of his mouth twitch up.
“Hey,” he falls into step beside me, relaxed like nothing’s ever been wrong. “Is it cool if I stay here tonight? Noah got a bunch of new games, and we wanna play ‘em.”
For a second, and I would never admit this to anyone, but my throat goes tight. Because right now, asking me to spend the night with Noah, Alex feels like my brother again. Not the shut-off version I’ve been worried sick about.
“‘Course, bud,” I manage.
“Cool,” he responds, looking at me like I’ve grown another head.
The living room is buried under wrapping paper and new toys.
Iris is cuddled up to me on the couch. Her cheeks are flushed from dinner and talking with the girls, and she’s got her feet up beneath her like she’s starting to feel comfortable here with all of us.
I watch her, the way she looks around at everyone, at Alex on the floor, showing Noah how to play with his new remote control car, at Liz, who’s feeding her baby. At Ben, helping Sammy hand out presents to the adults.
Her gaze is gentle, and I love her so much.
I clear my throat, my fingers drumming nervously on my knee. “I uh, got something for you.”
“Nate, I told you, you didn’t have to get me anything. Being here with your family is more than enough,” she says, shaking her head.
“I know. Now, open it.” I hand her a small, badly wrapped box Liz teased me about earlier.
She lifts the paper slowly, careful as always, until the cover shows: “Home Kitchen: Traditional Indian Recipes.”
I found it at a secondhand bookstore and had to get it for her.
“You told me,” I start, nervous as hell, hoping I picked the right thing, “that you wish you knew how to cook the food you grew up with. And I thought maybe this way, you could bring some of what you grew up with into our family.”
“Nate, this is… It’s perfect. Thank you.”
“Means a lot to me too.” I say, my voice rough, “Want my family to feel like yours.”
“I love it,” she says, and I nod, trying not to blurt out I love you. I settle for a gentle kiss, mindful of where we’re at.
When I pull back, her eyes are shining, but she smiles big, laughter dancing across her features.
“What?” I ask, frowning.
“You have some lipstick,” she giggles, rubbing at my mouth with her thumb.
“Looks good on you, Nate,” Alex joins in from the floor, smirking.
“Ha-ha, real funny.” I shoot back with a glare.
“I got you something too.” Iris reaches behind the couch, pulling out a flat square package, wrapped much better than mine.
And when I reveal what’s inside, my breath catches.
It’s a painting of me, on the sidelines in my coach polo, sleeves pushed up, whistle hanging around my neck. The field behind me is a blur of color, but the focus is me. My attention locked on something out of frame.
It’s… hell, it’s better than any photo.
“I started it after the championship. I’m still not one hundred percent happy with it, but..”
“Iris,” I interrupt, “it’s perfect.” This must have taken her so long.
“You made me look better than I do in real life,” I joke, trying to lighten the mood before it gets too sappy in here. She ducks her head, fingers brushing a curl behind her ear.
“It’s how I see you.”
“Thank you, Darlin’,” I murmur, “Means more than I can say.”
I’m still staring at the painting, feeling ten kinds of mushy, when there’s a tug on my sleeve. Sammy’s there, messy blonde hair half-fallen from her Christmas bow.
“Uncle Nate? Can I see the picture Auntie Iris made?”
It takes me a second to realize what she called her.
When I do, I glance at Iris, and surprise flickers across her face, but I can’t help but grin. “Sure, kiddo.” I turn the painting so Sammy can see.
“Wow, it looks just like you!”
“Thank you, Sammy,” Iris says, painfully warm as the words hang between us.
Auntie Iris.
“Pretty special, huh?” Sammy nods, curls bouncing, then leans closer to Iris.
“Can you paint me next?” She asks Iris, who nods instantly.
“Of course, I would love to.”
Watching them, Sammy’s little hand clutching Iris’s skirt, looking up at her so happy, it means everything to me.
Iris belongs here with us.
And if Sammy wants to call her Auntie? Far as I’m concerned, she can call her that forever.