Chapter 11
Eleven
We have the ultimate stare down for I’m not sure how long, and then Stella speaks, “Time to call my mom.”
When did the subject change? “Now?”
“If we don’t do it now, I’ll back out.” She rolls her shoulders and exhales a gust of air.
“Stella—do you want this marriage? Leave me and this cabin out of your decision.”
She blinks up at me, her green eyes welling with tears. “You are literally solving every single one of my problems, Roman Graves.” A high-pitched hiccup escapes her lips, and she covers her mouth with the palm of her hand. “And I wonder every second how I will ever pay you back.”
“Okay then, let’s call your mom. No payback necessary.” I shake my head. “You get your citizenship. I get my cabin. We’re even.”
Her gaze narrows and she pierces me with it. “That doesn’t sound even.” She pulls her phone from her back pocket and paces in the small kitchen. “No chairs? I may need to sit, or I’ll pass out.”
She’s going to make me dizzy walking back and forth like that.
“A small kitchen table and two chairs arrive tonight, along with our beds.” I reach for her hand, tug her over to the kitchen counter, and pick her up like a misbehaving toddler.
Then, lifting her up onto the counter, I seat her there.
The nerves inside my body light like a live wire with her nearness.
I tell them to simmer—this woman is going to be around a lot.
“Now, dial,” I say. She said I’m solving all her problems. We aren’t backing out now.
If I can help anyone in Brice’s family, I’m going to.
I was closer to the Everly family than my own.
My dad left when I was ten, and Mom was bitter—as well as stuck with me.
There was fun and ease and acceptance when I was with the Everlys.
Something I never felt with my own parents.
Stella holds up her phone in one hand and reaches out, grasping my T-shirt with her other. “Roman!” she barks, eyes wide and boring into me. “My parents don’t know about my … recent issues.”
“They don’t know?” I mull that over in my head. Stella’s loving, supportive parents don’t know she was fired? Or evicted? They must know about her visa issues—according to Willow, they all had issues.
“Mom would only worry if she knew I’d been fired and evicted and anything else.” She swallows, tugging me closer with my gripped shirt.
Standing between her thighs, I stare at her face—pretty and delicate and absolutely serious. I’m almost afraid of what she’d do if I outed her.
“Fine,” I say. “It’s not mine to tell.”
Stella nods and slowly loosens her grip on my shirt. She smooths her palm over the front of my wrinkled tee. “Okay, let’s do this.”
Rebecca’s phone rings only once before she’s picked up. “Stella?” Rebecca says, sounding exactly as she did nine years ago. But then— “What’s wrong?”
Stella said her mother doesn’t know about any of her troubles, and yet she answers her phone almost in a panic.
“Nothing is wrong, Mom.”
“Of course something is wrong.”
“Why must something be wrong?” Stella’s gone from antsy to agitated.
When did Rebecca start greeting her children with worry?
Possibly since the day Brice died in a three-car collision.
Are she and Stella always so short and strained with one another? That’s … new.
“Because you’re calling me. That’s why. You don’t call,” Rebecca says through the speaker of Stella’s phone.
“You don’t call?” I whisper. I’m not the only one who has changed.
Stella taps her lips with her pointer, shushing me.
“Who is that?” Rebecca says, her voice strained. “Is that a man? What’s going on?”
Stella pulls a breath in through her nose. And in a voice that doesn’t say I’ve got good news, she says, “Mother, I’ve met someone. We’ve been seeing each other—”
“Maybe Scott should be here for this,” I say. Stella and Brice’s dad would want to be a part of this conversation.
“It’s fine.” Her mouth purses with the words, and she pins me with a glare. Note taken—Roman should be quiet.
“You’ve met someone? Since when?” Rebecca says.
“Okay, not met as in new.” Stella squeezes her eyes shut. But she keeps talking. “I’ve known him. For a while.”
“And he knows your father’s name,” Rebecca says.
She’s taking forever. I can’t be quiet anymore. She can glare. She can gripe. But I’ve got to say something. “I do, Mrs. E,” I say, inching closer to Stella perched on my countertop. “Maybe you should grab him.”
“Mrs. E?” Rebecca repeats, her tone softer. And then she’s yelling. “Scott! Get in here.”
Stella holds her phone out with the noise. “What did you do that for?” she whispers to me. “Now we have to talk to both of them.”
“Stell,” I groan. Is she serious? This isn’t like her.
And then Rebecca is back. “FaceTime, Stella Grace. Now.”
“Mom—”
“Right now,” Rebecca says, her tone uptight.
“Okay,” I hear Scott say. “I’m here. What’s this about?”
“Stella says she’s seeing someone. And he called me Mrs. E.”
“Mrs. E?” Scott says.
I tap Stella’s phone, clicking us over to FaceTime.
“Hey,” she spats, her free hand gripping my shirt once more. But Rebecca’s face is already on the screen.
I stand just out of view, waiting until my fiancée is ready to introduce me to the Everlys again. Stella releases my shirt front and peers—with fear in her eyes—at her mother.
“Where are you?” Rebecca says to her daughter. “And who’s with you?”
“Mom. Dad. I’ve met someone—”
I nudge her knee with my palm, but stay away from the camera. The woman is stalling.
“Not met met. But re-met.”
“What does that mean?” Scott says.
Stella goes on as if her father never asked a question. “And it’s serious. In fact, we’re getting married.” She gasps just slightly. “Actually, we already got married.”
“Married!” Rebecca squawks, and for a second, I’m afraid we’re sending her into some kind of episode. “Stella Grace, put that man on the phone. Now.”
I peek into view, not waiting for Stella’s approval. “Hey, Mrs. E,” I say, waving into the camera.
Rebecca gasps. “Roman Graves!” Her face lights, surprised, but not unhappy. Brice’s mother—with her hair a little more gray than blonde, but mostly just as I remember her—is beaming at me.
“Is that Roman?” Scott says, edging his way into view, and he’s grinning too. Yep—always loved, always welcoming. That’s what I got from Brice’s family.
I don’t understand why Stella wouldn’t share her problems with her parents, but then a lot of time has passed since I last knew her.
“Sweet boy.” One of Rebecca’s hands flutters up by her face. “We haven’t seen you in far too long. We thought you’d come back to visit, but—”
“Yeah.” I swallow, shame filling my insides. “I’m sorry about that. Life got … busy.” It’s a horrible excuse. It’s not that life got busy. It’s that I decided soccer was all I wanted in life. I gave everything else up after Brice died. It felt so much safer.
“Well, sure it’s busy,” Scott says. “The boy is a pro athlete.”
“I know that,” Rebecca says to her husband. “You don’t have to tell me that.”
I smile, a closed-lipped grin. This minor league team is not what I set out to do, but then Brice died, and I didn’t care about doing more or getting anything bigger. I wanted to play the game and live a quiet life. A major league team wouldn’t be quiet.
“Pro,” Rebecca repeats with so much pride and giddiness.
It makes me wonder what my own mother would say or think. But then, I haven’t talked to her either. Even if I had, the fact that she hasn’t bothered to contact me tells me she wouldn’t care.
“And you and our Stella?” Rebecca croons. “You found each other.”
“I always wondered,” Scott says.
He did? Brice would have gone ballistic had he thought there was something between me and his baby sister. At least, he would have a decade ago.
I clear my throat and glance back at Stella. She’s so close. I sat her on this counter, and she pulled me in—up close and personal. The air between us has grown warm.
“We reconnected,” I say, “and things … escalated.”
Rebecca’s eyes dim. “But you didn’t tell us. What about a big California wedding? What about a celebration? What about us?” She sighs, and then her eyes flick back to the screen. “Wait. Stella Grace, tell me this was not the result of a drunken night in Vegas.”
“Drunken—” Scott says, his gray brows lifting to the top of his head.
“Umm—yes,” Stella says, her eyes downcast as if she is also disappointed in us. “Super drunken. Super married. Only … it happened in Reno.” She sucks air between her teeth and wrinkles her nose.
But I’m suddenly fearing the wrath of not only my best friend from beyond the grave, but also his father. “Um—” I push my head into view. “Not that drunken.”
Stella looks at me as if I’m ruining a perfect setup. “A little drunken,” she says.
“Semi-drunken. But I knew what I was doing when I asked her,” I say. I have no intention of losing the admiration that somehow Scott and Rebecca still have for me.
“Yes. Semi-drunken.” Stella’s eyes turn to slits.
“But mostly sober because we are crazy in love!” I shout the words as if I were auctioning off my humanity.
“Crazy!” Stella yells, matching my tone.
Scott and Rebecca don’t respond. They stare at us through the small screen of Stella’s phone, blinking, quiet, waiting for the next outburst.
“I’m sorry, Mom,” Stella says. “Please forgive us. We never meant to hurt you. It’s Roman. Your favorite. And he loves me.”
Stella nudges me with her palm.
“So in love,” I say.
Rebecca’s wrinkled forehead smooths, and her hands cup together at her heart. “Our Roman and our Stella. It’s like the family’s back together.” Rebecca sighs.
Back together. She says it as if when I left, a part of their family went missing. I swallow past the lump in my throat and let Stella take over.
“It’s great. Right? Good news!” Stella lets go of my shirt and gives her mother a big thumbs-up.
“We’ll need to have a reception or two. One in Cali and one in Canada—”
Stella coughs. “For sure. But not yet.” Her gaze darts to me. “Roman’s crazy busy right now. Pro athlete and all. He’s so, so, so busy. We’ll let you know when he isn’t.”
But I am nudged once more by my wife/fiancée/roommate. “So busy.”
“So, let’s regroup and talk about it later,” Stella says. “Okay, well, we have all kinds of … married things to do. So, let’s talk next week—”
“Wait!” Rebecca calls. “Stella.” She huffs out the woman’s name. “You can’t just go. I need details. Where are you two living?”
Stella wilts beside me, so I take the lead and answer question after question. When Rebecca asks about Stella’s job, I tell them she’s left to be here with me.
We are home free, and this conversation is about at an end when Rebecca chimes in with, “You don’t look very in love.”
Stella stiffens. “What does that mean?”
Rebecca lifts one shoulder and looks at Scott, who seems to be studying us more intently. “Just what it means. I’m looking. I’m hearing. But I don’t see the love.”
On the counter and half a foot taller than me, Stella easily loops her arm over my shoulder, pulling me close. “Well, we are.”
I watch the two of us in the tiny box in the lower left of Stella’s screen. Do we look in love?
I wrap one arm around her waist and press a soft kiss to her cheek. Goosebumps erupt over Stella’s arm, and her cheeks bloom a rosy pink.
“Maybe,” Scott says, “you’re still seeing little Stella and Roman, kids.”
Rebecca laughs softly. “Maybe. Brice always said Stella wasn’t allowed to date until she’d moved out on her own.”
Stella sniffs beside me. She’s gone quiet.
“Well,” Rebecca says after a moment. “I’m seeing it now.” Her eyes brim with happy tears. “We love you, Roman. We’ve missed you. We couldn’t pick anyone better for our daughter.”
My heart patters with the love and grace they freely offer after my very long absence. “Thanks, Mrs. E.”
“I’ll call later,” Rebecca says, “and we can talk reception.”
“Real soon!” Stella barks. “As soon as Roman’s busy season lets up. Okay, gotta go! Thanks. Bye. Bye!” She taps ‘end call’ and leans back into the cupboard, her breath haggard and short. “That was close.”
“You say that as if we just dodged a tornado.”
Her eyes flutter, and she releases one sighing breath. “We did. The whole reason that worked is because my parents have always been half in love with you since you were a child.”
“That doesn’t make me feel better.”
“By the way,” she says, disregarding my comment, “your season is never letting up, got it? You will be busy until the end of time. There will never be time for a reception.”