Chapter 3 #2
“You'd be safer here,” Mom said, adding heavy cream to the boiled potatoes before she mashed them. “Living with us instead of clear across town with Miss Laverne.”
Dad perked up like a hunting dog catching a scent. “Now that's a thought. Your room's exactly how you left it. That bookshelf is still full of those romance novels you used to hide under your bed.”
“Dad!” My face burned.
“What? I'm just saying, we've got plenty of space. You could save money on rent and have home-cooked meals every night.”
“Miss Laverne doesn't charge me much, and she cooks too.”
“But does she make pot roast like your mother?”
I laughed and shook my head. “You two are impossible. Tag-teaming me like this.”
“Can't blame us for trying.” He winked at me. “Though I suppose Miss Laverne's place is nice enough. She still making that cornbread that won the county fair three years running?”
“Four years now. She's got the fourth ribbon hanging in the kitchen.”
“Well then.” He wrapped an arm around my shoulders, pulling me against his side. “Guess I can't compete with award-winning cornbread. But you better visit enough that your mother stops giving me those looks.”
“What looks?” Mom protested, though her lips twitched with suppressed laughter.
“The ones that say I should've tried harder to convince her. The ones that have me sleeping on the couch because our only daughter is living across town instead of safe under our roof.”
“I have never made you sleep on the couch.”
“There's always a first time.”
I leaned into Dad, letting myself enjoy the moment.
Growing up, I'd been such a daddy's girl, going into his small shop where he worked on repairing things. Sometimes he’d let me go on a friendly job when he’d work on fixing a burned-out fuse.
Randy might have gotten his looks, but everyone said I'd gotten his heart, and apparently some things hadn't changed.
One smile from him and my defenses crumbled like week-old cornbread.
“Fine,” he said after a moment, his voice vibrating through his chest. “Stay with Miss Laverne.
But you better visit enough that your mother stops threatening me with couch exile.
And I want you to check in, especially after those night shifts.
Text, call, carrier pigeon, I don't care. Just let us know you made it home safe.”
“I can do that.”
“And Sunday dinners are mandatory.”
“Already promised Mom.”
“Good.” He released me and moved to the stove, lifting the lid on one of the pots. “Smells incredible, honey. When do we eat?”
“Twenty minutes, if someone would stop distracting my sous chef.” Mom handed me another knife. “Joy, finish the salad. Cobb, go wash up and change out of your work clothes.”
Dad grumbled good-naturedly but headed upstairs. I returned to chopping vegetables, the rhythm soothing. This felt right—being in Mom's kitchen, preparing a meal together. Even if I couldn't live here, I could have this.
The door opened again, no knock this time. Seth walked in like he still lived here, which technically he didn't, having his own townhome near the fire station where he worked. His military short blonde hair was still damp, probably from a post-shift shower.
“JoJo.” He crossed straight to me, pulling me into a tight hug that reminded me so much of Dad's it was almost comical. When he pulled back, his expression turned serious, that big brother look I knew too well. “Mom says you're living with Miss Laverne instead of here.”
My spine stiffened automatically. “That's right.”
“That's ridiculous.” He leaned against the counter, arms crossed. “You should absolutely be living with our parents.”
“Seth.”
“I'm serious. You've been gone for years, they've missed you, and now you're back but living with some old lady across town?”
“Miss Laverne is not some old lady. She's a perfectly lovely woman who happens to have a room for rent.”
“Our parents have a room for free. Your room, actually.”
“I need my own space.”
“Why?” His eyes narrowed. “There’s something up with you. I’ve been feeling it for a long time. What’s up, little sister?”
“Nothing is up.” The familiar heat of an argument started building in my chest, my hands clenching around the knife handle. “I'm a grown woman making a choice about where I live.”
“You're my little sister making a stupid choice.”
“Excuse me?”
“And working the night shift?” He shook his head. “Are you trying to give Dad a heart attack? Do you know how dangerous it is for a woman alone at night?”
“I work at a veterinary clinic, not a biker bar.”
“Crime doesn't care where you work.”
“Oh my God, Seth, you're being ridiculous.”
“I'm being realistic. Randy agrees with me.”
“Randy's not here.”
“Because he's working, but he'll tell you the same thing when he gets here for dinner.”
The argument we'd been building toward for two weeks was about to explode. I could feel it in the tension in my shoulders, the way Seth's jaw clenched, the familiar battlefield of siblings who knew exactly which buttons to push.
“Now, now.” Mom stepped between us with the practiced ease of someone who'd broken up countless sibling arguments.
Her hands were gentle on both our arms, but firm enough to create distance.
“Let's not ruin Joy's first family dinner with arguing.
Seth, would you set the table? Use the good plates, we're celebrating having Joy back.”
Seth's jaw tightened, but he nodded. “This conversation isn't over.”
“It is for tonight,” Mom said firmly. “Randy will be here soon, and I won't have you two upsetting dinner. Joy, help me with the rolls. Seth, table. Now.”
Crisis averted, at least temporarily. Seth grabbed plates from the cabinet with perhaps more force than necessary, while I pulled the rolls from the oven. The kitchen filled with the warm smell of yeast and butter.
“He means well,” Mom said quietly.
“He's overbearing.”
“He's protective. They both are.”
Randy arrived just as we were putting food on the table, still in his work clothes from the construction site.
Where Seth had gotten Mom's lean runner's build, Randy was built like Dad, broad and solid.
He hugged me tight, lifting me slightly, but didn't immediately launch into lectures about my living situation.
“Good to have you home, JoJo,” he said simply.
Dinner started peacefully enough. We passed dishes around the table, everyone loading their plates with Mom's salad, pot roast, vegetables, mashed potatoes, and rolls.
Conversation flowed easily at first, Randy telling a funny story about a mishap at the construction site and Dad explaining about an old house that he was doing an entire electrical upgrade on.
But I could feel Seth watching me, could sense the conversation he wanted to have bubbling under the surface. Sure enough, as Mom served dessert, he started again.
“Joy, I've been thinking.”
“Dangerous,” Randy muttered, earning a glare from Seth.
“If you insist on living across town, at least let one of us check out the house. Make sure the locks are good, maybe have Dad work with Ace Alarm Systems to install a security system.”
“Miss Laverne has lived there her whole life without incident.”
“Miss Laverne isn't a young woman living alone who works night shifts.”
“Seth, drop it,” I said.
“I'm trying to help.”
“You're trying to control.”
“That's not—”
“Enough.” Dad's voice cut through our building argument.
“Both of you. Joy's an adult. She gets to make her own choices, even if we don't like them.” He looked at me.
“But you also need to understand we worry because we love you.
That's not going to change whether you're twenty-three or eighty-four.”
The table fell silent for a moment. Then Randy reached for another roll.
“Pass the butter?” he asked, and just like that, the tension eased.
We finished dessert, Mom's apple pie that was worth every calorie, and I helped clear the table. As I was washing dishes, Seth came up beside me, taking a dish towel to dry.
“I'm sorry,” he said quietly. “I just worry.”
“I know.”
“But I still think you should consider moving back home.”
I flicked soapy water at him. “And I still think you should mind your own business.”
He grinned, and for a moment we were kids again, doing dishes after dinner, bickering but united.
“I missed you,” he admitted.
“Missed you too.”
By the time I left, promising to come for dinner again next Sunday, some of the awkwardness had faded. Dad walked me to my car, insisting on checking that all the lights on my car worked properly.
“You know we just want you happy, right?” he said, closing my hood after inspecting something.
“I know.”
“And safe.”
“I know, Daddy.” He melted, like I knew he would. Me calling him Daddy always got to him.
He pulled me into one more hug. “Text when you get to Miss Laverne's.”
“It's just across town.”
“Humor your old man.”
I smiled. “Okay.”
As I drove away, I could see them in my rearview mirror, Mom and Dad standing on the porch watching me go. Seth's truck was still in the driveway, and I knew they'd spend another hour discussing my life choices after I left.
But that was okay. They were my family. Overprotective, occasionally overbearing, but mine. And despite needing my space, despite the complicated feelings about being back in Jasper Creek, I was grateful to have them.
I pulled into Miss Laverne's driveway and sent Dad a quick text: “Home safe. Love you.”
His response was immediate: “Love you too, baby girl. See you next Sunday.”
For now, this balance would have to work. My independence and their need to protect. My own space and family dinners. It wasn't perfect, but nothing ever was.
I climbed the porch steps to Miss Laverne’s front door, already thinking about what dessert I should make for next Sunday.
I shivered when I found her door unlocked.