Chapter 4 #2
“You’ve been gone for far too long, baby girl,” she murmured, squeezing me with surprising strength. “Still gorgeous, though. Your mother can thank me for those genes.”
“I heard that, Mom.” My mother sighed.
MeMaw sniffed. “You were supposed to.”
She kept one arm wrapped around my waist as her sharp blue eyes surveyed the kitchen like a general preparing for battle. “There’d better still be pizza left. I didn’t come all this way to starve. And by the way, that driveway of yours is a death trap. Nearly broke my hip getting out of the car.”
My mom shot my dad a look. “Did you actually make it into the driveway, Mom?” she asked.
“Or did you use the lawn again? ”
“Well, where else was I supposed to park? The neighbor’s kitchen? Heavens, Emily, use your head.”
Mom snorted and pinched the bridge of her nose, but out of the corner of my eye I saw Dad grab MeMaw’s keys from her purse and head out to move her car.
MeMaw’s gaze landed on the Christmas tree in the living room next, and her eyebrows shot up so high they nearly hit her hairline. “Is that what y’all are calling a tree? Looks like a squirrel dragged in a branch and gave up halfway through decorating.”
If it wasn’t obvious, MeMaw was a big fan of Christmas. She considered it her Valentine’s Day and said that the men in her fifty-five and up community were extra in the spirit this time of year.
I wasn’t sure what that meant, and I was also sure I didn’t want to know.
“She’s going for minimalist,” I whispered.
“She’s going for tragic,” MeMaw whispered back.
“We’re keeping things simple this year because of Paige’s wedding,” Mom said, setting a tray of cookies that she’d just pulled out of the oven down on the counter.
The scent of them instantly filled the kitchen—store-bought cookie dough baked to perfection. If there was an Olympic category for baking pre-portioned dough, my mom would medal every time.
“Simple is for funerals, Emily, not Christmas,” MeMaw declared, plucking a cookie right off the tray and biting into it like it wasn’t burning hot. “And these better not be any of that gluten-free bullshit, or I’m walking right back out that door.”
Aunt Kathy was gluten-free, and MeMaw had happened to come over for a meal my mom had attempted to cook for my aunt. MeMaw had taken one bite of the brown rice pasta and actually spit it back onto her plate, coughing like she was dying.
Good times.
“They’re not, Dorothy,” my dad said as he came back in with MeMaw’s keys. He leaned in close as he passed by. “She’d made it all the way into the bushes this time,” he whispered in my ear.
“Good. I don’t trust anyone who doesn’t eat real cookies,” MeMaw announced, chewing loudly as her ornaments swung wildly under her ears like wrecking balls.
“Back in my day, we didn’t waste time with all this organic nonsense.
We ate what we wanted and then handled the consequences like adults—with a shot of whiskey and a good lie. ”
“Wise words, Mom,” my mother drawled.
MeMaw ignored her completely.
“And speaking of men,” MeMaw said suddenly.
“She wasn’t,” I cut in, but it was too late.
“It’s my understanding you’re still single.”
I grimaced. “MeMaw…”
“What?” she asked, blinking innocently. “I’m just saying.
A girl as pretty as you ought to be snatched up by now.
The men should be tripping all over themselves.
I blame these boys today. No grit. No guts.
Not like your Papaw. Or Ronald from next door.
They knew their way around a woman’s hoo-ha, that’s for sure. ”
My dad made a choking sound.
“Don’t act like you weren’t impressed by his Corvette and those calves. That man knew how to use a resistance band.”
He started choking again and wandered off to refill his drink.
“I think I’m good on the dating advice,” I said quickly, grabbing a cookie to stuff in my mouth before she could push further.
“Well, fine,” she said with a sniff. “But don’t come crying to me when you end up alone with twenty cats.”
“Maybe I like cats,” I muttered.
“You don’t,” she shot back without missing a beat. “Now, someone pour me a drink before I say something rude.”
“You just said something rude,” Aunt Kathy pointed out.
“I meant ruder,” MeMaw replied sweetly as she glided…okay, clomped…toward the living room, muttering about the tree and “these bland cookies. ”
I was grinning as I watched her go.
That was tame for her.
At least she hadn’t brought up Easton.
Yet.
With my luck…it was only a matter of time.
All was going shockingly well until I heard the front door creak open, followed by the familiar thunk-thunk of boots on tile and the soft murmur of voices. A few seconds later, Paige swept into the kitchen with…Levi.
I had to swallow down the weird twist in my stomach when I saw him.
Good to see time had been kind to him. His floppy brown hair was still falling perfectly into place like some Pantene commercial gone rogue, and his bright brown eyes still looked perpetually amused.
Levi’s broad shoulders and muscular frame made it clear he still spent a lot of time at the gym, but his easygoing smile softened him—made him look like the kind of guy who’d rescue kittens from storm drains and remember your birthday.
He was perfect for my gorgeous, charming, annoyingly flawless sister.
Paige, with her auburn hair cascading in cinematic waves down her back, practically glowed .
Not even in a bridal way. Like, in an “I was touched by an angel and moisturized with fairy tears” kind of way.
She wore winter white like she’d invented it, her cheeks flushed from the cold, and her lips were naturally pink and glossy.
She and Levi were all smiles, looking disgustingly happy.
Like they shared secrets and playlists and a private language only the hot and in love could decode.
It was very sweet. But I also hadn’t actually ever seen them speak in high school since Paige was two years older than us, so it was a little weird to see them wrapped around each other now .
But, evidently, no one else was having that problem.
Mom swooped in for a hug from Levi, squealing like she’d just been reunited with a long-lost son.
Dad clapped Levi on the back like they shared beers on weekends.
And even our dog, Frederick Von Licktenstein, came charging over, tail wagging furiously like he hadn’t decided last week that he only liked people who gave him rotisserie chicken.
Traitor.
Paige’s brown eyes scanned the kitchen, and when she spotted me, they lit up even more. “Natty-kins!” she exclaimed, gliding over to throw her arms around my neck like we were in some kind of reunion special.
It was good to know that my childhood nickname was indeed going to follow me for the rest of time. I’d always wondered if it would die out with maturity, but no. Apparently, it was here to stay. I could rest easy now.
I gave her a tight but warm hug because, for all her dramatic flair and bridal sparkle, I did love the brat.
And then there was Levi, arms open like we were long-lost siblings instead of—well, whatever weird Venn diagram our history fell into.
Someone who would have been privy to all the no doubt terrible things Easton had to say about me after we’d broken up.
I hesitated. Hugging Levi felt a little like hugging a land mine. One that also might talk.
But I went through with it, stiffly, and he gave me a brief squeeze like this was just another holiday get-together and not a ticking emotional time bomb.
“Hey, Nat,” he said, his voice as easy as ever, but his eyes held that tiny, knowing edge.
“Hey,” I mumbled, avoiding his eyes and grabbing another slice of pizza, hoping to bury the awkwardness under cheese and pepperoni. If my mouth was permanently stuffed, then no one could expect me to talk, right?
That was the plan anyway.
Everyone launched into small talk about the wedding…
what ti me everyone was heading to the resort tomorrow, how beautiful the venue was going to be, blah, blah, blah.
I probably should have been paying close attention—maid of honor and all of that—but my patience wore thinner with every passing second, the anxiety buzzing under my skin like electric eels had attached themselves to my arms.
Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore. “Is he going to be there?” I blurted out, interrupting Levi mid-sentence.
The room froze.
Everyone knew who he was. The he to end all hes . The he my brain had refused to let go of for the last almost two years.
Except MeMaw, who, of course, let out a little snicker like this was her favorite soap opera and someone had just dropped a shocking paternity twist.
Paige winced, her gaze darting to Levi like she was silently begging him to handle it.
“Uh, yeah,” Levi said, shifting his weight awkwardly. “He’s actually on his way here now.”
I stared at him, my brain rebooting like a computer from 1997. “What?”
“He texted me like ten minutes ago. He’s almost here,” he said, tone casual, like we were talking about a UPS delivery and not the fucking ex love of my life.
“What?” I repeated again. My voice came out as a shriek this time, louder than I’d intended. “Here? Now?”
And that’s when the knock came.
Right on cue. Like some cruel sitcom moment written by the gods of cosmic mischief.
I went into full-body panic mode.
“Nope. Nope. I’m out,” I said frantically, dropping my plate like it had burned me and backing out of the kitchen as everyone stared at me like I was crazy.
It wasn’t even a graceful retreat. I knocked over the coat rack, almost tripped on the dog—Frederick barking once like he approved of the drama—and I barreled down the hallway toward my childhood bedroom.
“Nat, come on,” Paige called out after me, but I didn’t turn around.