Chapter 15 #2
One summer when I was a kid, Rand and his best friend created their own special vocabulary, and they had a blast talking in code in front of the pesky younger brother.
Super annoying. And now, it feels a bit like Everly is speaking in a foreign tongue.
But I do possess at least half a brain, so her meaning clicks.
“Sooo…what I hear you saying is that I’m a prospect? ”
She sets a wooden reindeer onto the grass and brushes off her hands. “Oh, Mom has most definitely tagged you as marriage material.”
“Mom has?”
“The second you walked in last night.”
I lay down the wooden sleigh that’s left a prickly splinter in my palm and step into the warm cloud where Everly’s breath meets cold air. “Just Mom?” I long to lay my palm along her jaw, right above the spot where a jumpy swallow hops in her throat. Her blush bolsters my confidence.
But she dodges, snagging a fistful of jacket and tugging me toward the building. “You’re slacking, Herd. Come on. You’ve got work to do.”
I happily follow along. Our moment will come, I’m more convinced of it than ever.
Twenty minutes later, Mrs. Bennett’s reincarnation claps her hands in glee at the thrown-up-on yard. “Oh, Knox! You’re the best. I can’t thank you enough. Now get in this house and let’s fill that stomach.” She takes hold of my arm and pulls me from the porch into the warm kitchen.
She whisks my coat from me and points me to the sink where I pump red soap that smells like spiced apple onto my hands. I dry them on the peppermint-striped towel she shoves at me while thanking me on repeating loop.
“No problem, ma’am. It was easy as pie.” I rehang the towel on the oven handle.
She squeezes the sleeve of my white button down. The tie I chose for this morning’s service lays coiled in the rental’s passenger seat.
“Call me Claire. I’m too young for that ma’am stuff.”
Everly glances over from where she stands on tiptoes removing a serving tray from a cabinet. The posture accentuates her long, exquisitely curved figure. We share quiet grins, hers sparkly and soul-warming.
She steps beneath an archway that looks to lead into a study and calls out. “Can you come get the drinks, Oak? We’re ready to eat!”
Oakley saunters into the fray. The aura of put-upon youngest sibling accompanies her into the room.
She takes one of the red, goblet-style glasses already lined up by the refrigerator and presses it to the dispenser in the stainless appliance’s door.
She throws me a thin and baffling smile. “Hi, Knox.”
“Good to see you again, Oakley.”
One eyebrow swoops up. “We’ll see.”
Alrighty then.
“Oakley!” Everly spins to me, her face pulled into an apology. “Ignore my sister. She has moods.”
Oakley’s smile for Everly is laced with little-sister snot as she sets the iced glass aside and reaches for another. “You look like you came from church, Knox.”
“I did. Nice service. Great Christmas music.”
“Hmm.”
She sounds as skeptical as I am every morning Mike insists he isn’t hungover from the night before.
Everly shakes her head. “Seriously, Knox. This is why we keep her locked up sometimes.”
Oakley stomps her foot. “Shut it, Everly.”
Claire lays her Santa oven mitts onto the counter and assesses the perfectly browned roast. “You’ll have to excuse my daughters, Knox. The truth is, sometimes I have to send both of them to their rooms without dinner.”
The scratchy-under-the-collar feeling subsides when everyone laughs.
Claire offers me the electric knife. “Would you do the honors?”
If she knew how to a T I fit the stereotype of men inept in the kitchen, she wouldn’t ask.
Snickers and giggles bounce about the kitchen a couple minutes later as I wince at the once beautiful, now slaughtered roast centered on the butcher block island.
Yep, butcher is the perfect word.
Claire pats my arm. “It’s alright. You’ll get the hang of it.”
The dinnertime dynamic in a household of women is the polar opposite of the testosterone heavy home I grew up in.
Lots of impeccable manners here. Ah, poor Mom.
Stuck with a pair of young sons, she fought powerful headwinds just to keep me and Rand civilized at the dinner table.
Simpler times, those days, when mine and my brother’s biggest conflict was obnoxious code talking.
If putting a ring on your brother’s ex isn’t the most literal and worst bro-code violation, what is?
“Is your meal alright, Knox?”
I press the cloth napkin to my mouth and allow the question to penetrate the haze engulfing my brain. “Oh, yes, ma’am—Claire. Everything is amazing.” I show my pearly whites in hopes of making up for letting the sullenness show. “Christmas dinner is going to have some competition this year.”
The compliment, only a mild exaggeration, puts a smile on her face. She’s a beautiful woman. Her face is a collection of attractive features organized into a near-replica of what Everly’s plus twenty-some years will be.
“Will you go home for Christmas?”
I use my knife to cut off a bite of roast, though the meat is tender enough a blade isn’t necessary.
“It’s not looking good. We’re running behind schedule.
The company is offering big bonuses if we make the deadline—which will probably mean shutting down for Christmas Day but nothing more.
Looks like most of my guys are taking LHS up on the offer. ”
“Your guys?” Oakley pins eagle eyes on me like I’m a field mouse on the open prairie, and her talons are out.
I lay my knife on the plate’s rim. “My crew, yes.”
Her deep crimson fingernails encircle the festive goblet, jiggling it and making the ice rattle. “So you’re the boss?”
The fun-loving little sis who crashed Everly’s and my deck-the-halls session and then pretty much shipped us on the spot is throwing off enemy vibes. Heck, if I didn’t know better, I’d assume her the litigator in this otherwise warm and welcoming family. “I’m in charge of the Chandor project, yes.”
Everly’s fork, mounded with gravy-laden mashed potatoes, has stalled before making it to her mouth. “I didn’t know that. I thought Cliff was.”
“Yeah, she thought Cliff was the boss.” Oakley’s honey-colored eyebrows challenge.
“Cliff is the foreman. I’m the—”
Oakley sets her glass down hard, snatching a singing phone from her pocket. Her eyes flare at the screen. “I’m sorry. I have to get this.”
Ignoring her mother’s protest, she darts away. The unmistakable sound of feet tromping stairs fades into the distance.
Claire shakes her head. “I apologize yet again, Knox. My daughter is not on her best behavior today. That was rude.”
Yeah, a little bit. Lucky for me, the reason I’m here in the first place is still seated to my right, gorgeous, sweet, and happy for my presence.
A cold heat makes its way over me. I think she’s happy. I want her to be happy. Meeting Everly as I did, at a greasy old diner, just goes to show the unpredictability of life. One minute I’m tossed about on the sea of rejection, and the next…Becca who?
Okay, I exaggerate. The image of my ex’s hand, studded with a different diamond than the one she’s yet to return to me, entangled with my own brother’s hand, is indelibly etched in my brain. I don’t wish either of them ill, but shoot, do they honestly expect congratulations?
Mom and Honey expect it—and I’m here to say the tenderhearted twosome may have overextended themselves in the faith-in-Knox-to-be-the-bigger-man department.
Claire lays her hand on my wrist, jolting me. “Is everything alright?” She makes a grumbly sound. “That girl…”
Everly shakes her head. “What’s with Oak anyway, Mom? She was wacky with me last night, too.”
“Your guess is as good as mine. It must have something to do with that call she bolted out of here to take.”
Sure not the way it feels from this vantage point. I can’t be imagining the steady drip of attitude oozing my way since walking into the house. And last night, she played hall monitor.
Everly’s mouth twirls into a sweet-with-snark smile. Borderline diabolical. “I’m very sorry, Knox. But don’t worry. I have big-sister ways of dealing with these kinds of things.”
“Everly Anne!”
I sputter a laugh that lightens the mood all around. “Don’t go to any trouble on my account. I’m not offended in the least. I count myself lucky to have dinner with three lovely ladies.” Good golly, I sound like an old geezer.
Everly spears a bite of roast and waves the fork to punctuate her words. “Nope. That girl’s in trouble with me now.”
I dial down the grin to about half wattage. “As the younger sibling myself, my sympathies may have to switch to Oakley.”
“They shouldn’t. Right, Mom?”
“Now, sweetie…”
Everly sighs and wince-smiles. “Now I’m sorry, Knox. Mom, we need to move things along. I think we’re making our guest as uncomfortable as Oak is.”
She isn’t wrong. I’m beginning to get a little warm and shifty in my chair.
The ladies move the conversation along, and by the time Oakley rejoins us, Everly, Claire, and I are an efficient trio, rinsing dishes and filling containers with leftovers.
The plate in my hand is lifted away by Claire. “You’re done in here, young man. Everly, hon, take Knox to the living room, and you two get to work on the tree. Oakley and I will be along as soon as we’re finished with the dishes.”
I dry my hands, and Everly and I meet up in front of the tree box. As in my home, there’s no point in arguing once a mother mind is made up.
Since last night, the space has been transformed into a Christmas wonderland.
Someone either stayed up late or got up way before church.
Stockings, garland, flickering candles. A bookshelf with a snow village, each building harboring a glowing votive.
The glaring omission is the tree, still taped up in its coffin of a box.
That honor has been saved for me and Everly.
Yippee? Decorating is not my strong suit.
She plops into an overstuffed recliner, yawning. “I’m sorry you got dragged into this, Knox. Fake trees take real work.”