Chapter Thirty-Three
LILY
Five hours is a long time to be stuck in a car with a five-year-old. A lot of people think New England is a bunch of little states all squished together, but Maine is pretty big. The drive to central New Hampshire was beautiful and endless.
It didn't help that I was twisted with nerves, imagining what might happen once we reached our destination. I carried my mother's letters in the front seat with me, reading them again and again, reassuring myself that I was wanted.
She'd missed me. I thought I'd never see her again. Years of grief and loss had been bottled up, and the letters popped the cork, letting it all out in a fountain of heartbreak and need.
Need for my mom. For my dad, as strict and distant as he'd been. Stingy with hugs, quick to disapprove, but he'd loved me.
Some parents hurt with neglect. My dad was the opposite. My dad hurt because he loved too much, and with that love came expectations and ultimatums.
I watched Adam in the rear-view mirror, happily kicking his feet while playing a game on my phone. Screen time restrictions were lifted when we were stuck in a car for hours. In between stops for the bathroom—far too many of them—I'd give anything to keep him quiet.
What would they think of Adam? Would they care that he was adopted? That he was mine yet not mine? I couldn't bear the thought that we might reunite, and I'd have to leave because they couldn't accept my son.
I couldn't bear the thought, but I had to acknowledge it was a possibility. They hadn't accepted Trey. What made me think they'd accept a child who was clearly Trey's and just as clearly had not come from my body?
I'd protect Adam from anything, including my own parents. I prayed I wouldn't have to.
For most of the drive, it felt like we'd never get there. Then, familiar landmarks came into view. My stomach knotted, and I wished the drive would never end.
I didn't want to do this. I wanted to be past this part, past the awkward introductions and the uncertainty. I reached out to touch Knox's arm. He turned his wrist and closed his fingers around mine.
“It's going to be okay, Lily,” he said, too low for Adam to hear. “And if it's not, we're out of there.”
I nodded, my throat too tight to talk. If it wasn't okay, we'd leave. Simple as that.
And from here to Atlanta, and Knox's family, and a whole new set of worries. His brother didn't approve of our relationship. Lucas, Charlie, and Griffen had been great, but Knox's brothers—
Can it, Lily. Obsess over one thing at a time. If you try to worry about all of it at once, your brain is going to explode.
My brain might explode anyway.
By the time the SUV pulled into my parents' driveway I was so nauseous with nerves I thought I was going to throw up. Knox's hand pressed to my back, urging me to lean forward and put my head between my knees. His fingers stroked up my spine, easing my tight muscles.
“You want me to go first? Clear the way?”
For a second, I wanted to say yes. Yes, please go fix this for me so I don't have to see the rejection in my dad's eyes. The disappointment in my mother's face.
No freaking way, Lily, I lectured myself. Grow a spine. You have a son. You can forgive yourself for the past, but not if you keep making bad decisions. Woman up and go knock on the door.
Sucking in a breath through my nose, I held it, letting it out slowly before I sat up and unsnapped my seatbelt. “I can do this. I'm ready,” I lied.
“You want us to wait in the car?” Knox asked. He did not like that option. I loved that he offered it anyway. I could pretend to be brave, but I couldn't do this alone.
“No. I think you two should come with me.”
I got out of the car, my hands shaking only a little as I unfastened my seatbelt. I met Knox at the hood, taking Adam's little hand in mine.
“Where are we, Mom?”
“This is the house where I grew up. We're going to see if your grandparents are home.”
“Really? You lived here when you were little?”
“I did. And it looks exactly the same.”
The flowerbeds in the front of the house were different, of course. My mother had inherited her mother's love of gardening, hence her name, Rose, and mine. She changed the design of the beds almost every year, but, flowers aside, everything was the same.
The same pristine white siding and forest-green shutters. The same wraparound porch with white swing. Walking distance to campus with a sunlit studio tucked in the backyard, it was the perfect house for a professor and his artist wife.
I didn't know my father's class schedule anymore, had no idea if they'd be home, but I hadn't had the nerve to call ahead.
Looking down at Adam, I forced a bright smile. “Should we ring the bell?”
He darted ahead, dragging me along with him. Knox followed behind. I rang the bell, listening to it echo through the house, the familiar tones bringing on a wave of nostalgia so sharp tears stung my eyes.
Silence inside, but that didn't mean anything. If my father was in his office, or my mother in her studio, it might take them a while to investigate the ring of the bell. I gave it thirty seconds and rang again, blinking away the moisture in my eyes.
Finally, the steady cadence of feet in the hall. Too heavy to be my mother. My breath grew tight.
Between the two of them, I'd rather see my mother first, but I'd take what I could get.
The door opened.
My father stood there, looking exactly the same and alarmingly different. Older. His walnut skin was wrinkled at the forehead. There were threads of gray in his close-cropped dark hair. Reading glasses tangled around his neck, but those weren't new.
His slouchy khakis and worn argyle cardigan with leather patches on the elbows were exactly the same. My dad dressed like the stereotypical stuffy professor he was. No amount of teasing from my more flamboyant mother could prompt him to try anything else.
His eyes flared with surprise when he saw me. The hint of emotion kindled hope in my heart. Then surprise was sucked away, and his face went blank.
“Lily. You're here.”
“Yes. I—”
Why hadn't I thought about what to say? Five hours in the car, reading my mother's letters over and over, and I never planned what to say.
From beside me, a little voice broke into the silence. “Are you my grandpa?”
I squeezed Adam's hand, sending a prayer to the heavens that my dad would say the right thing. My father looked at me in question.
“Dad, I'd like you to meet my son, Adam.”
Another flare in my father's eyes, an emotion I couldn't read. I'd never been able to read him well.
To my relief, he bent a little at the waist and held out a hand to Adam. In his measured, professor voice, he said, “Yes, if you're Lily's son, I would be your grandfather. It's nice to meet you.”
He hadn't exactly held his arms open in welcome, but it was better than nothing. Shifting awkwardly on the doorstep I said, “I, uh, I—”
Realizing I was making a mess of this, I stepped back to nudge Knox up to my side.
“Dad, this is Knox Sinclair. He's—”
Knox stuck out his hand and gripped my father's, giving it a firm shake. “I'm with Lily. May we come in?”
My father stepped back, his eyes darting from Knox to me to Adam and back to me. “I'll get your mother.”
He left us standing in the hall and strode in the direction of the back door. She must be working in her studio.
I'd grown up in this house, but I didn't feel comfortable exploring. Not yet. Not until I knew we were welcome. From what I could see, everything looked the same. Same dining room furniture, the living room sofa in the same navy velvet with the same tapestry blanket draped over the back.
The screen door at the back of the house slammed shut. My mother strode down the hall, back straight, chin high, long blond hair streaming behind her.
Her loose, poppy-red shirt flowed over skinny jeans to feet covered in paint-splattered Converse sneakers. Truly, most of her was paint splattered. Nothing new there.
Closer to Knox's height than mine, she towered over me, arms crossed over her chest, gaze appraising. I felt the weight of it as she absorbed me. My poofy, natural curls, gone wild in the humidity of summer. My freckles, darker from playing in the lake with Adam. My casual sundress and sandals.
She let out a breath I hadn't realized she was holding, her arms coming around me with wiry strength, drawing me close. Mouth at my ear, she breathed, “Lily. My baby. My baby girl. Oh, Lily.”
I wrapped my arms around her slender body, burying my face against her shoulder. She smelled the same, like flowers and earth and turpentine. My chest hitched with a sob, and I held her tighter, able to say only, “Mom. Mom.”
Adam tugged at my dress. His brows knit together, eyes shadowed with worry, he pulled harder. “Mommy?”
I pulled away from my mother and closed Adam's hand in mine. “Mom? This is Adam. My son.”
My mother's eyes fastened on Adam's face, fixed on his features. I knew what she saw. Trey. Not me. I braced, ready to scoop up my boy and take off if she gave even the slightest hint he wasn't welcome.
Abruptly, her grey eyes filled with tears. She dashed them away with the back of her hand and dropped to her knees, opening her arms in a hug. Adam went to her, his voice muffled by her paint-stained shirt. “You're my grandma? Why is everyone crying?”
In the crisp voice that had delivered so many parental lectures, she answered, “Because we haven't seen each other in a very long time, and we're happy to be together now.”
“Why would you cry when you're happy?”
“Because my heart is so full it hurts, just a little. A good hurt. I never imagined I had a grandson.”
“I didn't know I had a grandma.”
I was a huge jerk. It was Trey's fault our estrangement had lasted so long, not mine. I still felt like a jerk for not telling Adam he had grandparents he'd never met.