3
New Things
Mitch
“Chi-Chi?”
Immediately, my chest fills with warmth at the sound of my mom’s voice. The tiny woman with chocolate-colored hair stands in the doorway, her light-brown eyes weary but still filled with love.
“You made it.”
She rushes over, and I barely have time to get up from the couch before she wraps her arms around my waist, squeezing tightly.
“Hey, Mom.” She crumbles within my embrace, rests her cheek against my chest, and releases a quiet sniffle. She holds me for way too long, but I let her because I can tell she’s worried I’ll pull away. Still, part of me wants to do exactly that because this is so strange to me.
I’m at odds with my mother, with how she handled everything years ago and the fact that she is back with my father now.
But just because I don’t understand her motives doesn’t mean I resent her for them.
Time away from my parents has let me mature and release any anger I had. Or at least I’ve been trying to.
But then Bill coughs, reminding me of his presence. The feelings I’ve kept at bay return—the ones that won’t ever let me be okay with the tears my mom sheds for him. Reminding me that even though he’s dying, he’s yet again the reason she’s in pain.
A faint, malicious voice in the back of my mind points out that Bill is getting his just deserts, but not wanting to start a fight, I cast that voice aside.
“For Pete’s sake, Robyn. Let the kid go,” Bill barks.
Mom draws away, wiping her face with the backs of her hands. “I’m allowed to hug my son, William. It’s been such a long time.” She smiles up at me, then lays a soft hand on my bearded cheek. “What’s this?”
“He’s had that beard for years,” Dad throws in, his words tainted with bitterness, but at least that means he’s been watching my games.
“Not this long,” Mom corrects him and then winks at me. She presses her lips together and tucks her hands into her elbows as if fighting the urge to wrap them around me for another hug. “Can I get you something to drink? Coffee? Soda?”
The scotch from the plane has worn off. “I’ll have a beer.”
Her eyebrow perks up. “A beer?” She chuckles, but then taps my arm. “I’ll see what we have.”
Once she’s gone, I notice Dad watching me with an unrecognizable expression.
Clearing my throat, I look around. The house is still my childhood home, but it also seems light-years away from the warm, welcoming place it used to be before Mom moved out.
Before Joanne Nolan snuck in and messed everything up.
I step closer to the artwork on the wall near the fireplace. Landscapes of the Oakwhite shores and beaches. “Did Mom paint these?”
Bill grunts. “It sure wasn’t me.”
I roll my eyes, relieved he’s not looking. A simple yes would have sufficed. Mom returns holding a beer and some weirdly colored brown thing. Might be a milkshake, might be sludge.
“Lunchtime,” she says, handing Bill the glass. If looks could kill, he would have just murdered his lunch.
Mom notices my grimace and laughs softly. “It’s a health shake the doctor recommended. It’s supposed to help with everything.” Her eyes flicker to Bill’s, and they share an unspoken, strained exchange that leaves me more awkward than before.
“Bottoms up.” I raise my bottle.
With another grunt, Dad lifts his glass, then glares into it before tipping it back.
His Adam’s apple bobs with every swallow, and I can tell he’s trying not to taste it.
I hide my disgust with a few sips of my beer.
It’s a Budweiser, my mom’s favorite, but it tastes like water compared to the brews we’ll be selling at the brewery.
Still, not wanting to be rude, I keep swallowing it down.
“So, where are you staying, Chi-Chi?” Mom asks.
Something about my mom still using my childhood nickname makes me feel so small, even though I’m a foot and a half taller than her.
“I figured I’d stay here,” I reply.
Her expression goes blank as her eyes dart to Bill.
“I mean, if that’s all right? If not, I could find a hotel,” I suggest, feeling suddenly awkward as if I’ve interrupted something personal.
“No, no, it’s fine. More than fine. I’m surprised that’s all.” She reaches over and takes my hand, tugging me to sit with her on the couch. “Your room is exactly how you left it,” she adds with a kind smile that dimples her cheeks. “Well, more or less. There’s a new bed. It’s nice. Comfy.”
Not offering his two cents, Dad keeps his eyes fixed ahead, staring out the window, but I can tell what he’s thinking. He’d rather I wasn’t here because being here means arguments and heavy, awkward silences. Means confronting our past and all the things I said, but can’t ever take back.
When Mom informed me about Dad’s illness and pleaded with me to come home, I agreed because it was time. She needs me here. And I was already coming back to Oakwhite for the brewery’s opening anyhow, so it wasn’t a big deal.
But I heard something more profound in her tone.
Something urgent and desperate, which is why I figured I’d stay here where I’m most needed.
Besides, it’s not like I can stay with Spencer and Bethany who are constantly fucking like bunnies, or with Hunter in his house that’s likely haunted by our dead best friend.
And there’s no way in hell I’m staying at the town’s only hotel, the Adams Inn, where Max works.
“Doesn’t the team pay you enough to get a hotel room?” Dad asks. Other than the inn, the closest hotel is a half-hour out of town.
“Bill,” Mom scoffs, but I tap her hand.
“They pay just fine, Dad. Like I said, I’ll sleep anywhere. I don’t mind.”
A coughing fit follows his grunt, racking his once lean and fit body. Teetering at the threshold of Death’s door, his body is giving up, and tells me this is where I have to be, if for nothing else than to help my mother. She’s going through this hell right alongside him.
“I’ll stay here. It’s closer to town.”
“Good.” Mom lights up, squeezing my hand. “I need to go shopping. We’re not big eaters, but you sure are.” She gives my stomach a gentle tap and giggles, lifting the tension off my shoulders and filling the room with levity.
“Don’t go out of your way, Mom. I’ll be gone in a few days, anyway.”
“A few days?” Her voice quivers with disappointment.
“Well, once the opening is over, sure. I have to get back to New York at some point.”
“Oh, of course you do.” She nods, trying to hide the hurt. Seeing it fill her eyes is one of the worst things ever. I hate how it throws me back to years ago when I told her I was leaving Oakwhite, and my guilt grows, becoming suffocating, like the silence in the room.
I hurry to finish my beer. “I’m going to meet the boys, so I’ll pick up some things on the way back.”
I stand up, Mom still holding my hand. “I appreciate it, Chi-Chi.”
She hugs me, gentler this time, and I kiss the top of her head.
“See you later, Dad,” I say, lightly laying my hand on his shoulder, careful not to squeeze too hard.
Still staring outside, he nods, and his icy dismissal makes me believe he wouldn’t give two shits if I walked out that door and never came back.
Max
Mitchell Adams standing at the door is like a cool breeze of fresh alpine air during a sandstorm.
It shouldn’t be because this is his parents’ house, after all.
If anyone belongs here, it’s Mitchell. Though someone should remind him of that.
The jerk hasn’t set foot in this house, or Oakwhite Bay, in over ten years.
His striking green gaze wipes away the years of resentment, filling me with a need to jump into his arms and escape the dumpster fire that is my life. Oddly, I’m also teetering between wishing his mother, Robyn, hadn’t asked me to stay and being ecstatic that she did.
The memory of Mitchell and me, of when we were practically like brother and sister, isn’t hard to conjure. Mitch was always there for me. Our mothers were best friends, so naturally, our families were very close.
Sometimes too close, I think, and that familiar resentment rears its ugly head.
I was about five years-old the first time Mitchell Adams walked into my life. From then on, I felt a certainty deep down, like an instinctive awareness that I could always rely on him. That he’d be there for me when it mattered most.
Well, I’d been wrong about that, hadn’t I?
Still, seeing him standing in front of me now, the years apart seem to vanish, just like the distance between us seems to have shrunk. And suddenly, I crave one of his notorious bear hugs, the kind that would swallow me and my concerns up.
All I can focus on is how strong his arms look; how much thicker they seem.
How the fabric of his dark blue T-shirt clings to his biceps.
Are they harder too, firmer than the last time they wrapped around me?
He was eighteen then, so I’m sure a lot about him has changed since.
One glance tells me those arms could surround me like a boa constrictor.
A strong, yet affectionate boa constrictor.
Am I thirsting for Mitchell Adams?
I sure fucking hope not.
There’s a glimmer of the solace I used to love in his gaze. And he looks really good.
Fuck. Why does he have to look so fucking good?
Beneath his too-long, too-scruffy beard, is that secret smile he’d save for the perfect moments. A smile that could ease your mind and make you feel like the most important person in the room.
But it fades far too quickly.
“You’re here,” I say after what feels like minutes, but is likely only seconds.
“Of course, I’m here. Why are you?” he snaps.
I shake my head, coming back to my senses.
He walks in, his wide frame filling the tiny foyer, dwarfing me, forcing me to take a step back.
I should hate how overbearing it is to be around him, but I don’t.
There’s something about his nearness, the familiarity of his presence, that washes over me like a cool ocean wave in the middle of summer, and it sends a very pleasant shiver down my spine.
Dammit. This is so not how I should feel.