12. Chapter 12
Chapter 12
Katherine
Mom and I walk into the kitchen, and I can tell her protective motherly instinct is going into overdrive by the way she squeezes my hand.
“How are you doing?" she asks. "I was very clear with your father—I told him I didn't think Adam moving in with you was a good idea."
"Mom, it's okay."
"I knew you were upset and wouldn’t want to talk about it, so I didn’t push the issue. But seeing you walk in together makes me wonder what’s going on."
“Adam and I had a long talk today,” I say. "I think we've found some common ground."
Mom looks speechless, so I continue. “He was going to buy another property just so I wouldn’t have to move. He told me he’d never ask me to leave or force me to put up with him. I thought about it, and I can’t bring myself to be that stubborn and let him do that for me.”
“So, he’s moving in?” Mom asks.
“Yes,” I reply.
“So, he’s not buying another place?” she presses.
“No. Well, yes,” I clarify. She looks confused. "He's buying the condo to flip, but he's moving in with me."
“For how long?” she asks. “Are you sure this is what you want?”
"It's what I want," I say, the realization settling over me as much as on her. "I'm teaching him how to cook!"
Mom takes a deep breath, and from the smile that spreads across her face, I can tell she approves.
"I'm proud of you, honey," she says, squeezing my hand. "You're handling this situation like an adult. I'm watching you mature right before my eyes."
I slip on an oven mitt and help her pull the pot roast from the oven, the rich aroma of rosemary and garlic filling the kitchen and making my mouth water. While she spoons drippings into a serving dish, I toss a loaf of garlic bread into the oven, the buttered edges already sizzling. I set the table, smoothing the creases from the cloth napkins like I’ve done a hundred times before, then cup my hands around my mouth and call down the hall, “Dinner’s ready!”
We all file into the dining room and take our usual spots at the table, Adam sitting as far away from me as possible. Not because we’re still enemies, but because that’s just how it’s always been. Our table seats eight. Dad sits at the head, with Mom on one side and me on the other. Next to me is Loren, with Justin at her side. Next to Mom is Laila, and Adam sits next to her. Adam looks up at me, and we exchange smiles. Even though things look the same, they feel different now.
Dinner is filled with a myriad of conversations happening simultaneously between bites of pot roast, salad, potatoes, and bread. Loren and I talk about the wedding, while Dad and Mom discuss the leaky faucet in the upstairs bathroom. Adam offers to help, and then he and Justin debate which team is better—the Giants or the Jets—while Laila sprinkles in ideas and opinions everywhere.
When Loren mentions the wedding flowers, she stops mid-sentence and turns to Adam. “Hey, Adam, the shadow box you gave me for my eighteenth birthday gave me an idea for my bridal bouquet.”
My interest is piqued as she continues. I notice Adam listening intently. Loren goes on, explaining everything there is to know about preserving fresh flowers—preserving the colors, drying them completely, shadow boxes, and silica gel dip. All of it is interesting, but I’m more curious about the shadow box Adam gave her.
After they finish their conversation, I look over at my sister.
“Shadow box?” I say. "Tell me more.”
She starts explaining the process again, but I stop her.
“No, tell me about the birthday gift Adam gave you.”
I can see the confusion on her face. I swear, everyone at the table stops what they’re doing. The forks stop clinking. Conversations end mid-sentence. I can see Justin out of the corner of my eye, a piece of bread in his hand and his mouth wide open, but nothing’s moving. Everyone seems frozen in place. I look at Laila, and her lips are pursed. I can almost hear her thinking, “Oh, oh, here we go again.”
To break the trance, I repeat the request slowly, over-articulating every word. “Loren, I’d love to hear all about the shadow box Adam gave you for your birthday.”
As if on cue, everything starts moving again. People pick up their conversations and their silverware.
I quickly realize it must have been a nightmare living with me back then.
Loren tells me all about it. When she was a little girl, she used to garden with Mom. We have an array of beautiful flowers planted in our garden, thanks to their hard work and green thumbs. Mom has kept it looking gorgeous over the years. In three months, it will serve as the backdrop for Loren and Justin’s wedding.
It all started when Loren was four. She adored Adam. I, on the other hand, was too busy resenting him—even then. He’d walk through the door after school or show up on weekends to watch football with Dad, and there she’d be: perched on the bench by the door, tiny legs swinging, a flower clutched in her little hands. She’d wait for him like he was someone important, someone special. And the moment he stepped inside, she’d march right up to him and say, “Adam, this is for you.”
Unbeknownst to anyone, Adam had been saving most of those flowers. Pressed and dried with care, each one held a memory. He arranged them into a delicate collage—soft petals, faded stems, all captured in a shadow box. Tucked beside them was a short birthday poem he’d written just for Loren,
“Where is it?” I ask.
“It was one of the few things I took with me to college,” Loren responds. “It was a great conversation starter in my dorm room. Now it’s in my bedroom, and when Justin and I move into our new house, it’s coming with me. I'll find the perfect spot for it.”
I can tell it’s one of her most prized possessions. “I can’t wait to see it,” I say, glancing at Adam and noticing the man I’ve never truly known.
For dessert, we have chocolate chip cookies with coffee—except for Justin, who drinks milk morning, noon, and night. Laila announces she’s heading out to see a movie with friends, then breezes through the door after doling out hugs and kisses like confetti. I watch her go, thinking how sweet she is. Soft-hearted, effortlessly kind, always the one making people feel seen. She’s going to make an incredible doctor someday.
Justin and Loren slip out the back door, hands intertwined, their heads close as they whisper things only the other can hear. The cool night air wraps around them, inviting and quiet, like it knows they’re about to lose themselves in words of love and dreams of a future together. I watch them go, a pang of envy settling in my chest. I can’t help it. The way they are with each other—so certain, so wrapped up in their own little world—makes me ache for something I’m not sure I’ll ever have.
That leaves just Mom, Dad, Adam, and me to hash out the living arrangements. Mom’s expression is unreadable, but I can tell she’s not entirely convinced. Her brows are furrowed, lips pressed into a thin line as if she’s already weighing every possible outcome. Dad, on the other hand, wears that knowing smile—like he knows something the rest of us don’t, and he’s just waiting for us to figure it out.
“I’m glad you two were able to work things out. Katherine, you’re a smart and sensible young woman. I knew it was just a matter of time before you realized Adam has never been nor will ever be a threat to your relationship with your mother and me.”
“I know, Dad, and I’m sorry. I’ve been so stubborn and unreasonable all these years.”
I turn to Adam, who’s sitting next to Dad, and push forward before the words get stuck in my throat. “Adam, I owe you an apology. For so many years, I focused on what I thought you were taking from me and completely missed the good things you brought to our family. The gift you gave Loren... it was such a beautiful gesture. One that took years to put together. How did you keep all those flowers intact? Seriously.”
A soft laugh escapes everyone, the tension easing just a little as smiles spread around the room.
“You and Dad shared moments that I wasn’t part of,” I continue, unable to hide the emotion I feel. “But that doesn’t take away from the moments that belong to me as his daughter. I had father-daughter dances, ballet recitals, karate matches, a sweet sixteen birthday party, prom, tennis, camping trips, trips to the beach, and the summer we backpacked together in Peru because, Dad, you wouldn’t let me go alone. I’ve had a lifetime of amazing memories that are solely mine. I’m sure you have some that are just as special. Just different. Neither one is more or less special than the other. It’s taken me eighteen years to realize that. Will you forgive me, Adam?”
He stands and reaches for my hand. I stand up and hug him. Tears start welling up inside me, and I can’t hold them in. They spill out and land on the front of his nice shirt. He looks down at me and uses his thumb to wipe a tear from my cheek. His touch makes me weak in the knees. My heart starts racing. I feel like I’m going to blush, and sure enough, heat rises to my cheeks. I let go of his embrace, hoping Mom and Dad will fill in the silence.
Dad to the rescue, “Adam, do you need any help moving your things?”
“No, sir,” Adam responds. “I don’t have much—just clothes that I’ve already dropped off at the house.”
“All right then,” Dad says. “If you need anything at the office, just let Sheri know. I knew that corner office with the big windows would work for you.”
“Thank you, Coach,” Adam says. “I appreciate it.”
With that, the dreaded conversation is over, and it went better than I could've ever expected.
***
When we get home, we walk up the porch steps, both of us quiet and lost in our own thoughts.
At the door, he looks at me. I love the fact that he's much taller than me. He's strong, and oh, so handsome. He makes me feel safe.
“Safely at home, my lady,” he says, as if reading my mind. “Can I walk you in?”
I laugh and unlock the door. “I need to make you a key,” I say.
“I have a key,” he replies.
“Of course you do,” I laugh. “I forgot. This is your house.”
“It’s our house,” he murmurs, ushering me inside.