Chapter 16
AMELIA
I’m at a table with fourteen people, four kinds of cheese, a brass candelabra that definitely wasn’t here this morning, and a deck of moon-themed oracle cards Marin laid out for “vibrational support and centerpiece aesthetics.”
The long wood table stretches through a clearing just beyond the back of the house, surrounded by mossy trees and scattered wildflowers.
Overhead, thick vines and trailing florals form a canopy, weaving through hidden rigging that’s attached to wooden poles spaced around the table.
Chandeliers dangle between branches, catching the afternoon light like they’re part of the forest now.
Lanterns glow gold. Taper candles flicker down the table in mismatched holders, casting soft shadows over linen napkins and vintage glassware.
Blankets are folded across the backs of chairs, warm and cozy.
And overhead in the canopy, nearly invisible, Gage’s discreet heating panels keep the whole space warm without losing the crisp autumn air.
It's wild and beautiful. A little messy. A little magical. The perfect setup for a family lunch that’s definitely going off the rails in the best possible way.
Luna just asked if fairy queens can officiate weddings. Marin is casually microdosing us with flower magic. And Tim made place cards that include everyone’s “wedding role.”
Marin is the “Keeper of the Vibe.” Because obviously. Tim’s words, not mine.
Hayden is the “Designated Secret-Keeper of Drunken Truths.” Tim thinks Hayden knows everything and will take it all to the grave.
Olivia is the “Emotional First Responder” because she doesn’t ask if you’re okay; she already knows and responds accordingly.
And my personal favorite? Kristen is the “Guardian of Obsessed Men in Suits” because the Black brothers’ jawlines could start a small war according to my brother, and he has declared Kristen as the one who is able to reel them all in when necessary.
Amid all of this, Gage and his brothers have been having a disturbingly serious conversation about fantasy football strategy like we’re not surrounded by candles, flowers, and a crystal bundle that Maddie said Marin placed here for “collective energetic alignment.”
Gage is beside me, one hand resting on my thigh, a silent claim he never lifts.
Down the table, I catch flashes of our families. Little moments I want to press into a photo album just so I never forget how this feels.
Kristen’s sipping wine while quietly regulating Bradford’s cheese intake with every flick of her gaze.
Olivia and Callan are doing that thing they do where he tries the food first, then forks over a bite for her without a word, already knowing the verdict because apparently that man has a PhD in his wife’s taste buds.
Further down the table, Ethan’s crouched beside Sarah, showing her how to hold his camera steady while explaining aperture.
She’s asking questions faster than he can answer them, eyes bright, fingers twitching to be in charge.
Ethan looks like he’s found a new religion.
Most wouldn’t guess that the rebel Black brother is a giant nerd with a bookshelf organized by philosophical theme, and the kind of patience that makes him a natural with kids.
Sarah’s loving every second of it. And my heart is held hostage by it.
Next to them, Colin’s insisting on holding Annalise so Maddie can eat with both hands.
She looks at him suspiciously like he might drop her, but Colin lifts the baby with quiet confidence while saying, “I’m not just an uncle in name.
I babysat Sarah enough to tank my dating life at one point.
I’ve got this.” Annalise takes to him immediately and promptly starts drooling on his shirt. He barely notices. Or cares.
And Hayden. Poor Hayden is trapped between Tim and Marin, a position no man should have to endure unmedicated.
Tim is mid-story about the time he accidentally got kicked out of a goat yoga class for “being too expressive with his breathing,” while Marin is spritzing the air with something she swears will calm his nervous system.
Hayden’s nodding politely at both of them, but I’m pretty sure his soul has left the table.
He hasn’t even noticed the tiny rose quartz Marin placed on his plate “for softening the masculine wound.”
There’s constant laughter. Not loud. Not forced. Just the kind that slips out when people feel safe together. Like it’s always been this way. Like we’ve always belonged to each other.
There’s a lull in the conversation. A brief, peaceful silence as people sip their drink, pass the last of the olives, and pretend they’re not all halfway lulled into a food haze.
And that’s when Tim stands like he’s about to deliver a TED talk no one asked for. “Okay,” he announces. “Before anyone touches a single macaron or rustic tart, I need you to understand something.”
He holds up a plate of cookies with the seriousness of someone unveiling the Crown Jewels.
“These are espresso cookies. Homemade. Hand-rolled. Triple-tested. Balanced for flavor, texture, and emotional catharsis. They are chewy. They are complex. They are, frankly, a spiritual experience.” A beat. “Which means they are not free.”
He sets the plate in the center of the table like it’s a ceremonial offering. “Price of entry is one soft truth. Vulnerability only. No lies, no deflection, and no surface-level shit like ‘I’m grateful for my family.’ I want depth. I want feelings. I want your damn soul on a platter.”
There’s a pause. Shifting in chairs. One of Gage’s brothers makes a noise that sounds like actual despair.
Tim grins. “You want the cookies? Show me the wound.”
No one moves and I stifle a grin. This is so Tim. So him in the way he tries to bond with people. And I’m pretty sure none of the Black family have ever met anyone like him.
Just when I think none of them are going to engage, Hayden reaches out and grabs a cookie.
He looks at Gage and says, “Gage has always taken the hits for us so we wouldn’t have to.
Amelia’s the first person outside our family who has taken hits for him.
” His eyes find mine. “I’ve never seen my brother happier than he is with you. ”
My throat goes tight.
It’s not the words he said, though those alone deeply affect me.
It’s that they came from Hayden.
Quiet, watchful, stoic Hayden. The one who sees everything and says almost none of it. And now he’s watching me like he’s already filed me under permanent. Like I more than passed whatever impossible checklist the Black brothers use to decide who they let in.
I swallow hard and give him a nod that feels too small for what he just gave me. But it’s all I’ve got right now, because if I try to speak, I might start sobbing.
Gage’s hand tightens on my thigh, and I exhale as I lean into him.
Tim gasps so dramatically you’d think someone just offered him designer boots and emotionally available men.
“Okay,” he says, eyes wide. “That? That is how you pay for a cookie.”
He gestures dramatically to Hayden, then looks around the table as if he’s waiting for applause.
“Did you all see what just happened? That was raw. That was real. That was the emotional standard for the rest of this exercise. Don’t come in here with some watered-down gratitude journal bullshit after that. ”
The table has gone quiet after Hayden’s truth bomb and I’m still emotionally reeling. Sarah is neither of those things. She’s locked onto one very specific violation.
“Language,” she says looking at Tim, eyebrows arched, channeling every stern librarian in existence.
“Anything I said was for passionate emphasis,” he says, eyes wide, looking at her like he just got caught swearing in front of the Pope. A tiny, judgmental Pope he’d throw himself in front of a bus for.
She’s not having a bar of his justification. “You said shit and bullshit.”
“I was making a point,” he argues, gesturing wildly with both hands. “A deep point.”
She puts her hand out, palm up. “You owe the swear jar.”
“Again? I’m already in for eighty-one dollars and a signed Taylor Swift vinyl,” Tim grumbles, as if she’s about to bankrupt him.
“Rules are rules,” Sarah says.
Gage chuckles next to me while Tim sighs and says, “I created a monster.”
“I created the monster,” I correct, deadpan.
“You’re right.” He nods solemnly. “You built her from scratch and gifted her to the world like a tiny, morally-superior warlock.”
“Thank you.”
“It wasn’t a compliment.”
Colin grins. “Justice is served.”
Tim finds a dollar in his wallet and hands it over with a dramatic sigh.
Sarah passes the money to me for safekeeping, and I tuck it under my glass as Maddie reaches for a cookie.
She glances around the table, smiling, before eyeing me. “Okay, here’s mine,” she says, softly, her voice wavering. “This family is everything to me. They saved me on one of the worst days of my life and haven’t stopped loving me since. And now you get to be loved by them too.”
She turns to her husband with a look that’s pure love and adoration. And then, there’s something else. A lingering look that seems to be her saying something to Ethan, and him replying with a look of his own.
After a few moments of this back-and-forth silence that appears to be an actual conversation, Ethan smiles and gives Maddie a nod before brushing his lips over hers.
He stretches his arm across the back of her chair and looks around the table with an expression that can only be described as smug, besotted husband joy.
“It seems my wife has many talents besides singing and driving me wild with slang. I’ve discovered she’s also talented at getting pregnant. We’re having another baby.”
The table explodes.
“Oh my god!” Olivia gushes, glancing between Ethan and Maddie. “I’m so happy for you both!”
Callan arches a brow. “You do remember she just had a baby, right?”