Chapter 44
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
“Are they expecting someone … like me?” Sophie asks.
“They don’t have a checklist, Soph. They’re just excited to meet the girl I won’t shut up about.”
She gives a sigh that’s more like a whimper. “So what’s going to happen?”
“I dunno. We’ll show you around, sit on the couch and chat probably. Dinner eventually, play a game, take a walk in there somewhere.”
She turns with wide eyes. “Your parents are going to sit there and stare at me?”
I frown. “Uh, yeah. Some of the time. They don’t ignore their company.”
“So I’m basically getting interviewed?”
“No? We’re just gonna hang out. What were you expecting?”
“I’ve literally only seen a meet-the-parents thing on TV.”
Spiraling? Why?
“They’re not gonna give you a hard time. Don’t worry. It’ll be better than you think.”
I try not to be disappointed that she doesn’t want to meet my people. I try to remember that her mom is a piece of work, that her home was strained, not somewhere she’d want to bring me. I try.
Sophie slows the Jeep at the mailbox I point out. The gate’s open for us. I motion for her to drive down the gravel road. My shoulders relax involuntarily—even as Sophie tenses up beside me. Eighty beautiful acres. The pond to our right, our cows at the electric fence, trees towering.
The clock on the dash reads 1:52. Time for their treat. Mama’s probably waiting to let Sophie try it out.
A couple dead trees. Might could help Dad pull them down while I’m here. My old pickup—now Janie’s ride—is parked in its spot. Can’t wait to introduce my two favorite girls.
I work up the courage to glance at Sophie again.
Horrified eyes dart around. “Is that a giant … garden?” Like she’s never seen such a thing.
“Yep. There might be some carrots or something ready to eat. Mama’ll know.”
I realize I’ve been waiting for Faith to come running. My old collie died over a year ago. Somehow I still expect her every time I drive up.
“Oh, here’s Janie.” A few notes of “Ode to Joy” play inside the house at the gate’s motion sensor.
Sophie parks the car. Her breath is fast and shallow, like she might have a panic attack.
“You okay?” I brush back her hair, scratch her back.
She nods too quickly, says nothing. Another bad sign. What could possibly have her this rattled? Carrots? She was perfectly normal yesterday—bouncing, encouraging, adventurous.
I wanted to have some time to talk to you, to rest.
Is that not going to happen? I’m so tired.
“Hey, let’s take a minute.” I angle toward her. “Can you tell me what’s wrong?”
But she slinks from the car, avoiding my hands and eyes.
I grab my backpack and Sophie’s whole suitcase from the rear cargo.
My sister is hovering on the driveway, trying not to be a creep.
“Janie, get over here,” I call.
“Austin!” She takes off in a run and tackles me in a hug—the biggest one after Sophie’s—and I introduce her to the reigning hug champion.
“Soph, my sister, Janie. Janie, this is Sophie, in the flesh.”
“Hi,” Sophie mumbles, raising a hand in a weak wave, like it will suffice as a greeting. No smile. No bounce. No thousand-word monologue. Nothing Sophie adjacent.
Janie had already stepped forward for a hug but stops abruptly, picking up on Sophie’s body language.
Seriously? This is my baby sister.
I frown at Sophie to communicate.
She rolls her eyes.
On her worst day she doesn’t roll her eyes at me. I guess this’ll be a short trip.
I glance at Janie. “We’ll meet you inside, ’kay?”
Picking up on my cue—at least someone does—Janie heads inside. She looks taller. How is she taller in a month and a half?
I drop our things on the gravel and step toward Sophie. Her arms are crossed tight, her expression locked down and guarded.
“Hugs are a thing here.” No time. Gotta cut to the chase. “I know you don’t love hugging strangers, but maybe just meet her halfway. A pat-pat-not-hug works. And you can shake my dad’s hand if that’s better. Even a smile. But a wave?”
“Come on,” she says. “So sensitive.”
My jaw tightens. “Spill, Sophie. What’s going on?”
No reply.
“Sophie.”
Nothing.
How is this happening today? We just had an intense heart-to-heart at the pond last night. None of this was there then.
“Listen. I love my family more than my own life, and I will not subject them to a temper tantrum.” I’m really overdoing it here, but I’m exhausted and protective and it’s just coming out.
“Why don’t you head back to school? I’ll catch a ride to campus tomorrow.
” I slide her suitcase back in but leave the door open.
She gapes.
Should’ve come alone.
Did I foul this up?
“Eventually my family will accept you as one of their own and love you, whatever’s going on in your head. But it’s a lot to ask for you to be like this when you meet them for the first time. I’ve told them how I feel about you. They’re expecting a lot.”
“Be like this?” She spits. “Expecting a lot?”
I wince. I was way too harsh. I’m tanking this.
“Maybe a different weekend would be better.” I needed a nap on the couch.
A home-cooked meal. I’d be happy to help Sophie acclimate, but I don’t have the energy for this craziness.
I’ve spent it all on her the last month and a half.
I wanted to. I’ll do it again. But it really seems like she should be able to manage a few kind greetings in return.
“A different weekend?”
“I’m going inside. Come in or don’t.”
I plod to the house, gravel crunching comfortingly under my boots. Onto the cement driveway. Through the garage, toward the kitchen door.
“Austin?” Sophie’s voice catches. “Just a minute?”
I bury a sigh.
I’m wiped, but I don’t want to take it out on her. I don’t have the patience for this, but I want to. She did for me last night. I’m sorry. Make me like you, Jesus. Help me take care of her.
I stop beside the closed door, eyes shut tight, waiting to see if God will bestow instant patience upon me.
Guess not. I’m still a class-A grump.
“Yep.”
She sets her suitcase down primly. Lifts her chin. “Any other rules I should know before we go in? Hugs are compulsory. No cursing? What do I call your parents?”
I squint. “You never swear.”
I don’t feel like it, but I walk the four steps to her and wrap her in a hug.
She clings to me, squeezing hard, and my shoulders drop.
Her hair smells like mint today, and it grounds me, reminds me what matters.
I love Sophie. Even when she’s flipping out for no known reason.
Even when I’m exhausted and useless. Always.
My head rests against hers. “Wanna talk about it now or later?”
“Later.”
“’Kay. Mr. and Mrs. Scott. Mama’ll pretend you should call her Tracy, but you’ll do better not to. Ready?”
She nods unconvincingly and grips my offered hand with Red Rover intensity.
When I open the door, that feeling crashes over me.
Home.