12. Noah
Chapter 12
Noah
S omething is bothering me as I watch Lizzy flit around the family gathering. I can’t put my finger on what’s wrong. I only know that I can feel it in my gut. Everyone is here for the weekly dinner at Mom’s house.
Greer is with his girlfriend, Evie, and her younger brothers. The four of them live together and I’ve seen the way those boys idolize Greer. It’s got me thinking about the next generation of Maples and what that’s going to look like.
Mom catches my eye and gestures for me to follow her, interrupting my musings.
I thread around Barrett and Zac who are still arguing over whose chili recipe is better when the obvious answer is my chili. I don’t bother to stop and explain that to them as I follow Mom out into the back bedroom. It used to be where I bunked with Greer. But after we left, she turned the space into a crafts room.
Half-finished projects litter every surface. I navigate carefully around her old oak desk that’s stacked high with colorful swatches for her latest quilt. I barely manage to avoid knocking off a collection of tiny dollhouse figurines and a jar of buttons from her cube organizer.
Every so often, my mom and my sister, Ginger, ask me to “help” rearrange this room which is mainly me just grunting as I move furniture until they decide they want it in the exact same spot it was originally. But no matter how many times they put the furniture right back where it was, I’ll always come over and move it for them. It’s just what a cowboy does. He takes care of the ones he loves.
“You’re in love with her,” Mom says, turning her chair to face me.
“I’m marrying her,” I admit. The moment that Lizzy lets me put a ring on her finger will be the happiest moment of my life.
Mom studies me for a long moment. She’s never shied away from sharing her opinion with the world, but she’s different with me. Quieter and gentler. “She has the same lost look in her eye that you did when you first arrived.”
Maybe that’s what’s been bothering me lately. Maybe that’s why I feel Lizzy pulling away from me.
“Greer says you already have a ring for her.”
I blow out a breath. I haven’t given it to her yet. It’s not because I have a single doubt that Lizzy is the one for me. I know she’s my forever. But the more I’ve gotten to know her, the more I don’t think that she’s going to be happy with the ostentatious diamond I picked. “I’m not so sure if it’s the right one.”
She nods to her bag on the craft table. “Hand me that.”
I pick up the large brown satchel, half of her things falling out of the overstuffed bag, including her phone. I grab it, frowning at the text message I see.
“Those are just messages from Carol,” Mom says, her cheeks turning a shade of pink.
I pass the phone back without a word. It’s an old trick I learned from her. When you think someone’s guilty, be quiet and give them enough rope.
“There’s nothing wrong with seeing my bridge partner regularly,” she insists.
Except that those messages weren’t from her bridge partner Carol. There were too many eggplant emojis and peaches for that to be anything other than a boyfriend.
It strikes me then that Mom has been alone for over a decade. I never considered that she might be lonely or that she might miss having someone here.
“You know, it would be OK if you did have a boyfriend,” I tell her. “It wouldn’t mean you’re trying to replace Dad.”
She scowls at me, looking every bit the fierce matriarch she’s always been. “Mind your business, child.” It’s what she always told us when we were boys and we asked questions that she didn’t feel were our problem to worry about.
Without waiting for my response, she plunges her hand into her satchel bag and produces an old, faded ring box. She passes it to me. “What do you think about this one?”
For a moment, I don’t open the box. I just stare at it. I swallow hard, knowing that this ring hasn’t just belonged to my mom. It’s a family heirloom that’s been passed between generations of women to their sons.
“You don’t have to,” I croak out, my throat clogged with emotion.
She holds up her hand. “She needs family. She needs to know she belongs, and so do you.”
Her words hit me in the gut, and I lift the ring box with shaking fingers to reveal the beautiful ruby engagement ring. The moment I see it, I know it’s perfect for my Lizzy. It’s exactly what she would want.
“Thank you.” The words come out hoarse, and I think we both know I’m thanking her for so much more than this engagement ring. I’m thanking her for adopting me and my brothers. I’m thanking her for making me a Maple and giving me a name. Most of all, I’m thanking her for being family when no one else wanted us.
The rest of the celebration passes quietly. After talking with mom, I put my finger on what’s been bothering me about Lizzy’s behavior as I drive back to our house.
“Your family is fun,” Lizzy says with a smile as she kicks off her shoes on the front porch and pads into the foyer, her bare feet gliding across the gleaming hardwood floors. They weren’t this spotless before she came to live with me.
She pauses in the living room to massage her aching feet. She didn’t sit down once while she was there.
I stow the leftovers that Mom sent home with us in the fridge. She sent enough for ten people, but it’s not that surprising. She’s always been generous.
Lizzy follows me into the kitchen and frowns. “You’re being too quiet. What’s wrong? Did they not like me?”
I shake my head, not wanting her to think that for a moment. “They loved you.”
She sighs in relief and gives me a tired smile. “I like them too.”
“Do you know why I brought you there?” I cross the distance between us in two steps, maneuvering around Mr. Darcy’s food dishes that are now a permanent fixture on the kitchen floor.
I put my hands on her shoulders. I have to be touching her. It’s a primal need that rides me constantly. “I brought you there to introduce you to my family.”
“And you just said they liked me.” Her voice is quiet.
She’s expecting rejection. I see it in the way the walls are going up in her gaze, the defeated slump in her posture. It guts me that she’s so sad. “You spent the entire meal serving other people. Even when it was time for cleanup, you were right there in the kitchen, loading the dishwasher.”
She says with a frown, “I was being helpful.”
“You were acting like a servant,” I argue, anger burning in my gut. I hate that she felt that way, even for a moment. “It’s not just there. You do it everywhere.”
She scowls. “So, now it’s a problem if I keep your house tidy?”
“Our house,” I quickly correct her, “and no, that’s not the problem. You don’t have to earn your place here.”
She blinks up at me, tears welling in her eyes. “It’s just that I want to stay.”
“No one is going to make you leave. No one will ever pull my sweet girl from my arms,” I reassure her.
I try to tug her into my embrace, but she ducks away. She moves to the kitchen island, puttering and putting things away.
“Lizzy,” I call her name and she finally looks at me, and the pleading look on her face just about guts me.
Her voice trembles, “I’ve never had a family. I’m nervous that I’m going to mess this up, and I won’t get another chance.”
My heart twists for her, the pain threatening to bring me to my knees. I move toward her, but she holds up a hand, and I instantly still. She’s quiet for a moment, searching for the right words.
“I had a foster family. It was the nicest place I’d ever stayed at. The home was clean and warm. No one hit me.” She wraps her arms around herself. “I got treated like the other daughters as long as I kept the house clean and made sure everything was neat. But the mom always reminded me that I was just one mistake away from getting sent back.”
I swear under my breath. How the fuck can anyone be that cruel to a child?
She continues, “One day, I dropped a glass. It shattered, and that was it. I was out again. I know the moment I mess up, you’re not going to want me anymore. The thing about it is I really like you. I like your family. I like being with you.”
I circle the island in two quick strides and drag her against my chest. “You can shatter as many glasses as you need to. No one is ever going to send you away. I won’t let them.”
She sniffs against my chest.
I hate this. I hate all the wounds that were left on her heart by those that only wanted to use her for their gain. I hate a system that left a little girl feeling so unloved and so very alone. I press a kiss to her forehead, quietly reassuring her, “No one is going to take you away from me. You won’t ever have to leave.”