Chapter 26
When I walk in the door to Farmor’s house, the smell of Swedish meatballs and mashed potatoes envelops me—and not the IKEA kind.
The real, made-from-three-different-meats-and-a-bunch-of-spices, rolled-by-hand meatballs that Farmor has been making my entire life.
Except tonight, it’s my mom making them.
“Livarooni is here!” one of my brothers crows from within the house.
I roll my eyes as I set my bag and keys down and head into the kitchen, where my mom is finishing a salad.
The boys are already seated at the table, huge and hulking and grinning at me.
“Liv, can you help me carry this salad out?”
I go over and take the bowl from her. Within a few minutes, all the food is on the table, and we’ve taken our seats. After Cameron says a blessing, we dig in.
Family dinners on Sundays are a weekly tradition, but it’s rare that both of my brothers can make it these days.
They’re so busy with college and dating and who knows what else.
But with Farmor still in a coma, life feels more precarious and the need to have Sunday dinner together more urgent.
At first, conversation is stilted, Farmor’s absence a gaping hole at the table.
But it doesn’t take long before my brothers fall into their normal pattern of nonstop ribbing.
This time because Cory’s girlfriend had to cancel last minute.
“So, Meredith doesn’t require food to stay alive?” Cameron comments.
Cory scowls at Cameron as he scoops up some mashed potatoes. “What is that even supposed to mean?”
“Well, since she had to suddenly study for a big final and couldn’t even stop for one quick meal, she must not need food to survive like the rest of us college students who also have finals coming up.” Cameron pops an entire meatball into his mouth.
“Cameron, cut up your food. Use your manners,” my mom scolds. “But in all honesty, he has a point. I was looking forward to meeting her.”
I can’t help but smile; there’s something so soothing about being surrounded by my family and the familiarity of their teasing and bickering—even if we’re all missing Farmor.
“Fine, yes, she’s going to eat. Probably a sandwich or something fast. She’s freaking out about her anatomy final, and with good reason,” Cory insists. “I had it last year, and it’s ridiculously hard. She wanted to spend a couple more hours in the cadaver lab to study.”
“She picked spending time with a dead dude over you? Sorry, man. That sucks,” Cameron says.
“Cameron!” my mom exclaims.
“What?” He smirks. “I hope my girlfriend never picks a cadaver over me.”
Cory shakes his head and turns to me. “Speaking of girlfriends—or boyfriends, as the case may be—I hear you’re dating that guy I saw at the bakery the other day? The one with the scars?”
“Don’t say anything about his scars,” I snap.
Cory’s eyebrows rise. “I didn’t mean anything rude by it. Just an easy way to describe who I meant.”
“Well, he’s much more than his scars. So don’t use them to describe him, okay?”
Cory holds up his hands. “Okay. Sorry, sis.” He exchanges a look with Cameron, who is wisely holding his tongue. “I take it you actually like him, then?”
“Yeah, I like him,” I admit, my cheeks growing hot.
“Guess this means I do need to grill him after all.” Cory rubs his hand together.
“Stop it.” I roll my eyes. “I’m twenty-five years old, and you’re my younger brother.
You don’t need to grill anyone.” I take a bite of the delicious meatballs.
Talking about Hunter makes me miss him, even though we went for a walk today after church and watched a movie on Netflix.
But I’m not quite ready to bring him to family dinner.
Not when what we have is so new, too fragile to subject to all this.
“I might be younger than you, but I’m an adult—and the man of this family. If I want to grill him to make sure he’s worthy of you, I will grill him.”
“Yeah, me too,” Cameron adds.
“Boys, leave your sister alone. They’ve only been on one or two dates. No need to grill anyone yet.” Mom shoots me a long-suffering look.
“Fine. But if he sticks around, it will happen.” Cory takes his fork, makes a show of cutting his meatball in half, holds it up to prove to Mom he’s “using his manners,” and then bites it off the fork. “Better?” he asks with his mouth full.
“I give up.” Mom groans.
After we finish eating, I head to the kitchen to clean up. A few minutes later, Cameron comes up beside me, grabs a dish towel, and starts drying the pots I’m washing.
“What’s up?” I ask when he doesn’t say anything.
“Are you really doing okay?” he asks with a sidelong glance. “Your heart and everything? I wanted to come see you at the hospital last week, but between my classes and work, I couldn’t get away, and Mom said it wasn’t serious, so I didn’t call in sick or anything, and now I feel bad.”
“I really am good, I promise.” I shake the soapy water off my hand and put my hand on his forearm. “It’s okay you couldn’t come. I was only there overnight. It was more of a precaution than anything.”
He won’t meet my gaze, staring down at the dish towel instead. “I still should have come.”
“Cameron, it’s really okay. I’m fine. If you’re going to use up the little bit of time you have, do it to visit Farmor.”
“But you might not have been fine. And then I wouldn’t have . . .” He breaks off and picks up another wet pot, vigorously attacking it with the towel. I take his cue and grab the next dish to wash. “I hate hospitals. I hate seeing you in the hospital. It makes me think of . . .”
“Dad,” I finish, my hands going still in the sink.
“Yeah.” He sets the pot down. “Some of my only memories of him are from the hospital, and he looked so sick, so weak. And then the next time I saw him . . . he was gone.” He lifts one shoulder, eyes downcast. “I get scared to visit you because I’m afraid I’ll walk in the room and you’ll look like he did, and I’ll know I’m about to lose you too. ”
I put my still-damp hand on his shoulder and squeeze. “I’m not going anywhere, okay? I’m healthy, and I have an amazing doctor who can help me if anything does go wrong. I’m going to be here for you . . . for a long time.”
Cameron nods, and even though he’s four inches taller than I am and at least sixty pounds heavier (and can grow a full beard), in that moment, I realize how much of a little boy is still hiding inside this huge man who is my youngest brother.
We go back to the dishes, and a couple of seconds later, Cory comes into the kitchen and starts teasing Cameron about some girl he went out with last week, and the moment passes.
But when we all get ready to leave to our separate apartments and homes, Cameron gives me an extra long hug.
“Love you, Livarooni,” he says, quiet so Cory won’t hear.
“Love you too,” I say, squeezing him back.
As I’m driving home, though I try to block the memories, Cameron’s words make it impossible to keep those two weeks when Dad was in the hospital from rising.
I remember climbing onto the bed next to him so we could look through Auto Trader together and pick the car I was going to get in three years when I turned sixteen.
He spent hours telling me how great Volvos are, how the Swedes make everything better.
He kept promising he was going to be there to buy my first car with me.
I think he meant it when he made that promise; he really thought he’d be there. He truly believed he’d get a miracle.
It wasn’t his fault the promise was broken.
I meant the promise I made to Cameron tonight too. I only hope I don’t break mine the way Dad broke his.
The bell over the bakery door jingles minutes after we open on Monday morning, and my heart skips a beat.
I glance up from where I’m arranging stacks of Swedish pastries to see Lou sashay through the door in her dark-gray, knee-length bodycon dress and her trademark Louboutins.
Her hair is slicked back into a high ponytail, and her bright-red lips are pursed into a smirk.
I wish I were someone who could look svelte in a slicked-back ponytail and red lipstick instead of like a semibald invalid with clown makeup on.
“Disappointed to see me?” she asks.
“Of course not!” I say, even though my stomach did plummet when I realized it was her and not a different Barrett coming to get treats for the office.
“Don’t worry, I’m sure he’ll find a reason to come over some-time today.”
“I’m happy to see you. Honestly,” I insist with a smile when she gives me a yeah-right, you-big-fat-liar look.
I set down the last few boxes of pastries I’m holding, then go hug her.
“I hurried so I could beat him here,” she admits. “I wanted to see you. You promised we’d talk yesterday, but then we didn’t.”
“That wasn’t entirely my fault. If I recall, you hung out with Dream-Boat-Banker Chris all day.”
“Well, yeah. But when I got back, you were gone.”
“I stopped by the hospital, and then it was Sunday family dinner . . . remember?”
“Right. Which—by the way—I talked to your mom about your New Life Day party tomorrow, and she’s happy to let me host it this year since you are both so busy with the bakery and taking turns at the hospital with Farmor.”
I glance at the screen of my phone to confirm tomorrow really is April 1 and grimace. “Do we have to have a party? It seems kind of wrong when Farmor is still in the ICU.”
“It’s tradition. And I already bought all the food. So, yes, we do. But we can keep it small if you’d like.”
“Small is good. What kind of food did you get?”
Lou clicks her way over to the shelves and grabs a few boxes of treats.
“You’ll see. But don’t worry, you’re going to love it.
” She sets the boxes on the counter, and I move behind it to ring them up for her as she hands me her credit card.
“Now that we have that settled, dish. Tell me all about Saturday night!”
“Why don’t you tell me all about your day with Chris?” I counter.