5. Faith #3
“Careful,” Nash mutters as he pulls a chair out for me. “She’ll test that theory.”
I sit down where he indicates, aware of the choreography of it. Maggie on one side near the stove, Boone and Rose at the far end by the window, Nash beside me, Clay across, and Dallas diagonally, still with his arm draped along the back of Lila’s chair now that she’s climbed into it again.
I’ve been dropped into a play where everyone else has already been rehearsing for years. They know their cues, their inside jokes, their roles. I know them, but… I don’t. Not like this.
A plate appears in front of me, piled with ham, eggs, biscuits, and something cheesy and loaded with potatoes that smells heavenly. My stomach growls so loudly that Nash snorts.
“Eat,” Maggie orders. “We’re not sending you back out into a blizzard half-starved.”
“Mama,” Dallas says quietly. There’s a warning in it.
She glances at him, then at me. “What? I’m feeding her, not interrogating her.”
“Yet,” Nash says under his breath.
Maggie smacks his shoulder with a dish towel without looking. “Hush.”
I pick up my fork mostly because I don’t know what else to do with my hands. The first bite nearly makes me groan. I hadn’t realized how hungry I was until just now. Panic burns a lot of calories, apparently.
For a few minutes, the table noise swells again, louder than my own thoughts.
Ellie demands that someone admire her new toy.
Wyatt drops his spoon and laughs hysterically every time Boone retrieves it.
Lila flips carefully through her book with her free hand while she eats, pointing to different horses and whispering to herself.
Nash and Clay bicker about whether or not someone cheated at cards last night.
It’s weird. And wonderful. And painful, all at once.
“So, Faith,” Rose says after a while, in a tone that’s light but interested. “I heard you’ve been in the city. How long has it been now?”
I swallow my mouthful of eggs, suddenly hyperaware of every eye that can possibly be on me. “About… six years?” I say. “Off and on. I came back a couple of times for short visits, but… yeah. Mostly Dallas. The city, Dallas,” I amend quickly, realizing how that sounds.
Nash chokes on his biscuit. “I forgot about that,” he says. “You living in Dallas, being engaged to Dallas, would’ve been a nightmare for whoever handled your mail.”
“Good thing we were just friends,” I say before I can stop myself.
Silence drops around the table like someone hit mute. I mentally smack myself. Great. Real smooth.
“I mean,” I fumble. “Sorry. I’m not… very filtered right now.”
“Could’ve fooled me,” Clay mutters, but there’s not much heat in it. More… wary resignation.
Maggie clears her throat.
“Your mama doing all right?” she asks. “She still out by the lake road?”
Relief floods me at the change of subject.
“Yeah,” I say. “She’s okay. Her knees bother her more now, but she loves that little house.
She’s been painting in her spare time. Really badly, but she loves it.
” I smile, just a little. “She’s got this whole wall of terrible yellow sunflowers I kind of adore. ”
“Charlotte still in school?” Boone asks.
“Yeah,” I say. “Fashion design. She’s in Austin now. She’s good at it. Really good.” Pride swells in my chest, cutting through the anxiety. “She made my rehearsal dinner dress. The one thing about the wedding I actually liked.”
“Bet it was something,” Nash says.
“It was,” I say, and then grief blindsides me.
Grief for a dress I’ll probably never wear again, for a sister who wasn’t there to see it, for a version of yesterday where I walked down that aisle and became someone I’m so, so glad I’m not going to be.
Tears prick my eyes. I blink them away hard and stare down at my plate.
“Faith,” Maggie says quietly. “We don’t have to talk about any of that right now. You hear me? You’re here. That’s enough for today.”
I nod, throat tight.
“Okay,” I manage.
For a while, I just listen.
To Ellie, telling Lila about the time Santa “almost” got caught in the chimney.
To Nash, staging a dramatic reading of the toy instructions.
To Rose and Boone gently teasing each other about who snores louder.
To Clay, complaining about the bulls on the circuit this year, and Maggie telling him he can always stay home and get a “real job” if he’s so offended.
To Dallas’s low murmur as he leans down to answer some question Lila whispers to him.
That last one gets under my skin the most.
He is different with her.
It’s subtle, but obvious if you know him. The edges of him are softer when he looks at her, even as his shoulders stay broad and tense. He watches everything, ready to step in if anyone or anything gets too close to hurting her, but he’s also gentle.
He adjusts the way she holds her fork with an absent thumb. He wipes a bit of syrup off her chin with a practiced swipe. When she leans back against him, his hand comes up to rest over her ribs, anchoring her there.
It’s a shock, seeing my childhood best friend as a father.
I don’t know if I will ever get used to it.