Chapter 23
The second I step foot in my parents’ house, I’m hit with the scent of my favorite meal simmering on the stovetop: chili. Either Mallory did something to make Mom so mad that she’s making a meal that she hates, or my mother is trying to butter me up.
I close the door behind me and take off my tennis shoes before quietly making my way into the kitchen.
Mom stands by the stovetop, stirring the chili and boiling noodles as she sways to the country song playing over her Bluetooth speaker.
I clear my throat, and she jumps. “Connie, how long have you been standing there?”
“I just got here.”
She presses a hand to her heart. “I think you’re in the wrong career field. You should be a mime or a spy. Better yet, a professional tip-toer.” My mom shakes her head and laughs. “We need to get you some tap shoes or something. I’m getting too old for these jump scares.”
I sit on a barstool and lean my elbows on the island. “Didn’t mean to scare you.” I look around the empty kitchen and living room. “Where is everyone?”
“Mallory is running a little late, and your father is probably playing a game of toilet golf thanks to you.”
I have no regrets.
“Hole in one,” my dad shouts from the half bath.
Mom groans.
I shrug. “He golfs. You scroll.”
Mom gasps. “I have to see all the cute videos people make of Griffin and Mallory.” She steps closer. “Did you know a fan came up with a nickname for them as a couple, and it’s taken off?”
I shake my head. I don’t do social media, and I definitely don’t do internet searches of my sister or her boyfriend. I’d prefer to live in ignorant bliss than see a picture of them making out.
“It’s Griffmallo. Isn’t that so cute?”
“Sounds like a kid’s toy,” I mutter.
She nods excitedly. “A fan said they’re as cute as a Squishmallow, and the whole Griffmallo couple name took off. Isn’t it adorable?”
I shrug. “Sure.” I don’t see the point, but I’m not going to argue with my mom.
She shoots me a saccharine smile. “Now we just need you to get a girlfriend, and then…”
I hold up a hand to stop her before she goes off the rails dreaming about both of her children in love, married off, and giving her grandbabies to spoil. “You know I’m not interested in your matchmaking schemes.”
My mom heads back to the stove and gives the chili another stir. “But you seemed pretty happy when Shayna bid on you at the auction.”
There’s no way I’m about to tell her—or anyone else—about the feelings Shayna stirs up inside me.
I know my mom would have the wedding planned tomorrow if I even hinted at the potential of having feelings for Shayna.
Next thing I know, she’d be referring to us with our own weird couple name, like Conshay or Shaynor.
Nothing cute about that. Do they combine last names?
My mom could call us Porroe. That’s even worse, like poverty-stricken fish eggs.
“She was a much better option than the woman who was eyeing me like I was her next dating victim.”
Mom scrunches her nose and looks around anxiously before turning back to the stove. “That’s a good point.”
I don’t have a chance to question her change in demeanor when my dad exits the bathroom. He walks over and shakes my hand. “Good to see you, son.”
I don’t know what to say because I’m the person who doubts every word, even when I’m only talking to my parents. Except, not around Shayna. “Heard you got a hole in one,” I mumble stupidly.
“Sure did.” Dad grips my shoulder. “Thanks again for the gift.” He leans closer. “Gives me an excuse to hide out in the bathroom longer.”
“I heard that,” Mom says without even a glance back. Nothing ever gets past her. I swear, she either has bionic ears or a second pair of eyes on the back of her head.
“Remind me to get you some noise-canceling headphones for your birthday, honey.” Dad winks at me like I’m in on the joke with him. Maybe I am, but I was never good at telling jokes, so it beats me.
She throws a dish towel at him, but there’s a hint of amusement in her eyes. Even after all these years, my parents are still as in love as ever. “Drain these noodles for me?”
“Anything for you.” Dad taps her butt as he walks past.
I grimace. Really didn’t need to see that.
“Sorry, we’re here,” Mallory calls out from the foyer.
“Who’s we?” I look to my mom for an answer to find her wearing that worried expression again.
Mallory comes up behind me, ruffling my hair. I roll my eyes and turn around to tell her I’m not a dog when I notice the other half of the we she was referring to.
Standing in the kitchen of my childhood home, wearing a nervous smile, is none other than the girl living rent-free in my mind.
My palms are instantly sweaty.
“Shayna,” I rasp.
“Hey, Con.” Her smile is a little warmer as she looks at me, but I can sense her nerves.
“Hi, Shayna dear.” My mom wipes her hands on the kitchen towel before pulling Shayna into a tight squeeze. They hug for what I think is entirely too long, but they don’t seem to think so.
“Hi, Mama Porter.”
The glee on my mom’s face is evident. Our house was always open to our friends, and she acted like a second mom to them. But the look she shoots me feels heavier, like she’s thinking Shayna could just call her Mama one day and take my last name.
I look to my dad for an explanation of why Shayna’s here, but he just holds his hands up. Who am I kidding? He probably didn’t even know she was coming.
Mallory, on the other hand, is staring me down from across the kitchen, trying to gauge my reaction. I make sure to keep my face in check. I’m cool, calm, and collected. Nothing to see here.
“Now that our guest of honor is here, let’s eat.” Mom gestures for Shayna to make her bowl first.
Well, now I have my answer: This is one hundred percent a butter-me-up chili.
I let everyone make their bowls before me, needing a moment to digest what’s happening.
Once they’ve all moved into the dining room, I push up from the barstool and grab the last bowl on the counter.
I fill it with a small amount of ditalini noodles—because we’re a household that firmly believes noodles belong in chili—and cover it with a hefty scoop of chili.
I top it off with cheese and hot sauce, then pour myself a glass of my mom’s homemade sweet tea before trudging into the dining room.
I stop as soon as I enter the room, staring at the seating arrangement.
My usual chair isn’t just taken, it’s missing entirely.
Our six-person table now only holds five chairs, four of which are already taken.
You can guess where the only available seat is.
Yep, right between Shayna and my mother, as if she planned it from the beginning.
Because she definitely planned this…I just don’t know what her full agenda is.
But I guarantee I’m about to find out.
I place my glass and bowl on the table and take the remaining seat.
Usually I feel uncomfortable at family dinners, even with our core four—what my mom lovingly calls our family—that I’ve spent my entire life around.
But tonight, I feel oddly at peace—and I can’t help but think that it’s because of Shayna’s calming presence.
Dad says a quick blessing, and everyone starts eating except Mallory, who is sitting across from me, glaring at her bowl like the chili has personally wronged her.
She’s never been a fan of my favorite meal, but I feel like she’s being a little dramatic.
She stirs her bowl, which is ninety percent noodles, eight percent cheese, and two percent chili.
I shovel a giant bite into my mouth and savor the different spices that hit my taste buds and create the perfect blend of flavors. I turn to my mom. “This is the best batch you’ve ever made.”
She preens under my praise. “Thank you. What do you think, Mal?”
My sister takes a tentative bite. “Not terrible.”
Shayna leans over and looks at Mallory’s bowl. There’s a hint of humor to her tone as she says, “You hardly got any chili. That’s the best part.”
Mallory shoots her friend a look. “Hilarious.”
Shayna takes a bite. “I think it’s delicious, Mama Porter.”
“Thanks, sweetheart.” Mom beams at her.
I feel Shayna’s eyes on me as I take another bite. When I turn to look at her, she’s staring very intently at her bowl. “I wasn’t expecting to see you tonight.”
She slowly drags her gaze back to mine, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. “You didn’t know?”
I set my spoon down and lean back in my seat. “Know what?”
“That I was coming?” I shake my head, and Shayna’s eyes move to my mother. “But your mom said that—” She stops mid-sentence.
I turn just in time to see my meddling mother making a fast-cutting motion with her hand in front of her neck. I cross my arms. “What did you tell her?”
My mom’s eyes go wide, trying to play innocent. Dad clears his throat and shoots Mom a look that finally has her sighing in defeat. “I may have mentioned that you wanted to invite her to family dinner but were too nervous to ask, so you had me do it.”
I sigh and rub a hand over the stubble peppering my chin. “When are you going to stop meddling?”
Mom holds a hand to her chest and gasps. “I don’t meddle. I’ve simply suggested you call a darling young woman I met at church or a friend’s neighbor’s daughter who moved home.” She gestures to Shayna. “Or take the opportunity to encourage you to see a good thing right in front of you.”
I groan. “That’s the definition of meddling.”
She rolls her lips into her mouth and shakes her head. “It’s not meddling when it’s your mother.”
“It still is,” Mallory says before folding her arms across her chest. “Also, you can’t just try to set my friends up with my brother.”
My hand itches to reach out and hold Shayna’s.
I could really use her grounding touch right now.
I never even considered the idea that Mallory may not approve of me dating her friend.
She never told me her friends were off-limits, but maybe she didn’t think she had to since I never dated anyone back in high school.
I turn to apologize to Shayna for this insane evening just as she starts to stand. “I think I should go,” she says.
“Stay.” The word slips out, but I mean it.
I want Shayna here. I wish I’d had a heads-up, but her presence makes me feel more comfortable and at home than I’ve ever felt in this house.
She looks at me for a few seconds. I can see the question in her eyes, asking if I’m really okay with this. I nod, hoping she can see the sincerity in the action.
“Okay.” Her voice is quieter than usual, almost shy.
Thankfully, everyone seems to unanimously vote to change the topic. Mom jumps in and asks Shayna about her new flower truck, and that keeps the conversation going—and not focused on me—for the majority of dinner.
It’s nice being able to eat my chili in peace, without trying to figure out how to answer my parents’ questions and then overanalyze everything I said on the drive home.
Shayna nudges my leg with her foot. I turn to her and blink a few times, trying to recall what they were talking about before I spaced out. “Sorry, what was the question?”
“Did you tell them about your game next weekend?”
So, she did see that part of Pat’s text.
“Game?” My mother looks at me with a raised brow. “What game?”
Shayna shoots me an apologetic look and mouths sorry.
“It’s nothing.” I wipe my mouth with a napkin. “Just a pickup game with some guys from the baseball team.”
“Oh, I’d love to see you play again. We’ll be there.”
“Great,” I deadpan. I’m not entirely dreading it, though. While I don’t love the thought of a whole crowd showing up with lawn chairs and pom-poms to support me, I like the idea of Shayna being there.
I picture her in a brightly colored lawn chair with a wide smile on her face, cheering me on, and my stomach flutters.
It’s time I finally call them what they are: butterflies.
She makes me feel everything all at once.
Butterflies. Excitement. Fear that one day she’ll wake up and realize I’m not enough for her. Thrilled at the thought of seeing her.
I don’t know what to do with any of these emotions, but there is something I know how to do: play ball.