Chapter 20
Devan
T he aroma of roasted chicken fills the kitchen as I stir the potatoes. Sticking a fork into one, I announce, “I think they’re ready to mash.”
Mom turns from where she’s cutting fruit for a fruit salad. “Do you want to mash them?”
I scrunch my nose. “Ricky will complain about lumps.”
Mom’s smile grows. “If that’s the only thing your brother complains about during the meal, we’ll be getting off easy.”
“You’re right. Maybe lumps will distract him.”
Removing the colander from the cupboard, I put it in the sink. Using hot pads, I carry the pan to the sink, and pour the potatoes and water into the strainer.
As I’m working, Mom brings a stick of butter and a carton of heavy cream and places them beside me.
“I see we’re not going for the low-fat version.”
“Honey, if there’s one thing I’ve learned over the years is men like your dad, brother, and Justin Sheers work hard all day. Those calories go to energy, not to fat. Besides, if there are going to be lumps, they might as well be delicious lumps.”
She’s right.
One time, Marilyn and I tried a food delivery service. They sent all the fixings for a meal. All we had to do was cook it. The directions for their mashed potatoes had potatoes, water, and sour cream. In a nutshell, the final product was gross.
The whip of the hand mixer jiggles my hand as the blades scrape against the side of the pan. I’m concentrating on the lumps while adding butter and cream when suddenly, I stop. Swallowing, I turn toward the back door.
“Hey,” Ricky calls. “I’m going to shower. I’ve got a softball game tonight.” He doesn’t stop or turn toward us as his voice fades away on the second floor.
My gaze meets Mom’s.
Without a word, she comes to me and reaches for my arm. “Don’t be worried, Devan. You’re a grown woman. You can make your own choices.”
Setting the hand mixer beside the pan, I cross my arms over my chest as tears threaten to ruin the small amount of makeup I put on for tonight’s dinner-slash-confrontation.
“Are you changing your mind?” Mom asks.
Last night, I told her the whole story. I left out a few details, especially about what happened last night at Empire Quarry; nevertheless, I started with the kiss the night of the hog roast. She was disappointed to learn I’d been in town without telling her.
Yet in the grand scheme of our discussion, that topic received minimal attention.
Mostly, I told her how I feel being with Justin.
I mentioned his immense skill in the kissing department.
I also told her about our evening telephone chats, the way he held my hand, and that he asked me to date exclusively.
According to Mom, she knew that there was someone in my life before I told her. She’s noticed my smile and something different about me. She hasn’t wanted to push, but as I confessed most things about Justin, Mom was pleased.
“He’s a good man. I know he’s a great friend to Ricky, and I believe if he makes you smile like you are, you should see where this goes.”
That was last night.
Now, Mom’s soft brown stare is again focused on me. “Have you changed your mind?” she asks again.
I shake my head.
“Devan, talk to me now. Whatever you’re feeling, you need to face it before we’re all seated at that table and Ricky says something to make you emotional.”
“I’m not emotional,” I say, wiping a tear with the back of my hand.
She reaches for my shoulders. “No, dear. You’re not.” Her smile grows. “What is making you not emotional?”
“I’m worried about Justin and Ricky.”
Mom tilts her head.
“Justin said he’s concerned if we don’t work out that he’ll lose both me and Ricky.”
“Do you think you two won’t work out?”
I sigh. “I don’t know. Right now, I don’t even want to think about that. But the friendship they share is important to both of them. I don’t want to be the reason they lose it.”
“I’m going to be blunt, Devan. You will change their friendship. It’s simple. With you and Justin seeing one another, Justin will never again be only Ricky’s friend. He’ll also be yours.”
Looking away from her gaze, I let her words sink in.
“Devan.”
I look back up.
“Is Justin worth it?”
Without speaking, I nod.
“Does Justin think you’re worth the risk?”
“I think he does. He’s a little worried Ricky may take him out, right here in the kitchen.”
Mom grins. “It’s why I decided on chicken. I didn’t want any steak knives at the ready.”
“Do you think?—?”
“No. I’m teasing you.”
I let out a long breath. “We have your support, Justin and I?”
“You, Devan Marie, have my support. Your father and I are so proud of you, and that includes the decisions you’ve made.
Why would I think that your ability to make choices has suddenly taken a turn?
I don’t. And the fact you’re worried about Ricky and Justin’s relationship shows what a truly loving woman you are. ”
“What about Dad?” I ask.
“He’s coming to dinner prepared.”
“You told him?”
Mom nods. “Your dad was surprised. The age difference caught him off guard, but the fact he knows Justin, and has known him… Well, Dad is willing to support you.”
I didn’t want her to tell Dad, but now that I know she has, I admit I’m relieved. “I guess that just leaves Ricky as the only one who will be blindsided.”
We both look at the clock on the front of the microwave.
“What time is Justin getting here?” Mom asks.
“He said he’d text before he left his house.” I pull my phone from the back pocket of my jean shorts and look at the screen. “No text.”
“It’s your decision.” She pauses. “We can go ahead with the plan, or I can finish up the potatoes and fruit and you can go upstairs and have an adult conversation with your brother.”
I lay my hand over my stomach. “I think I feel sick.”
Mom doesn’t speak.
“Fine,” I say. Looking at the unfinished potatoes, I add, “just be sure to leave lumps.”
Mom leans closer and kisses my forehead. “I love you. Rick does too. Remember that when he reacts. He’s reacting to news about his baby sister.”
“I’m not a baby.”
“Remind him.”
Taking a deep breath, I head toward the back staircase, the direction Ricky disappeared.
With each step, I try to categorize the relationship the two of us share.
With ten years’ difference in our ages, we weren’t exceptionally close when I was young.
As Justin said, I was the tagalong little sister.
Over the last few years, Ricky and I have grown closer.
We talk more. He told me about Mom and Dad maybe selling the farm.
I recall how proud he was at my graduation.
Two adults.
Yeah. We can be two adults.
As I near the bathroom we share, I hear the shower still running.
If I go back downstairs, I know I won’t have the courage to come back up.
Instead, I head into my bedroom and take another look at myself in the mirror.
It’s a June evening, and I’m dressed for the softball game, wearing jean shorts with a tear in one leg and ragged hems. They’re short, but not too short.
The orange tank top says Riverbend on the front.
Marilyn and Jill will have on matching tops.
They were made as a fundraiser for the team.
If Riverbend has anything, it’s pride in our local teams.
My light hair is still in the low ponytail I wore to the school earlier today. As I hear the water stop, I pull the hair tie from my hair, brush the length, and plait one long braid. By the time I’m done, I’ve heard the bathroom door open and Ricky’s door close.
The phone in my back pocket vibrates. With a deep breath, I pull it out and read the screen.
“ON MY WAY.”
Do you want to forget about this for a while?
That’s the question I’m dying to text. The problem with doing so is that if Justin and I continue as we have been doing, this talk with Ricky will only get more difficult not less.
Two adults.
Ignoring the perspiration coating my skin and the erratic beating of my heart, I make my way to Ricky’s bedroom door and knock.
“I’ll be down in a minute.”
“Ricky, it’s Devan. Can we talk?”
The door opens. He’s wearing a pair of basketball shorts. That’s all. His bare chest and toned abs are on display. I can admit that he’s good looking in a brother-type way. If he found someone, I’d be happy for him.
Two adults.
Ricky’s stare is on me. Concern shows in lines beside his eyes. “What’s the matter?”
“I wanted to talk with you before dinner.”
He pushes the door open wider. “Is it something with Mom or Dad? Your new job?”
“No. It’s…” I inhale. “I invited Justin to dinner.” I lean against the doorjamb, taking in the clutter that is my brother.
His bed is unmade. The clothes he wore while working today are half in and half out of a clothes basket.
There are water bottles, a few pop cans, and God only knows what else on his bedside stand.
“Okay,” he says, digging through a drawer of his dresser. Finally, he pulls his softball shirt from the depths. It’s wrinkled, but at least it’s clean. “Why?”
“We want to talk to you and Mom and Dad.”
My brother’s nose scrunches. “You and Justin want to talk to all of us. About what?”
Is it awful I want him to figure it out before I have to say it?
It is.
I need to say it.
I want a relationship with Justin. This is our first obstacle, and we both need to face it head-on. Clearing my throat, I say, “We’re dating.”
Ricky laughs as he pulls the orange shirt over his head. “Right. Is this a joke?”
“No.” I shake my head. “It only became official last night, but it started the night of the hog roast.”
My brother’s expression goes blank. “The hog roast? The one at the Gordon farm? You weren’t in town.”
“I was. I came for my interview with Mr. Sams—Cory.” I don’t know what Justin said to Ricky about that night. “He didn’t know who I was that night. And I didn’t tell him.”
Ricky shakes his head. “No. Justin wouldn’t do this without talking to me, telling me.”
“We didn’t want to keep it from you. We were waiting to see if we both felt the same way.”
“What way?” Ricky’s voice is louder than before.
“We like one another.”
“Shit, Devan. Tell me this is a poorly timed April fool’s joke. It’s fucking June.”
“It’s not,” I say. “I like Justin. He likes me. We’re adults. We’re dating.” As I finish speaking, we both turn to the sound of the screen door slamming.
“Come on in, Justin,” my mom says on the first level.
“Ricky?” I question.
My brother pushes past me, determination filling his expression as he heads for the kitchen.