Chapter Twenty-Seven Benson
Being back in my childhood home with Karmen is surreal.
I have always wanted to bring her home to meet my parents, but after the way things ended the first time, I never allowed myself to dream about it.
The last couple of days have been the best of my life.
Karmen and I both agreed we needed to get away.
We flew into New York the following day and drove the four hours to Cooperstown, where my parents live.
We booked a bed-and-breakfast close to their house, and we’ve been spending as much time with them as we can.
With the news we got two days ago, I’m glad we made the decision to stay for the entire week.
Mom stands in the kitchen, one hip leaning against the counter as she stirs the pot. It smells like heaven and summons so many childhood memories. Dad hovers nearby. It’s rare to see him more than a few feet from her these days. Like a magnet, he moves closer, one hand on the small of her back.
“Sweetheart,” he murmurs. “Let me take over. You’re supposed to be resting.”
“I am resting,” she replies with a smile, staring up at him as she continues to stir slowly. “See? Barely moving.”
He chuckles, wrapping an arm around her slender waist to pull her in closer. “You know what I mean, woman.”
She sighs, resting her head on his chest. “I can’t sit still. It’s been too long since they’ve all been home at the same time.”
“I know, baby. Just do me a favor and take it easy, okay?”
She nods as he presses a kiss to the top of her head.
Karmen’s gaze finds mine from where she stands, cutting up potatoes, a small smile on her face. Gentle warmth gathers in my chest at the effortless smile playing on her flawless lips. I’ve never seen her so happy, so genuinely at ease.
I knew my mother would welcome her to the family with open arms, but watching them bond over the last couple of days has been a dream come true.
She’s been teaching her how to cook, which is hilarious because Karmen is a disaster in the kitchen.
I do most of the cooking at home, and she’s content with that, but she’s been indulging my mother, and I love her for it.
Reese has been here for a couple of weeks now.
Asher and his wife, Marley, arrived earlier this morning with their daughter, Lyla Jo, and Reid and Cassidy showed up shortly afterwards.
Karmen has been a bit nervous to meet my sister and my sisters-in-law, but Cass, Marley, and Reese put her right at ease, as I knew they would.
Karmen told me she didn’t have a lot of friends growing up, and as an adult, never made time for them, focusing all her time on work, but the women clicked with her, as if they had known each other for years.
A few moments later, the rest of the stampede arrives. Ryker walks into the house carrying a car seat. My niece and nephew follow closely right behind him, arguing over an iPad. Justin and Selena file in next, their three rambunctious boys adding to the chaos.
Dad glances around the room. “Any word from Denver?”
Reese nods. “He sent a text to our group chat earlier. Their flight got delayed, but they’re coming.”
My mother blinks. “Since when do you all have a group chat?”
Reese shrugs. “Since last week.”
“I’ve been trying to start a family chat for years, but they all said they hate group chats, so I have to text everyone individually,” Mom says, exasperated.
“You can start one now, Mom,” Reese says with a smile. “I can assure you they will be on board with it.”
My mom’s eyes fill with unshed tears.
Yes, we all hate a group chat. I can’t stand it when they all start talking at once, and my phone starts going off like crazy, but we all agree that we need to stay connected and communicate better.
Especially with our parents getting older, our mother’s diagnosis, and our starting the family business, it’s essential that we stay in constant contact now.
Except when they start talking about dumb shit. Then I’m muting their asses.
Later that evening, we all gathered around the table to eat. After the blessing, Dad clears his throat. “Before we begin, your mother and I wanted to talk to you again about—”
Justin raises his hand. “If this is about Mom’s diagnosis, we already talked about it, and we’re all here to help, Dad. Whatever she needs.”
Mom nods, the picture of courage and strength. “I know. And I appreciate it. But I don’t want you all treating me like glass.”
Asher points to Dad. “Tell him that. He’d bubble wrap you if he could.”
Mom smiles at him. “He’s adjusting. We all are. But I’m going to be fine. I just need to take care of myself by resting more, managing my stress, and eating better.”
MS is not a death sentence. I know that.
The doctor said that people can live long, full lives with it.
Most people live normal lives because treatments are better now, and symptoms can be managed with medication.
She’s going to be okay. But the truth is, the moment she told us, something in me fractured a little because while she will have good days, there will be bad days too.
There will be flare-ups and remissions. There will be long stretches during which she may not feel like herself.
We’ll have to watch her. All of us. Even if she hates it.
But we’ll figure it out together, as a family. We always do.
A tear slips down her cheek as she scans the table, locking her gaze with every one of us. “But this, this is all I need. Being with all of you is healing me in ways medication never could.”