Chapter 4 #2
Julia sat back, satisfied. “Good. We’ve established Thomas has a Christmas dance situation.”
“I have no situation.”
“You do now,” Samuel said.
The table erupted again, and Thomas surrendered by reaching for more potatoes.
A few minutes later, James made the mistake of mentioning that Mrs. Dixon’s niece was coming into town for the holidays, and Julia turned on him with terrifying speed.
“Oh, you mean the niece you asked about twice last year?”
James pointed at her with his fork. “I asked if she still lived in San Antonio. That is geography, not romance.”
“You remembered the city?”
“I remember cities.”
“You do not,” Samuel said. “You once thought Lubbock was east of Dallas.”
“It felt east.”
Mark shook his head, but his smile came easier now. This was how dinner went. One person became the target, everyone joined in, and eventually someone said something ridiculous enough that the whole table moved on.
“Are you over Lily Barrington?” Julia asked James.
“We dated in high school.” He waved his hand. “So long ago. Do you remember what year you graduated from high school, Julia? Or are you forgetting things because you’re so old?”
“Haha. Very funny. I’m not even ten years older than you!”
“You’re twelve years older than me,” Samuel said.
Maybe Samuel regretted speaking up because he was next. Mama mentioned that Mrs. Barlow’s granddaughter had asked after him at church.
Samuel actually blushed, which guaranteed the table would not let him live.
“She asked about my truck,” he insisted. “People admire craftsmanship.”
“Your truck has duct tape on the passenger mirror,” Julia said.
“Temporary reinforcement.”
“It has been there since July,” Mark said.
“It’s holding, isn’t it?”
Their father gave Samuel a long look. “That sounds like something a man says before he asks to borrow money for a new mirror.”
“I would never ask during dinner.”
“Good.”
“I’d wait until dessert.”
Mama laughed, and Samuel joined in.
Mark lifted his glass of tea and took a drink. This was the point where someone usually turned toward him.
Years ago, it would have happened already.
Julia would have raised an eyebrow and asked if Jenna was coming by later.
Their mama would have asked whether he and Jenna had talked about Christmas Eve plans.
James would have made some comment about Mark finally settling down before he turned into a fence post.
After the breakup, the questions had changed. Had he heard from her? Was he doing all right? Had he thought about asking anyone else out? Did he want to come along to some event where a perfectly nice woman just happened to be attending?
Those questions had irritated him until he thought he might lose his mind.
He had prayed for everyone to stop.
Apparently, they had.
The conversation slid past him without slowing.
Julia started telling a story about a woman from church who had ordered three cakes from three different people for the same event and refused to admit she had forgotten.
Thomas asked Father about feed prices. James and Samuel began arguing over who had taken the last of the rolls even though Mark knew for a fact his father had quietly placed two more beneath a napkin near Mama.
No one looked at Mark. No one teased him. No one asked if he had met anyone. No one wondered if he would bring someone to the Christmas dance.
He was spared, exactly the way he had wanted to be, but the relief he expected did not come. Instead, something hollow and inconvenient opened in his chest.
Mark set his tea down and reached for his fork, although he wasn’t hungry anymore. He told himself he was being ridiculous. Nobody asking meant they were being kind. Respectful. They had finally believed him when he said he was fine. That should have counted as a mercy.
So why did it feel like being quietly written out of a story everyone else still expected to continue?
“Mark,” his mama said, and his gaze snapped up too quickly. She held the breadbasket toward him. “Do you want the last roll?”
He stared at the basket for half a second before taking one. “Thanks.”
Her gaze lingered on him.
He buttered the roll because it gave his hands something to do.
The rest of dinner carried on. Dessert came out, and Julia’s trifle earned enough compliments that she forgave everyone for doubting its table placement.
Samuel tried to cut too large a serving and got his knuckles tapped with their mama’s serving spoon.
James declared it the best dessert Julia had ever brought, then ruined it by adding that her standards had been low before.
Thomas laughed so hard he nearly spilled coffee.
Mark helped clear plates when the meal ended, stacking them carefully at the sink while his mama packed leftovers into containers.
The kitchen felt warmer than the dining room, the window above the sink fogging slightly from the dishwater.
Outside, the yard was dark now except for the porch light and the security light near the garage.
“You’re quiet tonight,” his mama said as she scraped potatoes into a glass container.
“I’m always quiet.”
“No.” She snapped the lid into place and looked at him. “You’re usually selective.”
Mark almost smiled. “That sounds like something you’ve been waiting to say.”
“I raised five children. I have descriptions ready for all of you.”
“Should I ask mine?”
“Dependable, observant, stubborn enough to make your father proud.” His mama handed him a container of roast. “Put this in the fridge.”
He did, using the moment with his back turned to avoid her gaze.
When he faced her again, she was watching him with that soft, careful concern he had not seen as often lately.
He should have felt annoyed, but he felt something uncomfortably close to gratitude.
“I’m all right, Mama,” he said before she could ask.
“I know.” She folded a dish towel with unnecessary precision. “I also know all right isn’t always the same as happy.”
Mark leaned back against the counter, arms crossed loosely. “Are you asking if I’m happy?”
“I’m not asking anything.” She smiled faintly. “Your father says I should let you breathe.”
“That sounds wise.”
“He is occasionally.”
“Don’t tell him that.”
“I never do.”
They shared a small smile, and the pressure in Mark’s chest eased.
His mama turned back to the counter. “If you ever aren’t all right, you don’t have to make an announcement at dinner. You can just tell me.”
Mark looked down at the floor. “I know.”
“I mean it.”
That was one of the things he loved most about his mother. She could push with the best of them, but when something mattered, she knew how to leave a door open instead of dragging him through it.
Thomas walked in carrying three coffee mugs and a dessert plate. “I found these in the dining room, and Samuel wants everyone to know the flower bed is fine.”
His mama’s eyes narrowed. “Did he move the truck?”
“Yes.”
“Did he inspect the flower bed?”
“He poked it with his boot.”
“I’m going outside.”
Thomas stepped aside immediately.
Mark laughed as his mother headed for the mudroom.
Thomas set the mugs by the sink and glanced toward him. “You good?”
Mark looked at his brother. Thomas’s tone was lighter than their mama’s, but the question was not careless.
“Yeah.”
Thomas nodded. “All right.”
No follow-up. No digging. No mention of Jenna or dating or anything else.
Thomas grabbed another piece of trifle with his fingers and left the kitchen before Julia could catch him.
Mark stayed by the counter, listening to his family move through the house around him.
His father laughed at something in the dining room.
Julia threatened Thomas over stolen dessert.
Samuel opened the front door and immediately announced that the flower bed had “never been healthier,” which made their mama scold him from the porch.
Home. It was good. Full. Blessed.
Full and finished were not the same thing.
His gaze drifted to the kitchen window, where faint reflections from the house overlaid the dark yard.
For no good reason, he thought of a lamppost bow outside Winter Wishes, adjusted half an inch lower because Natalie Winters had decided it looked smug.
He thought of her laugh, bright and unembarrassed, and the way she had written something on her clipboard after catching him smiling.
He shook his head once. Ridiculous. One afternoon hanging decorations did not mean anything, but it had been the first unexpected thing to happen in a long time. Maybe that was all it was.
Mark pushed away from the counter and reached for the dish towel. If he stayed in the kitchen long enough, his mother would return from inspecting the flower bed and put him to work anyway.
Might as well make himself useful.
That, at least, still made sense.