Page 89 of When There Was You
“Hey,” he adds softly. “I didn’t ask you about Thanksgiving for obvious reasons and I’ve felt like a complete asshole about it. Here you are, separated from family and everyone you know, and if it’s not too late, I’d love for you to join us. So would my folks.”
I’m taken aback. “Your parents know about us?”
“Mm-hmm. They’re quite taken with you. My mother hasn’t shut up since you were here for lunch. And then you really blew things up by making homemade soup and cookies, which we all loved, by the way. My parents genuinely appreciated the gesture. It ratcheted you up to all-star status.”
I let out a surprised snort. “Wait. Back up a minute. Explain that first part about your mom.”
“She sensed there’s something between us—or could be—and she’s been bugging the fuck out of me about it.”
My unfiltered laugh rings out. “Wow, seriously?”
He pauses again. “It’s been a long time since she’s seen me…interested in a woman.” He groans like it’s painful, but I’m coated in warmth.
“Your situation was probably hard on your mom. She only wishes for your happiness and would have wanted yourmarriage to be lasting and fulfilling with your family intact. It must have been agonizing for her to see you hurting.”
He hums, almost smug. “Damn, Sundance. Sounds a lot like something a mother would say.”
I’m dead silent, mulling over my last words.
Because he’s right.
Forty-Six
Thanksgiving brings a cavalcade of thoughts and emotions. Normally I’m focused on surviving anotherHall-iday,but this screams high stakes. Or maybe I’m being overly dramatic.
Wanting to make a good impression—the entire Hamilton family will be there today—I don a shirred ruffle, rust-orange dress that hits mid-calf, and my favorite suede boots. I leave my golden hair long, my makeup tasteful, and damn if I don’t look like a walking advertisement for autumn. I gather my purse, coat, and the sweet potato pie I made from scratch. My coworker Val assured me this was an appropriate southern dessert for the occasion.
My mind chantswe’re doing this…we can do thisall the way to the car.
As my Toyota warms up, I sift through my tape collection, searching for anything to ease the trepidation shadowing my every move. Oh yes…Van Halen’s1984will do nicely. The synthesizer intro plays, bringing a pang of melancholy. It’s their last album before David Lee Roth quit the band. Granted, he was a total prima donna but replacing him with Sammy Hagar—as much as I love me some Hagar—ruins a good thing. Another reminder thatnothing stays the same.
I make my way to the interstate, volume cranked. Roth sings, “Go ahead and jump” and I wonder if Van Halen is imparting wisdom specifically for me. A grin erupts before I belt out the lyrics.
Singing, headbanging, and tapping out guitar riffs on the steering wheel keeps my nerves from taking over for most of the ride. Good call.
After I exit the main highway, the landscape illustrates just how fast indeed everything changes. The grass leans toward gray. Trees are barren, their once vivid leaves browning and seeping into the earth. As sad as this transition to the next season looks, I’m excited for my first winter on the east coast, stoked at the prospect of snow. The only time this California girl previously experienced that phenomenon was if I drove four hours to frolic in it—a rare event.
Entering Hampton Springs proper, I slow my speed and reduce the volume on John Mellencamp’s “Scarecrow,” but my heart pounds harder and faster with every mile closer to the Hamilton household.
Butch. Emmy. The parents. Other family members. Overwhelm creeps up, but then again, there’s safety in numbers. Maybe it will be easier, put me less on the hot seat?Right.My hunch is this brood protects their own, which means I’ll be scrutinized and interrogated...and I might not measure up.
I steer down the drive, exhale a long breath.
Might as well jump.
Butch jogs out of the house and down the porch steps before I’ve shut my car door.
He doesn’t say a word, just pulls me into his arms and kisses me. My heart lurches at the intensity in it. His lips find my ear, his words raw, honest. “I’m so fucking happy you’re here. That you’re giving us a chance. Thank you.”
I stroke his cheek, grazing the coarse hair from the beardhe’s growing, and he sinks into my caress. “Thank you for believing in me.”
He closes his eyes a moment, as if savoring my touch.
We part and his brow lifts. “You ready for the circus?”
“As long as there are no clowns. I just can’t add the stress of that into my day.”
Butch chuckles. “We’re all clowns, baby.”
