Page 93 of Starting Back
“My heart or could mean sweetheart. My father used to call my mother that.”
“I’m sure no one could resist you once you called them that.” Her brows jumped as a smile danced across her lips.
“That I couldn’t tell you since I’ve never called anyone that but you.” I grabbed her hand and brought it to my lips. “But if I did, you’re probably right.”
I cracked up when she shoved my shoulder.
Home was a strange concept that had never meant anything to me since I’d lost my parents. I’d run from making one most of my life, but I’d never felt the need to—until now.
I’d lost the inclination to move from place to place because when I found my home, it was a person.
THIRTY-FOUR
KRISTINA
“Say cheese!”
Emma pointed her new camera at Peyton and me after she rushed into the kitchen. My mother had given my nephew and the girls one early Christmas present each for Thanksgiving Day. Chloe was upstairs with Mike, playing their new video games and steering as clear of Leo and me as she could.
I’d been trying for patience, but I couldn’t give her a pass any longer, especially considering how hard Leo was trying with both my daughters. Emma adored him already, but I couldn’t understand what Chloe’s issue was.
When I’d tried to talk to her and find out what her problem was with Leo, she insisted that she didn’t have one, despite the constant questions over the past couple of weeks about where Leo took me on the nights we’d go out and when he was coming over again.
I’d thought we’d gotten past the days when she worried over every move I made, and I’d hoped that seeing me happy would finally put all that to rest.
I was over the constant wait for the other shoe to drop, and I’d booked an overdue appointment with a therapist for all of us to finally dig into what was really bothering her all this time.
I leaned in closer to Peyton, now nothing but belly as she entered her ninth month, and smiled. There was so much to be happy about today, and I would do my best to set aside my guilt and worry over Chloe until the weekend.
“Here it comes,” Emma chirped as she waited for the picture to print. The camera was a smaller digital version of the Polaroid my father had loved to break out on holidays. I could still imagine him shaking the picture in his hand and the excitement in his crystal-blue eyes as it developed.
The kids were a good distraction, but there would never be a holiday when it didn’t seem like a big part of all of us was missing.
“Wow, your belly looks really big in this one, Aunt Peyton.” Emma eyed the picture in her hand with a wide gaze.
“Emma, what did I tell you about that?”
Peyton laughed and squeezed my shoulder. “It’s fine, my niece is very observant.” She waddled over to Emma, bending slowly to kiss the top of her head. “And it comes in handy.” Peyton caressed her stomach, moving her hand in light circles. “Like when I won’t be able to sit close to the table and I can balance my plate on my stomach.”
“Will the baby be here by Christmas?” Emma’s eyes danced. She was already fascinated with her baby cousin, and although we’d have to make sure she gave the baby space, I was glad not to spot any jealousy yet over losing her title as the youngest in the family.
“God, I hope so.” Peyton glanced at me with a chuckle. “Why don’t you go into the living room and take more pictures of Leo and Uncle Jake?”
Emma nodded and scampered away.
Chloe had been almost ten when Emma was born, and she’d approached being a big sister with trepidation from the time I’d started to show. I’d always made sure to give her extra love so she didn’t feel left out, and I was relieved when she adored Emma on sight. She still did, even if her little sister grated on her nerves at times.
“Sweetheart, enough,” Jake said as he came into the kitchen and took Peyton’s hand. “Come sit down.”
“I’m fine, babe.” She rolled her eyes with a low groan. “I can’t let your mother and sister do everything when we invited them to our house for Thanksgiving.”
“You can.” My mother came up behind her, grinning as she patted her stomach. “It’s all done anyway, so rest while you’re able to, honey.”
“Exactly,” Donna, Peyton’s mother, said as she strolled into the kitchen. “The table is all set up, and there is nothing for you to do but sit and eat, which is going to be a rare luxury very soon.”
Donna shared Peyton’s dark hair and eyes but was a head taller with a booming voice and no-nonsense attitude. She had a big heart and less of a filter than my six-year-old. Peyton and her mother bickering back and forth was a constant every time they were in the same room, but poor Peyton was too pregnant to argue today.
“Come on,” Jake crooned and wrapped his arms around Peyton. “Listen to your mother. You can put your feet up until dinner is ready.”
