Iled the way into the kitchen, relieved to find the same cookie jar shaped as acow on the counter.
Atleast some things hadn’t changed.
“CanI help with anything, Mom?” I asked, watching her bustle around, taking her in.
Thelast time I saw her, her hair had sparkled silver and white. Now, it was all awarm chestnut brown, healthy and shining under the recessed lighting in thekitchen ceiling. She wore a peasant-style top that I never would’ve imaginedher wearing and a pair of skinny jeans that honestly made her legs lookincredible, and the flats on her feet were a bold shade of red.
Butthe most disconcerting thing of all? She wouldn’t stop smiling.
Itwasn’t as though my father’s death had brought her to lose her sense of humor,or the ability to smile, but the laughs had been infrequent and short. Thesmiles were tense and fleeting.
Thiswoman? She was glowing.
Sheturned to me, her blue eyes glistening in a way they hadn’t in … well, I’m notsure they’deverglistened like that. “I have everything taken care ofin here, honey, but you know what? You two can set the table.”
Inodded. “Are plates still—”
“Kylie,you know where the plates are. They’re where they’ve always been,” Mom saidwith a light laugh and a shake of her head as she opened the oven.
“Well,I just wasn’t sure because—”
“I’llget the plates. You grab the glasses?” Devin said, flashing me a stern glarethat told me to keep my mouth shut. Reminding me that this was a good thing,that her sudden change should be welcomed.
Inodded, silently heading to the cabinet and immediately noticing that the oldCoca-Cola cups my father had collected, were no longer lining the middle shelf.My heart clenched around shards of glass, puncturing those old wounds andtearing them open as I reached for three etched tumblers. They were new, with avintage look and they felt wrong in my grasp.
Myfeet shuffled into the dining room and I placed the glasses on the table andslumped into one of the high-backed chairs, holding my face in my palms.
Devinput the plates down on the table and pulled out the chair beside me. I heardhim sit, then felt his warm palm on my knee. “Are you going to lose your shit?”
“I’mreally,reallytrying not to,” I said, my words muffled by my hands.“But it’s just … I mean …” I uncovered my face, dropping my hands to my lap andlooked to his surprisingly calm expression. “Where is hisstuff? Wheredid it all—" My words were cut off by the sudden lodging of a boulder inmy throat and I squeezed my eyes shut, talking myself through deep breaths.
“Wecan leave,” he offered, squeezing my knee.
“Leave?You just got here!” Mom said cheerfully as she entered the room with a steamingcasserole dish in her hands. She took one look at me and my sickly expressionand her face fell for the first time since we got there. “Honey,are you okay?”
Devingave her a forced smile. “She had some Chinese for dinner last night thatmight’ve given her food poisoning.”
“Ohno,” Mom pouted. “Do you need something? Pepto?”
Ishook my head. “No, I’m fine, really,” I said, taking a deep breath. “I thinkI’m just hungry. We’ve been out all day and I haven’t eaten anything yet.”
Herface lit again. “Well, I made your favorite,” and with a swoop of her arm, shelifted the lid off the casserole dish, making the grand reveal. “Cottage pie!”
“Itlooks good,” I said honestly, already beginning to salivate. “Dev, can you grabus drinks?”
Momwaved a hand in protest before he could stand up. “Devin,don’t let her boss you around. You sit,I’llgrab a bottle of soda. Rootbeer okay?”
“Uh,yeah,” we both responded, and she was on her way back into the kitchen.
Wesat silent, processing for the ten seconds it took her to grab the bottle andcome back into the dining room. She plopped heaping servings of cottage pieonto our plates, before sitting herself down, smiling at us in a way that mademe feel on the spot.
“So,how have you both been? How’s work?”
“Work’sgood,” Devin said, immediately diving into his food.
Inodded. “Yeah, the shop is going really well. You should come by and hear Devinplay,” I said, scooping up a forkful of mashed potatoes and meat. “It’s been awhile.”
“Iwas thinking about it! It’s a bit of a hike for me to come down during theweek, but—”
