Ander chuckles again.
"I hope I can feed them."
Ander nods.
"You've got to be shitting me," I hear The Ramones Blitzkrieg Bop come on over the radio, and I crank it up, singing along to every word. Jamming like my life depends on it. Ander looks me over now and then with a smug ass grin on his face; that sexy smug ass grin. I can tell he's trying not to laugh, and he's holding his composure together by a thread, so I start poking at his side, edging him to sing along, and finally, he does.
It feels like old times when life was much simpler. We used to jam to old music, dance together, and flail like fools, and the world felt lighter.
After the song ends, I'm still giggling, and I'm not sure why, but my rambling starts back up.
Fuck me and my stupid brain.
"I wonder if I should cook breakfast?" I turn to him, "You know I'm not the best cook. I hope they don't want me to cook real food. If they do, they'll be disappointed. Although, I do make some bomb-ass blueberry muffins. Fuck eggs, though. I hate making eggs. I always screw them up."
"Breakfast?" Ander lets out a small laugh, arching an eyebrow my way.
"Yeah, you know, the meal before lunch," I reply sarcastically.
"V, what's going on?"
"They remember who I am, right?" I blurt out immediately.
Ander scoffs. His brows narrow, his nose scrunches, and he flashes a pathetic grin my way as if he's saying "duh" with his face without actually having to say it.
"Do they… You know. Hate me?" My face is soft, begging for reassurance.
"They could never hate you, Rosie. They've all missed you." He squeezes my hand, and the softness on his face gives me the reassurance I need.
With that, I finally shut the fuck up and relax. Hand in hand with Ander as we drive for me to re-meet his family.
The drive to the ranch isn't as long as I remember it being when we were kids. As we pull down the gravel road leading up to the expansive property and drive through the oak trees that perfectly line the gravel drive, the huge main ranch home comes into view. I gulp. It's just as big, beautiful, and breathtaking as I remember. It's a log-style cabin, but it's enormous. It's like something you'd see in a Southern Living magazine.
As we inch closer and quickly, a knot forms in my stomach. Ander says they've missed me, but what if. . .
Before I have time to finish that worry, Mrs. Kristen, Anders' mom, is running out of the front door and down the porch steps. She's waving anxiously as she softly jumps up and down on the balls of her feet.
As soon as the truck comes to a stop, she swings the door of the truck open before I get a chance to. I quickly unbuckle and hop down to her. She puts her hand on my shoulders, keeping me at arm's length as she looks me over with watery eyes.
"Oh, Via!" she exclaims, tears welling up in her eyes. She pulls me into a tight hug. She smells like patchouli, instantly reminding me of my mom, and only brings tears to my eyes.
She grips her hands on my shoulders, looking me over again as the tears now stream freely down her cheeks.
"Look at you! How did you manage to get even more gorgeous?"
I smile and let out a small laugh, "Hey, Mrs. Kristen. It's so good to see you!" These people had become my family over the years, and I've genuinely missed them all.
Ander walks up with a proud smile plastered across his face as he drapes an arm over my shoulder, pulling me into him slightly. I look at his gaze and flash a soft smile that says, "Okay, you were right. This won't be so bad."
Just as I look away from him, I hear my name coming off the porch, "Via," the woman's voice calls in a sing-song tone. I fix my eyes on the porch steps to see a beautiful teenage girl running my way. Her long, wavy, ashy blonde hair flies in every direction as her tall frame approaches me, jumping into my arms.
"Oh my god, Abbie!" I exclaim. I'm utterly shocked at how much she's grown. I know it's been quite a few years, but for some reason, in my mind, she was still that young girl. She is around the same age that Natty would be. Seeing her all grown up is an instant reminder that Natty isn't here anymore. I quickly tug those tears back in and push those emotions down. I'm entirely too happy to see her to let anything ruin this.
Abbie was like another sister to me; I'd always cared for her. She's stunning.
Still clinging to me, Abbie starts, "You have no idea how good it is to see you! My brother has been a miserable prick the past few years, hopefully now—" She laughs as Ander shoves her, and Mrs. Kristen cuts her off with a stern look, embarrassment covering her cheeks for her son.
"Abigail!"
