The footsteps draw closer. My heart quickens.
All at once, I regret coming back to Nebraska. If I could, I would stand before a judge and plead my case, right this very moment. I’d go live on air and beg for the public’s forgiveness. I would do just about anything to get out of what’s about to happen next when I see my father.
My mother feigns outrage. “You are dripping water all over the clean floor, Hank Carter.”
My dad gives a grizzly shake, splashing water clear across the room. “What’s that, Norma Jean!”
An unmistakable light shines in my mother’s eyes as she looks at her husband of thirty-four years, and it warms my heart. I’ve never seen her make those eyes at another man, and I doubt she ever will.
“One of these days, I’m gonna teach you some manners,” she says as he leans down to plant a kiss on her forehead.
At sixteen, my mother fell in love with my father, who was seven years her senior. When she was nineteen, my father finally realized she existed. Shortly after she turned twenty, they were married, and when she turned twenty-two, they had their first child together, Jake. Then they had me three years later. She was twenty-six when they purchased the farm, which was a bit rundown at the time, but after pouring years of hard work and love into it, they made it a home. Then, a whole lot later, Prim came, taking everyone by surprise.
When I, the proverbial apple, fell so far from the tree, Momma never wavered. When success came for me, and promises of high-rise penthouses, vacations, custom-made clothes, spa pamperings, and a life of leisure were placed at my momma’s feet, she walked over it all to go feed to cattle.
I’m no apple. I’m a black sheep.
Pa takes his seat, his eyes falling on me before darting to Prim. “The guy from the kennels stopped by today, told me how thankful he was that you were coming around.”
Prim beams at his praise.
“You better not be thinkin’ of bringing one of those mutts home again,” he scolds.
“But dad, Kevin is a good dog! He just wants to play.”
“Kevin scares the chickens,” he replies. “He doesn’t have a proper job, wasn’t meant to have one. Now, if you get an Australian shepherd in, that’ll be a talk we can have. But no more mutts, and absolutely NOT another husky.”
Prim pouts her lower lip outward.
“Dinner smells great, Mrs. Carter,” Garrett says.
My eyes fall on the boy I once knew standing in the doorway, or rather, the man he’s become. I have to blink to make sure I’m seeing him right. His eyes are an icy shade of blue, his jaw strong and defined. His white shirt is a little damp from where his jacket was opened, making the thin fabric cling to his well-defined muscles. He’s wearing denim Wranglers as country boys do, and by GOD do they hug his ass.
He’s always been handsome, heck, he was my childhood crush, but this is the first time I’ve ever glimpsed him as a man.
“Take a seat, Garrett,” Mother says. “Food’s getting cold.”
He complies with her wishes, his eyes falling upon me for but a moment.
Grace is followed by an orchestra of forks and knives clashing with my mother’s china plates. I try to limit my portions, but my mother was never one to let any of us ‘starve’ so when she notices the bare spots on my plate, she heaps on more potatoes.
The conversation goes from Prim’s track meets, to the Country Store getting sold, to some gas station that might be closing because it’s out of regulation, which may not seem like a big deal, but when you live out in the middle of nowhere, it matters.
The whole while, Garrett’s eyes keep darting in my direction. He tries to be discreet about it, and no one else seems to notice, but I am no stranger to people trying to cop a glance.
And I can’t seem to keep my eyes to myself either.
Prim’s a chatterbox, barely taking a breath as she rambles on. I love her exuberance. It makes me want to be young again.
My father’s eyes avoid mine, a slight I feel more deeply than I should.
What did you expect, to be welcomed back with open arms? You broke his heart.
I slump in my seat, an outsider to the tight-knit group. No, not an outsider—a pariah.
Garrett eats slowly, with good manners. I remember eating across from him at my best friend Irene’s table, though then he’d scarf down his food fast at the danger of choking so he could run off with the boys. And eventually, to my heartache, his dates.
“Mom, this is delicious,” I say, then fork another bite into my mouth.
