Mom rushed over to help Magnolia gain her feet while I filed away the groceries. They went back and forth about how my sister was feeling, who my mother ran into at the market, what we'd do about Thanksgiving dinner, seeing as the babies would arrive by then and they, of course, changed everything.
That seemed so strange to me. I didn't know what it would be like for everything to change. As far as my life went, there wasn't much variation. Trees and forests, my family, ball games. Sex when I felt like it, adventure when I was bored. That was enough for me. It was all I needed. All I wanted.
I didn't want the most stubborn, independent woman in the world. No. Not at all.
Except I did, I wanted her very much and I wanted her to abandon her fake smiles and the affected voice and all the things that drained the range and raw beauty out of her.
I wanted her to change everything for me because of course she would, and someday, I wanted my mother to hover over her and roast a chicken simply because she mentioned it. I wanted to burn with fury because she created another hazard for herself without realizing any of it. I wanted to be driven to distraction by her inability to manage simple things like rotaries and wall paint and her simultaneous ability to pull off the impossible with little effort. I wanted to wonder what we'd do about the holidays because everything had changed, everything.
But I hadn't asked her to stay—didn't even think I could—and I was too busy scowling to go home and see about salvaging this wreck before it was too late.
I was allowed my scowl, dammit. I was allowed some bitterness, some resentment. She crashed into my world, all crowbars and chaos and that peach-sweet charm, and I was damn well entitled to snarl over the fact she picked up the mess she made of me and left.
This was her fault. She was responsible for this, for my scowling. I didn't ask for any of it. The last thing I needed was a woman who didn't notice her own apple trees. For fuck's sake. And my god, the crockpot. The fucking crockpot.
A hard, painful laugh twisted in my chest as I put the last of the groceries away. I shut the refrigerator and let my forehead fall against the cool surface. "I'm so full of shit."
"What was that?" my mother chirped. "Am I setting a place for you at the table tonight? There's plenty."
"No, I have to get back," I said, and I knew that was the right answer. Maybe not right but it was the answer. I had to get home and do something. I didn't know what but I knew it was essential.
"You're sure? It's no trouble." She paused, lifted her brows. "I haven't seen much of you lately."
"These are the consequences, Mom. You tell me to find someone special, you have to expect I'll spend time with her."
She reached for a dish towel. "It's a price I'll happily pay, my darling son."
"Anything else I can do for you while you have me here?"
"Mom!" Magnolia shouted from down the hall. "I think my water broke."
"Are you sure you didn't have a little accident? That happened to me more than once," she called back, suddenly wandering in circles around the kitchen.
She opened the oven, closed it. Opened the freezer, closed it. I watched, not sure what I was supposed to do in this situation.
"Mom! I would know if I had alittle accident, don't you think?"
"I said the same thing," my mother replied, now opening the cupboards and drawers. "They sent me home from the hospital twice and told me to stop thinking my water broke every time I sneezed too hard."
"What are you looking for?" I asked.
She waved my question away. "Oh, nothing, honey, nothing. Just my phone. And my keys. Yes, I'm sure I left them around here. I should call your father. But he's at the golf course and you know he never takes his phone out with him. So, I'll have to call the course. And Rob! Good grief, he's in New York City. I don't even know who to call there. I have a friend, Eleanor Greene, who lives in New York City. But I haven't spoken to her in ages. She's such a complainer. Everything is a problem with her. That's why I don't call." Her keys and phone were on the small table beside the back door as always. "And my pocketbook, I'm looking for my pocketbook. I'm sure it's around here."
I blinked at her for a second. "Okay. You keep looking. I'll just check on Maggie." Around the corner, I found the door to the under-the-stairs powder room open and my sister tossing hand towels on the floor. "Everything all right?"
She pressed her foot to one of the towels and moved it around the floor. "Everything will be fine," she replied with forced calm. "Mom's flipping out, isn't she?"
I glanced back in the direction of the rattling pots and pans. My mother operated on three speeds: steamroller, scatterbrained, or stoned. There were no other options—I'd looked—but there were mix-and-match combos. She could be stonedandsteamrolling, as was often the case, or stonedandscatterbrained. I didn't think she was stoned right now but she was running at max scatterbrained. "Not more than I'd expect."
"I knew I should've stayed with Zelda today," she murmured. "She was in class until four and I didn't want to bother her with exams coming up but at least I'd know she wouldn't lose her shit when it was go-time." She glanced up from her pile of tiny towels. "Everything will be fine."
I heard more clanging from the kitchen and a slammed door, which had me smothering a laugh while I rubbed my temples. My sister was having babies, my mother was panicking, and Jasper needed me to fight for her.
I asked for none of this.
Not one bit.
And yet— "Do you think you can make it into my truck? Is it too high for you to climb in?"
