“So,” she says, cocking an eyebrow as we walk toward the kitchen, “what brings you here? I’m guessing it’s not because you missed me.”
I rub the back of my neck, feeling about twelve years old again. “I did miss you, Aunt Mia. It’s just… Ma…”
She lets out a soft, knowing sound. “Ah. What’d she do this time?”
I look away, exhaling through my nose. “I… have a wife now. And a baby.”
Aunt Mia stops mid-step and spins around, eyes wide. “What?That’s-” she breaks into a grin “-that’s amazing, Matty!”
I can’t help but smile a little at her reaction. I pull my phone out and show her the gallery. It’s filled with pictures of my family. “Penny,” I say softly. “She’s only a few months old.”
Aunt Mia tilts her head toward the phone, her smile tender. “She’s beautiful,” she says, and it sounds like shemeansit.
It’s exactly what I’d hoped to hear from Ma the day Penny was born. Instead, she’d barely glanced at her before muttering something about how the baby looked nothing like me.
I’d brushed it off at the time, Brooke hadn’t heard, but it was a sign. One of many that I ignored.
I pocket my phone and follow Aunt Mia into the kitchen. She opens the fridge and takes out a carton of milk.
She raises it at me with a little smirk. “You still like hot chocolate?”
“Only yours,” I say, smiling before I can stop myself. Hers was alwaysdifferent, rich and smooth, never boxed or clumpy. Real.
She starts the familiar process, taking out the dark chocolate, whisking the milk, moving around the kitchen like no time has passed at all. I lean against the counter, watching her the way I used to when I was a kid.
Ma worked a lot when I was growing up, she had to. Luckily, we lived with her sister, Mia. She became like a second mom to me.And then, about ten years ago, it just… stopped. She moved out of our lives, and whenever I asked about visiting her, Ma would brush me off.
I was a teenage idiot then, too wrapped up in my own crap to push, but I never forgot her.
“Aunt Mia,” I say slowly, “why’d you leave?”
She stops chopping the chocolate, knife hovering midair. “What’d your Ma tell you?”
I shrug, even though she isn’t looking at me. “Just that you got a job and were busy.”
A dry, bitter little laugh escapes her. “Of course she did.”
I wait.
She looks up at me then, her eyes softer than her voice. “I suppose you’re old enough now.”
I frown, confused, as she drops the chopped chocolate into the warming milk, stirring it gently.
“What did she tell you about your father?”
The question catches me off guard. “Uh… just that he went to visit his family, panicked about becoming a dad, and never came back.”
She nods slowly, like she expected that. “Yeah. I got that story too.”
I stare at her, my chest tightening.
The smell of chocolate fills the kitchen, warm and sweet. She goes quiet as she pours the hot chocolate into two mismatched mugs, hands me the fuller one, just like she used to, and walks to the living room.
I follow, looking around. Instead of a sofa, she has a big, overstuffed recliner and a rocking chair angled toward the TV. She settles into the rocker, wrapping a blanket around her legs. I sink into the recliner across from her, the mug warm between my palms.
I follow her into the living room, looking around. Instead of a sofa, there’s an overstuffed recliner and a rocking chair angled toward the TV.
She settles into the rocker, pulling a faded quilt over her legs. I sink into the recliner across from her, the mug warm between my palms, the steam curling up between us.
