A wicked smile climbs his face. “You’re a fast learner, Nola. Stella is always calculating. Welcome to the Hutchings family. She’s set up reservations for the noon seating.”
They’ve decoratedthe assisted living center for the holiday. Lots of real pumpkins—orange, warted, striped—and tasteful, simple wooden turkeys. I adjust my navy wrap dress and silently appreciate Max up and down, dressed in a gray blazer, checkered button-up, and black chinos. We walk in at eleven thirty, and instead of going to the dining hall, Max veers left toward the residents’ rooms.
“Stella requested we start with mocktails in her room. Her signature drink is a fizzy lemonade, but she’ll also offer something holiday-themed, I’m sure.”
“Will Opal be there?” I ask.
“No, she went to Principal Bennett’s for the day.”
“And you didn’t invite your grandmother to your place?”
“She begged me not to. She knows I can’t cook.” He slows his step and drops his voice. “I also think she worries she’ll . . . slip and would rather have one of those moments here, where there’s a team to help her through it.”
“That makes sense.”
He turns on his heel and casually says, “Also, I may haveforgotten to mention my sister has been in town, so you’ll be meeting her too.”
“Madelyn?” This surprise-attack meal is suddenly worth it.
He laughs. “Sorry to disappoint but no. Violet.”
“Does she expect me to call her Doctor Hutchings?” I furrow my brows.
This question delights him, a loud laugh escaping his lips. “I will pay you three hundred dollars to do that.”
“What? It’s a valid question. Your family is a little . . .”
“Little what, Adler?” He bumps my shoulder with his.
Music—loud music—saves me from having to answer that. Max straightens up, gives an exaggerated blink, and says, “Brace yourself,” before opening the door to Stella’s room. “She’s got Roy Orbison on.”
I don’t have a lot of experience with assisted living homes, but the space we walk into is larger than I expected it to be. There’s a small kitchenette and sitting room, beyond which sits a door I assume leads to her bedroom. And there, in the middle of the room, is a floral arch. Under which stands a preacher.
“Welcome!” Stella sways to the beat of the song, wearing a bright teal kaftan and that jewelry set from Tiffany’s & Co. In her hand is a crystal goblet of a light yellow beverage and a lemon wedge. The contents threaten to slosh over the sides with each step she takes around the room. “I hear congratulations are in order. When I saw your good news, I didn’t quite believe it, because of all my grandchildren, I have always held tight to my heart that you’d never, ever get married without me present, Maxford. With your sisters here to celebrate the holiday, I thought it’d be lovely if you two had another ceremony in front of me today so I can be a part of it.”
13
MAXFORD
One of my teammate’s wives had a baby a few years ago, and he wanted everybody at the hospital to celebrate with them the moment his son was born. As a team, we sat out in the waiting room and within minutes of the baby’s birth, we were all crowded in the recovery room while he held his son upLion Kingstyle for us to ooh and aww over. Standing there in that hospital room, I wondered what had been going through that baby’s mind. One minute, his life was dark and warm and boring; the next, there were bright lights, colors, sounds, and so. many. faces. Since that day, I’ve often thought being born must be completely overwhelming.
Tonight confirms that. The hallway with Nola was calmly lit, warm, and simple. Stella’s room has a lot to take in. From the archway to the preacher to Madelyn’s surprise appearance, it’s a burst piñata of overstimulation. Add in Stella’s need to dance around and blast her music like a teenager, and my initial reaction is to take Nola’s hand and save her from this spectacle, never looking back.
Except, when I glance over, prepared to save her at anycost, she isn’t remotely fazed by Stella’s announcement because she’s spotted Madelyn, and she’s trying so hard to play it cool. I can tell she’s biting down a fangirl scream, but the excitement’s bubbling and it’s only a matter of time.
“Lynnie.” I cross the small room and scoop up my twin sister. “What are you doing here?”
When I set her back down, she tosses her signature red hair behind her and gives me a pointed look. “You know why I’m here, Hutch—you’ve been resurrected from the baseball dead with this big news everybody can’t stop talking about. I needed to look you in the eyes and hear straight from your mouth it’s not true.”
“Who’s talking?” I lean in close so nobody can hear us.
“Everybody. This isreallybig, Hutch. And if you want doors opened, I think this is how it’s going to happen.” She’s played the games long enough to know a good PR move when she sees one, and of the two of us, she’s always been better at navigating the public.
The same year I was signed by the Armadillos, Madelyn went to L.A. as a proud nepo-baby, thanks to Stella’s Hollywood connections. She quickly earned her status as a leading lady the last few years, to the point I’ve only seen her during my off-season, when I’ve flown out on location to see her on set for a few weeks. The last time we hung out was right after I got let go from my contract. I spent two weeks surfing in Australia while she shot a surfer biopic. She talked the director into letting me be a background actor for a few days, which gave us more time together than usual. It was Madelyn who thought focusing on taking care of Stella would be a positive choice for me in the long run, even if that meant seeing less of her while her career is so hot.
I step back and take her in. “What would you say if this news was true?”
She narrows her eyes before rolling them. “Then you’d officially be the worst brother ever for not telling me yourself.” With that, Madelyn pushes past me and wraps Nola in a big hug. Nola goes from shocked stiff to nearly hyperventilating. I’ve seen her as a boss, a mom, and a cranky woman. Having a front-row seat to this other side of her is surreal.
