Ursa Minor had always been my favorite constellation. The little bear sits up there next to its mama. Although they were always near each other, they became part of the enormous night sky and saw the world together. There was a time when I’d hoped Mom would have wanted to see the world with me, but we never did. She had no interest in traveling the way I’ve always wanted to.
There was too much to do around the farm, and she was always giving so much of her time to the youth in schools, at church, and even on the sports teams. My mother has always been everyone’s mom; that’s why they call her Mama Hughes.
Carefully placing silverware and napkins at each of our seats, I pause when I get to the chair Nash has always sat in—the seatto my right. I never questioned why he chose that one the first time he came over instead of sitting beside Beckett. And now I hope he doesn’t sit beside me, because having him so close only breaks my heart.
The savory scent of fresh meatloaf out of the oven wafts up my nose. Every herb causes me to salivate. Nash, Beckett, and my mother come funneling into the dining room, each cradling piping-hot dishes with oven mitts.
“Betty, go wash up and grab your father,” my mom croons, inhaling deep as she places freshly baked rolls on the table.
“Sure,” I nod, tapping the back of my chair.
Moving past Nash, his scent mixes with my mother’s cooking, causing my stomach to tighten against the urge to inhale like a weirdo.
My steps falter when I think I hear him whisper under his breath. “Hurry back, Beatrice.”
Dammit, I can’t do this.
Chapter 7
Nash
Home-cooked meals together at the dinner table weren’t something we did in my house growing up. I’ve never held it against my parents. They were busy with the roughstock, and my sisters, Magnolia and Savannah, wanted nothing to do with ranch life. They spent more time at friends’ houses than they did at home, and my parents never said a word. Neither did I. All their pop music and hordes of makeup drove me crazy. They became the exact type of women I have always stayed away from, preoccupied with their looks and more obsessed with being Pilates-thin than enjoying a good steak straight from the farm. Yet, despite my sisters being shallow, they were brilliant.
Still, I keep as close to them as they allow. They both left for New York City when they went to college. Obsessed with city life and not smelling like horseshit, they never looked back. I went to visit them once and swore I was never going back to that godforsaken city again. They found their place, and the ranch has always been mine.
I’ll never understand how they settled into that life when they grew up in near-silence. There’s nothing but noise, cars, and lights. You don’t see any stars out there. There’s never any quiet. My sisters may have complained about the smell out here, but that city stank like sewage.
Since they were two and three years older than me, I was alone once they left. I got used to eating at the table by myself. Mom always had the food prepared, but it seemed she and Pop always ate at different times. Not to mention, I was involved in sports year-round. It was my ticket out of here, too.
Then, in senior year, I took Beckett under my wing. I could tell from the moment he stepped foot on the football field that he had talent. He just needed refining, like anyone. So as captain, I did what anyone would do and privately coached him. It developed into a genuine friendship, which often led to sleepovers at the Hughes home and Sunday night dinners.
I hadn’t realized how much I missed them until I left for college. I’d sit in the dining hall on Sunday nights, usually with friends, but I’d pretend it was the Hughes family there with me. When I met Katherine, she thought it was the most endearing thing, so she made a point of having dinner with me as much as our schedules allowed. It became the glue of our friendship before it developed into something more.
Still, the moment I crossed the Cole County line to come home, this house was the first place I stopped. Then Beckett graduated, and he too left for college. Though he didn’t go far, I felt like an intruder continuing to show up for Sunday night dinners when he wasn’t there anymore.
Now and then, I would if Mr. Hughes ran into me in town or Mama Hughes called me out of the blue, knowing it was a rodeo weekend. She knew my parents had always planned for me to take over the distribution business once my father retired. Until that day, I was free to do whatever I wanted.
There were countless times Mama Hughes and Katherine asked me how I felt about it. I never had an answer. I felt nothing at all. It was the plan. The expectation. What was there to feel? All I knew was it would bring me back here eventually, but until then, Montana became home.
And now I’m sitting here in the Hughes dining room, with Betty laughing loudly beside me, questioning whether anywhere but here could be home. My gaze once again tracks down to the expanse of her thigh, exposed in that sundress with its delicate lace trim, which reminds me of lingerie. Each time she jerks forward, cupping her hand over her mouth to stifle her laughter, it hikes just a fraction higher.
She’d been so shocked when I said the flowers were for her, as if I’d made up the lie on the spot. It was the truth. I knew she’d be here, so I brought her flowers. I wasn’t sure they were her favorites, but I remembered the times when I’d be here and she would be out in the garden, picking flowers of every color. They’d always end up on her dresser in her bedroom afterward, artistically blended as if she were creating her own rainbow.
When I first thought of the memory, I felt like such a dirty old man. I’d told myself I never looked at Betty as anything more than Beckett’s little sister until she professed her “deep-seated love,” but for a moment I questioned myself.
Had I looked at her as a teenager or seen her as anything more than a kid?
It wasn’t until I realized I remembered everything about this place that my heart slowed and I could breathe again. I wasn’t some gross pervert; I was simply reliving some of my happiest moments, which took place in this house.
I remembered it all after spending years within these walls. The rotation of hand rags Mama Hughes showcases, matching every season and holiday, each more cheesy than the last. The way Mr. Hughes always organized the remotes for the TV andhis stereo system on the living room coffee table. Even the way Beckett alphabetized every award that hung on his wall. The third step at the front of the house has always sat at a slight angle. These countless details will live with me forever.
A grin tugs at the corner of my mouth, wondering if there’s still a gouge in the wall in the mudroom that doubles as their laundry room. Beckett and I raced here after practice in our football gear when Mama Hughes told us she was cooking fried chicken for dinner. It was raining, but we bolted off the field, hopped in my truck in our gear, and booked it here. We were filthy, and she made us come through the mudroom, but Beckett almost fell over removing his shoulder pads and dented the wall. For months, he left a fleece hanging there, hoping his dad wouldn’t notice, only for the guy to tell him he knew it was there the entire time.
I have just as many memories here as I do at my home.
“Do you remember that, Nash?” Beckett laughs.
The sound of my name pulls me out of my trip down Nostalgia Lane. “Sorry, food coma kicking in.” I pat my stomach for good measure, as Mama Hughestsksat me.
