The porch lights glow like a furnace in the dark as we walk toward the door together.
“We’re here,” he calls, pushing the door open before glancing back at me. “Ready?”
No, not even a little.“Sure,” I respond as we step inside.
The warmth hits first, curling around me with the unmistakable scent of a home that’s been lived in for generations. Something roasted and rich drifts through the hallway, tangled with garlic and butter and fresh herbs. There’s a flash of lemon—bright, clean, and unexpected—that slices through the heaviness and makes the whole place feel alive.
I toe off my boots in the entryway, lining them up neatly next to a riotous pile of Hendrix footwear: boots and sneakers piled without pattern, a pair of oversized basketball shoes, jackets half-slipped off their hooks, and a Timberwolves cap hanging crooked on the newel post like it’s part of the décor.
“Hey!” Ramona barrels down the hallway, locs swinging, wrapped in an oversized sweatshirt that readsMARRIED & STILL A MENACE. Her smile is instant, bright, and so warm it feels like a spotlight. Istraighten instinctively, like preparing for inspection. “You made it!”
Kyle shifts aside so she can hug me. I tense for a heartbeat—old reflex—but force myself to exhale and return it. Ramona smells like vanilla, lemon, and someone who keeps snacks in every bag.
“Wouldn’t miss it.”
“Lies,” Cole calls from the kitchen. “You could’ve absolutely missed it. We’d mock you forever, but it was an option.”
Ramona rolls her eyes. “Ignore him. He’s been on a chaos bender since Beau beat him atMario Kart.”
“That was once,” Cole protests. “And he cheated.”
“You unplugged my controller,” Beau deadpans.
Ramona links her arm through mine. “Drink? Snack? A safe word?”
“A safe word?”
“You’ll see,” she says, tugging me deeper inside.
The moment we step into the kitchen, I understand everything.
This is the heart of the house, and Mrs. Hendrix is running it. She stands by the stove, apron tied over a burgundy sweater, curls pinned back, moving with the fast, efficient authority of someone who raised four sons and survived. She doesn’t look stressed. She looks… in command.
“Darius, put that bowl down right now,” she says without glancing at him. “You don’t know what’s in it, and you don’t need to.”
He freezes mid-grab, grumbles something under his breath, and backs away with a dramatic sigh.
“That’s Darius,” Kyle whispers, leaning close enough that his shoulder brushes mine. “He’s Ramona’s nephew and lives with her and Coop. Thinks he’s grown, but he’s terrified of Momma.”
As if on cue, Darius pretends he wasn’t trying to steal anything at all.
“Welcome to the number one rule in the Hendrix family: Momma says it once, and everyone listens.”
Mrs. Hendrix finally notices me and lights up like someone turned on an extra lamp.
“Alycia! Baby, get over here.” She wipes her hands on her apron, heading toward me and planting a kiss on my cheek before I can brace. “Come help. Or sit. Or both. You look like a helper. Kyle, stop hovering.”
Kyle opens his mouth, thinks better of it, and then closes it. She wins without even glancing his way.
“Hi, Mrs. Hendrix,” I say carefully.
“Oh, that won’t do.” She waves me off. “Call me Mel or Momma. Everyone does. The girls have tried and failed to call me something else before.”
“We settled on Ms. Mel, but we all ended up calling her Momma, eventually,” Ramona whispers as she brushes past me.
“She will always and forever be Auntie Mel to me,” Alise chimes in from her perch on a stool nearby, wearing leggings and a hoodie with little paint smudges on the sleeve, and a set of headphones placed on her ears. Her eyes flick up to me for a moment as shesmiles before going back to scrolling through something on her phone and occasionally bumping her shoulder into Beau’s like she can’t not touch him.
“Hopefully not for much longer.” Mrs. Hendrix gives Beau a pointed look.
