Mom returns with pie. "Trinity, your room's got clean sheets. Korgan, we set up the guest room, but—" She pauses delicately. "—if you'd prefer other arrangements, we're modern people."
Dad chokes on his coffee.
"Guest room's perfect," Korgan says smoothly. "Thank you for the hospitality."
Mom looks disappointed.
"We'remodern," she repeats.
"Mom."
"Just saying."
Later, after pie and too much wine, I find Korgan on the back porch.
He's studying the sky, stars clearer here than in the city, with that expression he gets when he's thinking hard about something.
"You okay?"
"Your family is loud."
"I warned you."
"I like it." He pulls me against his side. "It's warm. Chaotic, but warm."
"You survived Aunt Shelly. That's the real test."
"She reminds me of my sister."
"You have a sister?"
"Three. All terrifying." He kisses my hair. "Your mother cried again when I fixed the oven."
"Happy tears?"
"I think so. Hard to tell."
The oven. Right.
"What was wrong with it?"
"Heating element needed realignment, ventilation system was clogged, temperature gauge was miscalibrated." He sounds satisfied. "Simple fixes."
"You made Mom cry with oven repairs."
"She said it's been broken for two years."
"We're not great with maintenance."
"I noticed." He's quiet a moment. "I told her I'd come back. Help with other repairs."
My heart does something complicated. "Yeah?"
"If you're visiting regularly, I should make myself useful."
"You don't have to earn your place here."
"I know." He meets my eyes. "I want to. Your family—they're part of you. I want to know them."
