As my mother’s house comes into view, I can’t stop the swirl of anxiety that bubbles up. There’s no reason for it. Mama’s car is the only one in the driveway, so I’m safe from both brothers. As Jett parks and gets out, pulling my crutches from the back seat, I struggle to a stand, trying to hide the wince as everything shifts.
Mama’s head pops around the garage door, a bright smile lighting her aged face before her gaze settles on my leg. Shetosses her work gloves aside and plants her hands on her hips as she saunters over.
“Oakley Kate, what in the world did you do, honey?” She wraps her arms around me, her dark-brown curls tinged with gray hitting right at my chin.
“It’s no big deal, Mom.” I hug her back as she squeezes the life out of me, nearly knocking my crutches out from under my arms before turning to Jett and giving her the same treatment.
“My other baby. Y’all come on inside. Oakley, go sit that clumsy rear of yours on the couch and get that leg up. Jett, honey, are you staying for a bit?”
“No, ma’am. I need to get back to the shop and rescue Kelsey from any book customers. She’s still adjusting to the café’s expansion into a bookshop.”
Mama hums in acknowledgment. She’d rather all of her children move back home so she can care for us by hovering and feeding us. “Okay, but you and Noah need to come to dinner soon. And I don’t mean in a month. I mean soon. I miss my babies.”
Jett salutes her with a nod. “Yes, ma’am.” Then she looks at me. “Oaks, if you change your mind, just call.”
“Thanks, chica.”
As she slips out and shuts the door, my mother refocuses her attention on me, and I feel myself curl inward under her scrutiny.
Don’t get me wrong. My mother is a wonderful person. But she’s where my oldest brother inherited his scary ability to read people. They see too much, especially when you want to hide it.
“Mama, don’t,” I plead.
“Oakley Kate, what on Earth am I going to do with you?”
“Feed me for the next several weeks?”
She huffs, her hands planted firmly on her hips. “You know I’ll always feed my baby. You still look like the wind could blowyou away. But that’s not why you’re here, is it? Tell Mama what happened.”
Slinging my head back against the leather couch cushions is all I can muster. I can feel the burn at the backs of my eyes, the telltale sign that I’m about to lose it. If anyone else asked, I’d blow them off or default to sarcasm and dry humor. But when Mama asks what’s wrong, it’s like the end of the world, and I crumble.
Always in tune with her babies, Mama settles beside me and pulls me into her arms. “You staying here for a bit, sis?” At my nod, she squeezes me tighter. “I’ll get the downstairs guest room set up. Prop that leg up and watch something on TV while you unwind. Then we’ll have a pizza and rom-com night.”
“Love you, Mama.”
She kisses the top of my head before hopping up and hugging me one last time. “Love you, too, Oakley Kate.”
“Smells good in here,” I say as my mouth waters at the seasoning in the air. “Need any help with anything?”
“Goodness, no, sweetheart. Just sit down and relax. I’ll have this casserole finished in no time.”
I plop onto the nearest bar stool, carefully settling my ankle on the other seat. “I’ll go crazy if I’m trapped on that couch another minute, Mama. These last few days have been the worst.”
“You could always call an old friend and visit the ice rink.”
I give my mother a droll look. “I almost fell crutching down the hallway. The perfectly flat, perfectly straight hallway. What am I supposed to do, hop in a wheelchair? Don’t answer that,” I say, holding up a hand.
She bites her lip but smirks. “Fine,” she concedes before setting carrots, potatoes, knife, and bamboo board on the counter. “If you’re so miserable, you can help me chop the veggies.”
I set to my new task, trying not to cut off an appendage. Talk about being klutzy, and she hands me a weapon. No wonder I am the way I am.
Oblivious to my thoughts—which, let’s face it, is probably for the best—Mama asks about my follow-up appointment. “What day do you find out if you need more than rest?”
“Tuesday,” I mutter, suddenly fascinated by the golden baby potatoes, cutting them into perfectly symmetrical shapes.
“What were their initial thoughts? Now, I know how you feel about getting put under, but if it’s surgery you need, don’t put it off.”
I set the knife down, losing focus. “Can we not talk about that?”
