“I do know them,” I say, keeping my eyes on the road, “I’m just not sure you’re ready to be outsung. I want you to have your moment.”
She bursts out laughing, the sound spilling through the car before taking up residence in my chest.
We hit the edge of town, just as her serenading comes to an end. This place looks like it’s been frozen in time, with the hardware store still on the corner, bakery still claiming to have the best cinnamon rolls in Oregon. Even the billboard at the edge of town still welcomes us to “Aurora Valley—Where Community Grows,” the same faded slogan that’s due for an upgrade.
Liv presses her palms to the window, eyes wide as we pass the diner, the string of lights over Main Street, the field where my high school used to hold the Fourth of July fair.
“This is so…” she trails off, searching for the word.
“Small?” I offer.
“Charming,” she says instead, though her grin gives her away.
We turn onto my parents’ street, and my stomach tightens a little. Every house here has some piece of my childhood woven into it—backyard football games, scraped knees, borrowed bikes, first kisses at the lake a little farther out.
My parents’ place sits at the end of the cul-de-sac, still painted that warm golden color my mom insists looks like sunshine. There’s already an overflow of cars in the driveway, and the porch light glows like a welcome sign.
Liv goes quiet beside me. Her fingers, which had been tapping to the beat of the music minutes ago, curl into her lap.
“You okay?” I ask gently.
She nods too quickly. “Yeah. Just… first impressions are a thing, you know?”
“You’ll be fine,” I say, cutting the engine. “My family’s loud, not scary.”
“That’s exactly what people say before introducing you to terrifyingly perfect siblings and parents who are silently judging you.”
“Trust me, nobody in that house does anything silently. And they won’t be judging.”
That gets a soft laugh out of her, and she exhales, unbuckling her seatbelt but making no move to get out yet. The nervous energy rolling off her is subtle, but I can feel it. The way her eyes dart to the front porch, where shadows move behind the glass. The way she smooths her hands over her jeans, picking at a nonexistent thread there.
I reach across and squeeze her knee. “Hey. You’ve got this.”
She looks at me, her mouth pulling into the smallest, crooked smile. “What if they don’t like me?”
“Then I’ll remind them they already like me less,” I say, grinning, and her laughter spills out again.
When we step out, the night air carries the faint trace of pine and moss from the lakes. From inside, I can hear my sister Isabel’s voice rising over the sound of clattering dishes. Someone—probably her husband, Luis—yells something unintelligible in Portuguese, and laughter follows. My mouth automatically tips up at the side, knowing the chaos we’re about to enter, but the girl next to me still isn’t as sure.
Liv hesitates on the path, the porch light painting her hair in amber.
I pause beside her, sliding my hands into hers, tracing my thumb back and forth over her skin. “You sure you’re ready for this?”
“No,” she admits quietly. Then she turns, and suddenly I’m drowning in those beautiful ocean eyes of hers as she says, “But… I think I want to be.”
The fact that my heart skipped a beat at that, at her, at the fact she’s here with me. “Good answer.”
The front door swings open before I can even knock. Isabel fills the doorway, hair scraped back into a bun, a tea towel slung over one shoulder, her surprise blooming into a grin that I’ve missed more than I’ll say out loud.
“Look who finally remembered where he came from,” she says, pulling me into a hug so tight she might as well be my new chiropractor. Then she spots Liv over my shoulder, and her expression shifts into open delight. “E quem é esta?”And who’s this?Isabel’s voice lifts, curiosity blooming into something teasing.
“This is Liv,” I say, stepping aside so she can see her properly. “Liv, my oldest sister, Isabel.”
One of Isabel’s eyebrows rises slowly, silently asking mewho is she to you, then, brother? But I don’t want to make things more overwhelming for Liv yet. It’s enough that she’s meeting the most protective of my siblings first. “You brought someone home? Without warning?”
“Technically,” I say, scratching the back of my neck, “Mom knew.”
“Of course she did.” Isabel crosses her arms, and for a moment, she looks me up and down like she’s about to start interrogating me in Portuguese, but her attention snaps to Liv instead.
