I don’t know what to say to that, so I just squeeze her arm.
Gran is on the porch when we arrive, like she knew we were coming. Knowing Fork Lick, she probably did. “Eva! You brought reinforcements!” She rises from her rocking chair, beaming. “You must be the famous Storm sisters. I’ve heard so much about you.”
“All good things, I hope,” Esther says.
“Mostly.” Gran winks. “Come in, come in. I just made lemonade.”
The next hour flows like a dream for me. Everyone introduces themselves, and we sip lemonade while Gran shows us the basement garden. Latonya drops by with more pie on her way to Lick Your Fork. Colleen shows up with the twins, who are immediately fascinated by Pepper. Baabara escapes her pen, reminding everyone of how Eliza’s livestock are constantly causing similar mayhem.
I see it all happening, realizing my sisters get to see me established in a community with the same vibe we scraped together back in Pittsburgh. By the time Eden is deep in conversation with Gran about native pollinators, begging to drive to Sam and Diane’s orchard, I am tearing up with happiness. At one end of Gran’s wooden table, Esther grills Colleen about Bacon’s cocktail menu. At the other, Eila and Molly gush about Cascade hops.
Lemonade blends seamlessly into dinner, with Lia and Ethan and Porter jumping right into the conversation. I’m delirious with joy when Esther nestles against me on Gran’s couch. We lean on one another in silence for a moment while Eliza narrates Pepper and Baabara’s thoughts to Porter and Colleen’s twins.
“Eva?” Esther’s voice is soft, unusually so. “I owe you an apology.”
I turn to look at her. Esther doesn’t apologize. Esther is right, always, and if she’s not right, she’s at least confident enough to make you doubt yourself instead.
“For what?”
“When I said you were ‘playing farmer.’” She winces at her own words. “That was shitty. I knew it was shitty when I typed it, and I sent it anyway, and I’m sorry.” She’s still not looking at me, her eyes fixed on the sea of people in the dining room. “You’ve always been close. Physically, I mean. Living with me, working with all of us, always there when we needed you. And then you came here and started talking about this place like it was home, and I panicked.”
“Esther—”
“Let me finish.” She holds up a hand. “I told myself I was being practical. Thinking about your career, your stability, your future. I mean, I raised you, right? So you’re my responsibility. But that was bullshit. I was thinking about myself. About how weird it would be to come home and not have you there. About how the group chat would feel different if you were in a different time zone, building a different life.”
“We’re in the same time zone,” I point out.
“You know what I mean.”
I do know. I’ve been feeling the same thing—that pull between where I came from and where I might be going.
“The thing is,” Esther continues, “you’re not playing anything. I watched you today, showing us around, talking about your plans, introducing us to all these people who clearly adore you. You’re not pretending to belong here, Eva. You do belong here. And I am so damn proud of the person you’ve become.”
My throat feels tight. “That means a lot coming from you.”
“It should. I don’t say nice things often.” Her mouth quirks. “Ask Koa. He keeps a tally.”
I laugh, but it comes out a little wet.
“I’m sorry,” Esther says again. “For the text, and for not supporting you sooner. You’re not a baby sister anymore. You’re a grown-ass woman who sees what the rest of us miss.” She gestures at my neighbors. “This is yours, Eva. You earned it. I can’t wait to see what you build here.”
I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand. “You’re going to make me cry.”
“Good. I have bar napkins.” She pulls a wad from her pocket. “I came prepared.”
I take a tissue and blow my nose, which is not cute or dignified but feels appropriate for the moment.
“For what it’s worth,” I say, “I’m still going to manage your social media for Bridges and Bitters. And Eden’s, and everyone’s. I’m not disappearing.”
“I know. But even if you did”—Esther squeezes my hand—“I’d understand. You deserve to build something that’s just yours.”
We sit there as the Bedds gather sleepy children and start their drawn-out goodbye process, knowing they will all see each other in the morning. My sisters are pulled into hugs like they’re already permanent fixtures. And maybe they are.
“So,” Esther says eventually, in a tone that tells me the vulnerable moment is over and regular Esther is back. “The yeti. On a scale of one to ten, how good is he in bed?”
“Esther.”
“What? I’m invested now. I came all this way. I deserve details.”
