“Later.” I watch until he disappears into the elevator, then head back toward the kitchen, where Angie is cleaning up from making our breakfast. She must not notice me watching her. Or maybe she does, and she’s focusing on the task at hand. How terrible must love be if it brings me happiness I never thought I’d have.
Because, despite every rightful obstacle we have in our way, I love her.
I love her heart.
I love her vision for the future.
I love her joy.
I love her sadness.
I love every piece of her that she hates.
I love Angela Taylor.
It’sthe day before Thanksgiving, and I’ve been at my parents’ house helping Mom prepare for tomorrow. While it’s just the six of us, she has to make double of everything because Ford, Evan, and Malcolm eat like they’ve never been fed.
“I ran into Christie at the store today,” Mom says casually, referring to Emily’s mom.
“You did? I thought they would stay in New York for the holiday like they usually do.”
“Nope. She told me Emily made the last-minute decision to fly here.”
I look at my mom, and suddenly, I’m scared. Scared to see the girl who almost became my sister-in-law disappear. Scared that she’ll balk at the idea of me dating the sister of the man who took James from her.
“I bet her family’s excited,” I say offhandedly.
“Yeah,” my mom says, but it’s laced with sadness.
Of all of us boys, James was the softest, taking after Mom. He would talk to strangers just walking down the street, he wanted to bring home stray and injured animals, and he felt his emotions more than either of us. Well, not more than Evan. But I think Evan pulled his traits from James. While there's still four of us Hayes boys, a giant piece will always be missing. And that’s not something any of us will ever get over.
“Do you think she’ll come see us?” I ask to lighten the mood.
Mom dumps the chopped carrots into a bowl. “I would love for her to come and see us. But I won’t hold my breath.”
I open my mouth to ask her what she means when she leaves the kitchen. November is a hard month for our family. James would have been twenty-eight and married for two years; he and Emily likely would’ve started a family as soon as they could have because they both wanted kids. Emily grew up an only child, so I knew she wanted a lot of kids, and my brother always wanted kids—a little girl after growing up in a house of all boys.
I’m finishing up the last of the prep when Dad strolls in through the garage with boxes of pizza.
“Hey, Dad.”
“Hi, buddy,” he greets and sets the boxes on the table. “Where’s your mom?”
“Upstairs, I think?”
“What happened?”
“We were talking and she told me Emily is flying here for Thanksgiving,” I explain.
He moves his head in a dramatic nod. “That’ll do it. How are you doing?”
“Really good.” A huge part of me wants to tell him why. But then the other part of me remembers how close he and Mr. Taylor were, and how hard it was for him to lose that friendship. In losing James, I always had my mom’s grief at the forefront of my mind. Yet I never stopped and considered my dad’s loss in this, too.
“Well, are you gonna leave me hanging?” he asks teasingly.
“You are just like Mom,” I say with a chuckle. “When we’re ready to go public, we will.”
“When who’s ready to go public?” my younger brother Evan asks when he walks into the kitchen.
