“Why?” she asks, confusion written like poetry across her face, but she hands it to me anyway. I type in my number and call myself. “Now you have my number. Think about what I said.”
She smiles softly, briefly flashing her pearly whites before taking her phone back, and starting to walk away, again. I can’t help calling out, “Olive, I’m serious. Call me.” With that, I turn toward my mother’s favorite blackberry pie and away from my girl.
“Ma, I’m here,” I call out, pie in hand, walking into my childhood home as I do every Sunday.
“We’re out back. Set the pie on the counter and come on out,” Mom shouts.
The state of the driveway indicates I’m the last of my siblings to arrive. Thankfully, I’m the favorite, the eldest son, fixer of things that break, and ruler of Mabel O’Reilly’s heart. It’s okay to admit it, we all know the truth.
Pushing into the swinging door that separates the kitchen from the main hallway of my parents’ historic home, I’m greeted by my sisters, Nora and Bridget. They’re hovering over a bottle of wine, whispering as if they hold the key to state secrets.
“Ladies, how’s it going?” I ask, tentatively. For all I know, they could be gossiping about me.
“Oh Sammy, so glad you’re here,” Nora squeaks, her voice laced with something I can’t quite pinpoint. The way her voice lifts with my childhood nickname, means it must be bad.
Looking at Bridget with my eyebrow slightly raised, I ask, “What’s her deal? Why are you two hiding in here whispering?”
“Oh, you’ll see. Mom has a surprise for you, Sammy.” Bridget pats me on the shoulder, sliding off her stool and undoubtedly heading to the backyard. I have no idea what she is talking about. Mabel O’Reilly is a straight shooter—she meddles out loud, not in secret.
“Don’t try to sort it out in that pretty little head of yours. Even I didn’t see this one coming,” Nora chirps, following after Bridget. I hate having sisters. Okay, I don’t really. I actually adore them, but their ability to say things without actually saying anything is unparalleled.
I shuffle to the fridge, desperate to shake off whatever the hell that was. Pulling on the door, I bend to find room, sliding the pie into the only available spot, wedged between a jug of apple cider and an orange Tupperware straight out of the seventies.
“Well, I’ll say, that’s a view a girl could get used to.” Olive’s honey voice reverberates off the walls of the fridge like a sound bath washing over me. I pull my head out too quickly, banging it on the edge that separates the freezer.
“Olive? Ouch. What’re you doing here?” I rub at the knot that’s quickly forming, completely at a loss. I asked her to have dinner with me, but I didn’t imagine it being a family affair.
“No, you’re right. WhatamI doing here? Um, your mom asked me to come by and look at a book she found in the attic. I tried to say no, but she insisted and then, what do you know, when I got here, there weren’t any books . . .” She eyes me suspiciously, as if I may have had something to do with this. “When your mom couldn’t find the book, I went to leave, but Max showed up, followed by your sisters, and then Mrs. Mabel just wouldn’t let me go. I told her I couldn’t stay, but she insisted. And well, I didn’t want to be rude, so I just thought, why not?” She paces back and forth, a nervous look and hesitant smile gracing her lips.
“I’m glad you’re here.” Walking toward her, I tentatively grasp her arms, attempting uselessly not to get lost in her sweet scent.
“Are you sure? It’s weird, I’m making it weird. I just, I-I want her to like me.” Her cheeks are flushed with an adorable pink glow. She’s embarrassed that she crashed a family dinner, when all I can focus on is the fact that she wants my mom to like her. She cares enough to not disappoint my parents, and we aren’t even dating, yet. She’s perfect, I knew it the minute I saw her.
“I promise it’s okay. I was just a little surprised we skipped texting and went straight to meeting the parents. Let’s get out there though.” I gesture for the door.
“Okay but, uh, Sam, this is just dinner. Please don’t get the wrong impression, I wasn’t trying to invite myself. I would never do that. I didn’t even bring a bottle of wine, and I feel awfulabout it.” There’s the charming girl I’m finding myself entirely too fond of.
“Sure, princess. It’s okay if you find me irresistible.” I wink, walking toward the door. “But you could have just used the number I gave you if you wanted to see me.” I leave her standing in the kitchen doorway, mouth agape as I mentally fist pump with glee.
As I walk out onto the sprawling cedar deck, Nora, the baby of the family, is perched on the arm of the chair her boyfriend, Tom, is occupying. Bridget is slouched into a two-seater wicker couch, and Max is sitting in between my parents, comfortably sprawled out in an Adirondack chair with the fire pit serving as his footrest.
“What kind of pie did you bring me, darling?” My mom looks guilty, and her scrunched up eyebrows tell me she’s desperate to avoid the obvious setup she’s responsible for.
“Blackberry today. I was looking for grape but it isn’t out yet.” I offer her a small smile and a look that says we will be discussing the meddling later.
In other families, a new love interest would never be invited to a family dinner so soon. Not so in this pack of nosy Nellies. They can’t help but sink their teeth into the naive Southern belle. I can tell by the way my mom looks at Olive, she’s got some plan cooked up.
“Sammy, how was the market today?” Bridget bellows, intentionally attempting to maintain my status as the center of attention.
“Busier than usual, I guess. There were lots of out-of-towners from the festival.” I shrug, conveying ambivalence.
“What about you, Olive? What did you do today?” Nora asks, smiling into her wine glass. Neither of my sisters are willing to let this awkward tension die.
“Oh, um. Not much.” Her nonanswer causes me to glance her way. Clearly she went to the market, but for some reason she doesn’t want them to know that. It seems a certain beauty might be in over her head.
“Well, you went to the market. Remember we talked?” I add. Mom’s face practically glows in delight. I shouldn’t give her ammunition, but it’s impossible not to goad Olive, even just a little.
“I, uh, yes. How could I forget? You were reminding me that you’d like to go out sometime, right?” Her eyebrow rises in a challenge.Game on, sweetheart.
