It’s drizzling in Chicago when we land. It’s often gray here. I heard on the radio once that nearly half the days of the year are cloudy. I guess that’s why when I was drafted by a team in the Sunshine State, I was ready to pack my bags and get the fuck out of here.
I love Chicago. It’s home, and a part of me will always feel that way. But with more of my family members in Vegas now than here, and after having lived the last seven years in Tampa, it’s reallynothome anymore.
Still, as the car we took from the airport pulls up to the mansion for the second time in the last two months, I can’t help but let the nostalgia wash over me.
My mother wasn’t around much when we were kids. She hired a nanny who took care of us, and that nanny had a helper when our brood expanded. Mom was always off at some charity event or gala opening, some premiere or launch, or even just an event at the countryclub.
She worked hard to be something I’m not sure she ever was, and I can’t help but wonder how the people in her social circle really felt about her. She tried her damn hardest to fit in, so much so that it cost her her very life. She refused to allow anyone to see her as anything other than what she wanted to project, and that meant avoiding doctors until she no longer could.
And here we are, gathering together as a family so we can celebrate the life of a woman we hardly knew yet to whom we should all feel the most fundamental connection with.
As I step out of the car while the driver gets our luggage out of the trunk, Tatum and I both stare up at the house. She’s probably reflecting on how she’s back here at the very place she wishes she could buy, and I’m here reflecting on how much money is tied up in it.
I glance over at Tatum once the driver sets our luggage beside us and I’ve tipped him.
“Ready?” I ask.
She hesitates as if she wants to say something. But then she presses her lips together and nods, and we head toward the front door.
I ring the bell, and I find Ivy on the other side of the door.
“Ford,” she murmurs, and she pulls me into a hug. “And Tatum. Good to see you,” she says, the first of my siblings to gracefully sidestep the fact that Tatum is here with me and not Archer. I’m hopeful she won’t be the only one. “Come on in.”
“Who else is here?” I ask.
“Everyone’s rolling in today,” Ivy says. “Liam’s in the kitchen with Madden and Kennedy. Dex and Ev are on the same flight from Vegas with Ainsley and Maverick, and they’re landing any minute. I haven’t heard from Archer.” Ivy’s eyes dart to Tatum at the mention of him. My chest tightens, and I suck in a breath.
I’m going to have to face him eventually with Tatum by my side.
I head into the kitchen and find Liam, Madden, and Kennedy standing around the rather large kitchen island—the very same one that Tatum stood on not so long ago. I almost laugh at the memory.
Liam turns first at the noise in the doorway, and he grins as he moves over to greet me.
“Congratulations, man,” he says. “I saw the viral video.” He gives me a bro-style hug complete with an aggressive pat on the back, and then he moves to Tatum while Madden makes his way over to greet us, too.
“We all saw it. It’s been fucking everywhere,” Madden says as we hug in greeting next. “I already texted you, but let me say it in person, too. Congrats, bro.”
“When did you two get in?” I ask.
“About an hour ago. How are you doing after Sunday?” he asks.
“We don’t have a chance with Reggie,” I say.
He presses his lips together. “Stranger things have happened. Keep fighting.”
I know he’s right, but it’s hard not to give up when our quarterback is hurt and we’re the underdogs.
We all stand around the kitchen island bringing up memories from this very kitchen. The time Dex tried to microwave a shirt to dry it faster and ended up starting a fire. Leaving empty cereal boxes in the pantry to disappoint a sibling. Stashing a particular snack only to find our secret stashes had been raided. The time Madden and Dex dented the stainless-steel fridge during a Nerf war. The time Archer and I convinced Liam the egg was hard-boiled so he’d crack it on his forehead.
The list goes on.
We may not have had Mom and Dad around much, but we had each other, and that was enough.
“Where’s Dad?” I ask.
“He was taking care of some details at the funeral home,” Liam says. “Should be back soon.”
It’s a sobering reminder of why we’re here. Not a single one of the memories we’ve been laughing about has included our mother.
