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I live so close I haven’t crashed here in ages, and when I do, it’s usually after a long holiday where I’ve had too much to drink and Colt’s stuffed with pie and zapped out on the sofa.
Some things never change, though.
I still see my old books on shelves, the classics and silly B-movie horror pulp I used to read growing up. My PlayStation sits in the corner, untouched since the last time Colt played with me for nostalgia.
There’s still old homework and papers I wrote packed away in boxes under the bed. The edge of one peeks out.
“I don’t know why she keeps half this stuff. Too much ancient history here,” I mutter, picking up an ornament of a cardinal and looking it over. I found it in my Christmas stocking one year and put it on top of my bookshelf so Mom wouldn’t get sad.
“Moms like to do that. Normal moms, I mean.” There’s no hiding the melancholy in her voice when she looks at me. “But you said ancient? I think you meantprehistoric.”
“Shut it, brat.” I snort.
“Did you have a happy childhood?” The way the question comes out makes me stare.
It feels like it was bubbling under the surface, waiting to emerge, oozing with the grim hint that Winnie’s own childhood was anything but enjoyable.
“Happy enough. I mean, Dex and Pat were annoying pricks, but that’s what any older brother deals with.” I look at her sharply and the awkward way she’s hugging her stomach. “You okay?”
“I’mfine, Arch.” Like hell. The emphasis she puts on ‘fine’ says the opposite. “Your mom’s done, I think. Let’s go meet her. I’m starving.”
Surprisingly, dinner isn’t set up in the formal dining room.
Mom usually hosts there because it’s bigger and grander, but I guess because it’s just the three of us, she’s decided to keep it simple in the kitchen instead. I lead Winnie in there.
“Winnie!” Mom says, kissing her on the cheek. “It’ssogood to meet you at last.”
“Great to meet you too, Mrs. Rory,” Winnie says politely.
“Don’t you dare call me anything but Delly.” Mom beams at us. It’s clear Patton talked this up, which means I’m going to have to punch his face in. “Sit, sit, both of you. I hope you like chili, Winnie? It’s a creamy white chicken chili recipe, a southwestern classic with a Midwestern twist. I kept the jalapeños on the side in case you don’t like much spice, dear.”
“I love it. I can handle a few peppers.” Winnie smiles as she sits, poised and confident. Just the right warmth glows on her face.
All her usual nail-picking nervousness is gone.
I shouldn’t be surprised she can rein it in when she’s grown up at political dinners where there are five damn forks at your place and you look like the biggest moron in the room if you don’t know how to use them.
“Perfect!” Mom quickly ladles chili into bowls and launches straight in as she serves them up. “I must say, I’ve been so excited to meet you, Winnie. I’ve heard so much about you.”
“Really?” Winnie glances at me. “I only met Patton once.”
“Oh, not just Patton, though of course he talked you up. Actually, Colt’s the one who’s been singing your praises for some time now.”
Shit. How could I forget?
“Of course he has,” I say dryly. “Turns out, he’s a big fan of the bees.”
All thanks to Winnie, but I don’t say that part.
“And ofyou,Archer,” Mom says so abruptly I almost choke on my soup. “But tell me about the bees.”
Winnie goes into way too much detail, telling her about the brand-new boxes we set up for expansions, honey extraction, how much she’s expecting to yield this year, and the rare plant the bees are making their purple gold from.
But Mom doesn’t mind her passion.
Not at all.
She watches Winnie like the girl’s a celebrity as she eats, hanging on every word, nodding with a smile every time Winnie looks up.