Page 59 of Meet Me in the Valley (Oakwood Valley #2)

Chapter Thirty-Seven

TIA

Growing up with a sibling means scheming is practically written into your birthright. Nora and I figured out early on that we could get our parents to say yes to almost anything—as long as we asked together.

Two cute faces were always more persuasive than one.

I still remember the time we wanted new bikes so badly, we built an entire presentation on a poster board complete with report cards, safety arguments, and a compelling pitch about the “cool points” we’d earn with our friends.

We were eight and ten, fully convinced that a little glitter and some magic marker could prove our dedication.

A week later, two brand-new bikes with giant pink bows appeared in the driveway. That was the day we realized we were unstoppable together.

But the night Nora left, that tether between us snapped. I’ve been drifting ever since.

That same night, I found myself on Torren’s dock. The night before we left for Texas. The night I met Logan for real.

Now she’s back. Nora’s here in Oakwood Valley, with Cali in tow. And I’m over the moon. That thread between us is tugging again, slowly stitching itself back together.

But we’re not those girls anymore. And this isn’t the same family.

Mom’s diagnosis hangs over everything, tinting even the brightest days in dull hues. And Nora’s return, as hopeful as it feels, doesn’t erase the time lost.

Still, as I stand on the front steps with Nora’s hand in one of mine and Cali’s in the other, something shifts.

It’s time.

Time to stop clinging to what we were and step into what we are now.

We may be a little broken when we walk through that door, but Mama needs to see her daughter.

The one she calls out to on her worst days. The one she imagines still sitting at our dinner table, eating our favorite meals like nothing’s changed.

And Cali. Sweet, bright Cali.

Mom and Dad are going to fall in love with her the second they see her—just like I did.

I take a shaky breath and squeeze both their hands. “Okay. Ready?”

I know Mom and Dad are having tea out back. I also know it’s one of her better days. And yeah, maybe this visit could throw her off; maybe seeing Nora and meeting Cali will be too much.

The doctors have told me over and over again: routine is everything. Keep things consistent. Don’t surprise her.

And I’ve followed every word. Carefully. Lovingly. Respectfully.

But something deep in my soul tells me it’s going to be okay. Fear has no place in this moment, and I won’t let it take away from the reunion between a mother and her firstborn.

Call it gut instinct. Call it faith.

I know my mom is waiting for her daughter, even if her mind can’t say why.

I squeeze Nora’s hand tighter, feeling it tremble in mine. She exhales slowly, nodding her head. I turn to Cali who flashes a bright smile at me, along with a thumbs up.

“Ready, TT.”

Anticipation buzzes through my fingertips as I open the door and lead them inside.

Like muscle memory, Nora slips off her shoes without a second thought—respect and courtesy in an Asian household, etched into us since we could walk.

I smile as I watch Cali mirror her mom, leaving her worn-down Converse by the front door and looking up at the house like she’s not sure yet if she belongs.

As we start down the hall, I glance back to see Nora’s eyes lingering on the family photos—years of memories she locked away, like her last ballet recital and our last family vacation to Yellowstone as a family of four.

And then the memories she wasn’t here for.

Birthdays. My college graduation. Blurry snapshots of a life that moved on without her.

Cali clutches her mom’s hand tighter, nerves flickering through her usually confident stride the closer we get to the french doors that lead to the backyard.

Through the glass, I see the back of Mom and Dad’s heads. They’re sitting in the shade. Mom’s holding a book, tea in hand. Dad’s leaning back, relaxed.

Behind me, I hear a small hitch in Nora’s breath. I mouth to Nora, “It’s okay,” even though my hands shake as I reach for the door handles.

No room for doubt now.

I open the doors.

Dad sees me first. His expression softens with that familiar smile and squint—until his gaze shifts.

And then he freezes.

His eyes widen just slightly, like he’s trying to decide if what he’s seeing is real. He grips the arms of his chair, half-rising over the seat, stuck somewhere between disbelief and recognition.

There’s a sharp intake of breath in my ear.

Nora grabs my arm to steady herself. Her face melts from its natural stoicism to something softer as tears pool in her eyes, threatening to fall.

She stands like an elegant statue on a fractured pedestal, as if one more blow could topple her hard-earned poise.

Sweet Cali clings to her side, shrinking behind her. For all the bravado of a twelve-year-old girl, I can tell she’s uncertain. This must be a lot on her. And for a moment, the world feels perfectly still.

Mom glances up from her book when she senses me behind her. Her smile is soft and warm. It reminds me of the setting sun, and I soak it in the way I always do.

“Hi, sayang . What were you up to today?”

Her voice is light, unaware. Dad stays frozen, like a marble sculpture, eyes locked on Nora as she quietly steps around to the other side of Mom’s chair.

“Mama,” I say gently. “There’s someone here to see you.”

A flicker of confusion crosses her face. I lift my eyes slowly toward Nora, and Mom follows my gaze. Her expression shifts the second she sees her.

She gasps.

“Hi, Mama,” Nora whispers, her voice trembling as the tears finally spill over.

For a moment, Mom stares, stunned and silent. The world narrows to the space between them, time suspended.

Dad and I sit motionless, bracing with bated breaths in case things go south.

“N-Nora?” Mom stammers, her voice cracking. “Is it really you?”

Her hand lifts hesitantly, as if afraid the vision in front of her might vanish. But when her fingers graze Nora’s cheek, the contact seems to anchor them both.

Nora closes her eyes and leans into it, wrapping her hand around Mom’s and holding it there like it’s the only thing keeping her tethered to this moment. She only nods, too overcome to find the words.

Nora presses her quivering lips together, trying to stay composed, but it’s useless now.

The tears are steady, quiet. Mom’s hand trembles against her cheek.

For a moment that lasts a lifetime, neither of them moves—the only reminder that this isn’t a figment of my imagination is the flicker in their gaze as they search each other’s faces.

Then Mom lets out a soft, broken laugh. It’s part joy, part disbelief. Her fingers brush through a strand of Nora’s hair, like she’s trying to memorize her by touch.

“My girl,” she whispers. “You’re real.”

Nora kneels beside her, still holding her hand, forehead resting gently against Mom’s knee. “I’m here, Mama. I’m sorry it took me so long.”

Mom shakes her head, tears slipping down her cheeks now, too. She gently strokes Nora’s hair, exactly the way she would when we were kids. “You’re here now. That’s all that matters.”

Cali steps forward, inching closer, eyes wide and solemn.

Dad notices her, and his eyes instantly fill with unshed tears.

He gently places a steadying hand on her shoulder.

Cali looks up at him, unsure, and he offers her a soft, reassuring nod.

Dad was always the best at reading between the lines.

He knew the minute his eyes landed on Cali that she was his granddaughter.

“Nora,” Mom says again, almost like she can’t believe she gets to say it out loud. “I knew you’d come home. One day.”

Nora lifts her head, blinking through tears. “You did?”

Mom smiles through her tears. “Maybe not up here,” she says, tapping her temple. “But somewhere in here.” She taps her chest. “I felt it. I never stopped.”

The silence that follows is thick with everything they haven’t said, everything they’ve survived apart. But in it, there’s no anger. Just ache. And love. And a beginning.

I reach for Cali’s hand and guide her toward them, my own eyes burning now.

“Mama, there’s someone else I want you to meet.”

Mom turns, her eyes landing on Cali for the first time. She blinks—startled, maybe—but not confused. It seems Mom and Dad share the same intuition. Mom’s smile is bright and the most genuine she could give.

“And who might this little sunshine be?”

Cali looks up at her grandmother, then back at Nora, who nods with a tearful smile.

“This,” Nora says, voice shaking with pride, “is Cali. Calista. Your granddaughter.”

Cali surprises us all by launching herself into my mother’s arms, squeezing the life out of her. Nora instinctively steps forward, a flicker of panic in her eyes, ready to tell her to ease up. But before she can, Cali pulls back with a wide, brace-faced grin.

“Hi, Gran—uh. Okay, now what do I get to call you? Gran? Nana? Gram-Gram? Gam-Gam? Gammy? Or are you more of a classic Grandma? Or maybe something more Southern since you lived in Texas—that’s what my mom told me, anyway.

So, like, Meemaw? I don’t know if I like that.

But if you do, I can compromise. Mom says I need to learn to compromise.

I’m only twelve, but she says it’s a skill I’ll need to learn the older I get. ”

The emotional tension vanishes in an instant, replaced by laughter none of us can hold back. Mom keeps her arms wrapped around Cali’s waist, eyes glowing as she studies her granddaughter’s face like she’s a miracle come to life.

Our past as a family may be complicated, but moments like this make the long road feel more than worth it.

“Well, Cali Calista ,” Mom croons, brushing a hand gently down her arm. “I’ve always wanted to be an Oma. That’s what I called my grandmother. How does that sound to you?”

“O-ma,” Cali repeats slowly, testing it out. “Yeah! I like that. Oma.”