Page 13 of Reece & Holden (Gomillion High Reunion #6)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Holden
“So how was it? Did you have fun?” My mom asks about the reunion when I walk through the door of my parents’ house. Family dinner on Sunday is a tradition I don’t often miss.
“It was fine,” I say noncommittally before giving her a hug.
When I see her frown I quickly add, “You know how it is, full of people I know already or who’ve been away for so long I barely recognize them.
Those who came back to attend are too busy telling everyone how well they’ve done for themselves. Everyone’s a success.”
“Well, I hope you told them how well you’re doing.” She smiles.
“Sure, Mom,” I reply, pleased that my mostly inaccurate answer placates her curiosity, and I hope she’ll move on from the subject.
I don’t want any more discussion about it as I haven’t got any answers myself yet.
I’m also tired since I didn’t sleep well last night.
My mind kept running over the prom, and the dance with Reece.
There’s a part of me that wishes I’d danced the slow dance with him, but I have to resign myself to the fact that the moment has gone and it’ll never happen again.
The last few days have left me feeling emotionally exhausted and I’m looking forward to getting lots of rest later and then returning to normality tomorrow in my store.
“Dinner will be in ten minutes. Can you call your father?” She bustles off back to the kitchen and I walk out to the yard, already knowing where my dad will be.
I find him tending to his flowers. Ever since he retired fifteen years ago it’s been his passion, and even though the yard in their home is small, he manages to fill it with pots of flowers.
Mostly azaleas but also camellia and hydrangeas.
“Hey, son, what do you think of these?” He points proudly to some showy purple blooms.
“Really nice, Dad. Are they a new hybrid?”
He launches into a lengthy talk about them, and I listen because it’s great to see him so enthusiastic.
“Oh, Mom said ten minutes,” I say when he eventually winds down. I glance at my watch. “About ten minutes ago.”
He laughs. “I’d better go wash up, then.”
I walk back to the house and help my mom set the dishes on the table before we all sit.
“This looks delicious, Mom,” I say, gazing at the array of food.
She loves to cook and always makes too much.
She does it on purpose so she can press me to take most of it home with me.
I used to protest, arguing that I can actually cook for myself—she saw to that—but I know she does it because she likes to feel useful in my life, so I no longer resist and just gratefully accept, because well, who would pass up her cooking?
I also don’t know how much longer she’ll be able to cook for me.
My parents are old, much older than the parents of anyone else I know of my age.
Most people have grandparents the same age as my parents.
My mom was already older than I am now when I came along.
She was forty-two then, and we celebrated her eightieth birthday a few months ago.
My dad’s a couple of years older. I think they’d given up having children by the time I was born, so I was a bit of a surprise, though I know they had always wanted children.
As a result, I was loved and cherished and they’ve always been incredibly supportive, even if it felt like they were out of touch with my generation.
They were fantastic when I came out as gay.
They hugged me and said they loved me no matter what.
They’ve also been kind to the couple of boyfriends I thought were serious enough to introduce to them, being supportive when those boyfriends inevitably moved on.
There was a time in my early teens when having older parents was a source of embarrassment, and I tried to not let them pick me up from school or collect me from parties and events.
But that was a long time ago, and I couldn’t wish for better parents.
I fill my plate and tuck into my dinner, savoring the flavors. I’m halfway through emptying my plate before remembering I need to talk to them.
“I won’t be able to make dinner next week,” I announce. My dad pauses, a forkful of food halfway to his mouth. “I have an appointment to view a store over in Charlotte.”
“Oh, that’s wonderful,” my mom exclaims, and my dad lowers his fork before reaching over to squeeze my arm.
They know of my dreams to open a second store and that I’ve been looking for a suitable location for a long time.
They loaned me the money for my current store from my dad’s retirement fund, and I’m forever grateful for the help.
I paid back every dollar and have been saving up to open another one ever since.
At the beginning of the year, I decided I have enough saved up to expand my business, but finding a suitable property hasn’t been easy.
It’s taken months of scouring sites and talking to agents.
“That’s quite a long way. Three hours’ drive at least,” my dad says. “Will you be alright?”
“Yes. Clara’s coming with me to share the driving. We’ll be fine.”
“Well, you both take care,” my mom says.
“Of course we will.” I’ve talked to them both before about the fact I’ll be leaving town to run the new store, and I have concerns about that as they are getting older. But they’ve both been very firm that I wasn’t to hold myself back because of them.
“It’s exciting,” my mom says. “Just imagine it. Our son with two stores. Such a successful businessman.”
“Mom,” I scoff, but stop when I see the proud expression on her face. I’m looking forward to the opportunities I’ll have in a bigger location and more exposure for my own designs. I will certainly work hard to earn that pride she has in me.