Page 47 of You, Again
I gulped. “Yeah.”
“What did she look like?” she pressed.
Nolan shook his head. “Let’s talk about something else. What book are you going to—”
“No, no. It’s cool,” I interrupted. No one had asked about my mother in so long that I didn’t know where to begin, but it seemed important to share my memories. “She had dark hair and pale skin, and she sang a lot. She loved music. Kate Bush and Tori Amos were her favorites.”
I immediately winced. I wasn’t good at this.Way to kill the fuckin’ party, Vin.
MK nodded thoughtfully. “What happened to her?”
“She was in a car accident.”
I left it at that.
She didn’t need to know I’d been napping in the back seat and had come to with a gash on my forehead, covered in blood. She didn’t need to know that I’d crawled over glass to shake my mother awake. Or that I’d screamed when she keeled face forward into the steering wheel. She didn’t need to know that the sound of sirens still freaked me out or that I still listened to Kate Bush to remind myself my mom was here…somewhere, looking out for me and my dad.
But this kid was an old soul. She seemed to sense my turbulent thoughts, and for once didn’t ask twenty questions to pry my secrets loose.
MK set her hand over mine briefly. “Sometimes I’m jealous of kids my age who have two parents, but my dad is the best. And I have Nana and Uncle Nol too, so it’s okay.”
“You’ve got it made.” I concentrated on my ice cream till I was sure my voice wouldn’t crack. “I was lucky too. I missed my mom, but I had the best friends in the world. Your dad and your uncle…and your grandparents were really good to me. Your grandpa especially.”
She tilted her head. “Nana said my grandpa was a good barbecuer.”
“He was good at lots of stuff. No kidding. He taught me how to ride a bike, how to skate, how to swim, how to dive, how to hook a fish. And he taught me how to play hockey. He taught all of us.” I flattened my tongue over my cone. “I like hockey as much as I do because of your grandfather. He made it fun.”
“That’s cool.”
“Yeah, and it’s cool that your dad and your uncle pass that love on to other kids. It’s kind of poetic to share what you love with the next generation. You love to read. Maybe you’ll write stories someday or open your own bookstore, MK.”
She crunched into her cone, nodding in agreement. “Today was fun. I liked the hockey part too. Thank you.”
“Any time, kiddo.”
Nolan pressed his knee against mine and hit me with an affectionate look that made me feel ten feet tall. He mouthed,Thank you.
I didn’t trust myself to do anything more than smile. What I really wanted to say was, “I should be thanking you.”
I came home to regroup, mend bridges, and figure out what came next. I hadn’t expected these ties to be so strong. This wasn’t just the town of safe, old memories, familiar faces, and streets I could navigate with my eyes closed. The connections were more nuanced now. Like I was part of the soil, the water, the air. And as far-fetched as it seemed, it felt as though the loved ones who were long gone were still rooting for me.
Nothing in this world felt more real or honest than sitting under an elm tree with Nolan Moore and his niece. It was as if I’d finally realized that he’d always been home.
He knew about my mom. He’d lived the story with me. He’d seen me cry, he’d seen me scared, he’d seen my rage, and he’d stayed.
The truth of us…the depths of us scared the hell out of me.
But it was also incredibly…beautiful.
* * *
We droppedMK off at her house, had a beer with Ronnie, but turned down his offer to stay for dinner. I mentioned something about picking up my ride at the rink, but I forgot about my Jeep the second we drove away. I just wanted to be with Nolan.
We ordered Chinese food and brought it to his place, a pretty two-story shingled cottage on a quiet tree-lined street. I commented on the pink hydrangea bushes framing the porch and followed him inside, cradling chow mein and chicken fried rice. He plucked the takeout bag from my hands and set it on a narrow console table under a landscape painting, shut the door, and launched himself at me.
My head hit the wall, rattling the painting as he sucked my tongue and hiked my shirt up, splaying his hands on my chest. Something inside me burst like a dam. Pent-up emotion and passion surged and spilled in a torrent of wild kisses and passionate groping.
“Upstairs,” he grunted, yanking his tee over his head as he moved ahead of me.