When You Come Back to Me (Lost Boys #2) - Emma Scott Page 0,147
down the aisle?
I rein in the thoughts that are too dangerously hopeful. Holden has spent most of his life in a prison of some kind or another—a loveless house, Alaska, the sanitarium… Maybe it’s asking too much, too soon.
Amelia reads my expression and pulls me aside while Dad greets Beatriz with a kiss on the cheek. “Second thoughts?”
“None. Except, what if—?”
“No chance.”
“It’s only been a year…”
“A year and a hundred lifetimes,” Amelia says. “I see it. Everyone sees it. How much you love each other…it’s the most beautiful thing.”
“I wish Mom could see it.”
“She can.” Amelia gives my arm a squeeze. “She sees everything.”
“River, meu doce menino,” Beatriz says and comes over to pat my cheek. “You are looking very handsome tonight, doesn’t he?” she asks the room, her hands over her heart.
I laugh and bend to kiss her cheek. “Hello, Beatriz. So happy to see you.”
She takes my face in her hands. “Meu Deus. Look at your man!” she says to Holden. “So beautiful tonight. What is the occasion? Is it my birthday?”
I shoot Amelia a panicked look and she swoops in to take Beatriz to the kitchen with Dad, asking her advice on the wild rice.
Holden leans his shoulder into mine. “Nothing like watching your seventy-year old auntie lust after your boyfriend.”
“She has good taste.”
Holden busts out laughing, but the doorbell ringing cuts it off with a choked sound. His face pales slightly. “They’re here.”
“I’m on it!”
Amelia breezes past us for the door and comes back with Margaret and Reginald. He’s carrying a bottle of sparkling cider and she has a bouquet of sunflowers. They’re introduced to Dad and they hug Beatriz as if she were an old friend instead of a former employee.
My hand goes to the box in my pocket. I wasn’t expecting a larger audience. My nerves stretch tighter until I see Holden with Margaret and Reginald, talking and smiling easily, and I realize the night just got more perfect.
Dinner is served, and we all sit and pass around wild rice, asparagus in melted butter, warm rolls, salad, and grilled halibut that Dad cooked to perfection.
But the food is almost tasteless in my mouth. Every bite, every minute takes me closer to the moment. I look across the table at Holden. He’s sitting between his uncle and Beatriz. He catches me watching and I fully expect him to do something suggestive with an asparagus spear. But he’s behaving himself. Subdued but in a peaceful way.
Do I want to ruin that? Freak him out? Make him run for the nearest exit?
I force myself to calm down before I freak out. From my right, Margaret touches my wrist and gestures at the empty chair at the head of the table, opposite Dad.
“Are we waiting for one more person?”
My stomach clenches and Amelia bows her head for a moment.
“My wife, Nancy—River and Amelia’s mom—passed away three years ago,” Dad says. “Cancer.”
Holden looks stricken. “Fucking hell, I should have told you…”
“Not at all,” Margaret says. “There is so much for us to catch up on. I’m very sorry for your loss. All of you.”
“Thank you,” Amelia says. “After dinner, I’ll show you some photos of her. If you’d like.”
Uncle Reg smiles. “We’d like that very much.”
The heavy moment passes and settles into something warm and deep, and the conversation flows easily with our mother now included and so much more than an empty chair.
But time feels like its rushing out from under me. I take a sip of water; my throat’s parched, and before I know it, the dishes are cleared. Coffee and dessert—Beatriz’s homemade Pé-de-moleque—squares of peanuts and molasses are served. Amelia kicks me under the table.
I heave a breath and start to rise when Dad beats me to it.
“Typically, we do this at the beginning of the meal, but better late than never.” Dad stands and holds up his water glass. “To Margaret and Reginald. Holden has become such an important part of our family, and we’re so happy to have you here too. To family.”
We all raise our glasses. Dad smiles at me proudly. Over the last year, we’d had a lot of talks about my relationship with Holden. It took Dad some getting used to the idea, but he wasn’t homophobic. Like me, he thought football had a default setting and his desire to see me excel at the sport clouded everything else. My happiness with Holden, he said, was better than any Super Bowl victory.
“Although I wouldn’t mind one of those either,” he’d teased.