Nowhere but Home A Novel - By Liza Palmer Page 0,133
He brings both of his hands to either side of my face. I lean into his touch and close my eyes. He leans down and kisses me. He pulls back only enough to whisper in my ear, his lips centimeters from my skin.
“I’m yours. I’ve always been yours.”
Everett takes me in his arms and I feel it all. The scope and breadth of a love I’m finally allowing to expand to its full size after being kept in a box for far too long.
After however many minutes (hours?), I finally tear myself away from Everett. Merry Carole is going to be waiting up for me for sure, and we have much to discuss.
“So I’ll see you at the game?” Everett asks, standing on the porch as I walk to my car.
“Absolutely. And about all the family stuff with your paren—”
Everett cuts me off. “We’ll figure it out. We’ll make it work.” I nod. We’ll figure it out. We’ll make it work. This time? I actually believe him.
Lighter, I walk down the path to Merry Carole’s. Unencumbered. Free. How is that possible? I open the door and walk through the darkened house. I turn on my light and pull my little notebook out of my luggage. I sit down right there on the floor and begin writing. The well-used recipes, the process . . . I clip the pen into the spiral of the notebook and tuck the notebook back into my luggage. I put on my pajamas and turn off the light in my room. I feel my way down the hallway and creak open the door to Merry Carole’s room.
“You still up?” I ask.
“Come on, then,” Merry Carole says, flipping her blankets back. I tiptoe over to the bed and climb inside. I just sit there.
“I talked to her.”
“You what?” Merry Carole sits straight up in bed and looks down at me.
“I talked to her.”
“And what did she have to say for herself?” Merry Carole’s voice is anxious and terrified.
“She just wanted to know we were okay.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it. I thought it was going to be this whole conversation about forgiveness and Momma, but she was just . . . she was just worried about us.”
“Well, damn,” Merry Carole says, leaning over and pulling a tissue from her bedside table. “Damn,” she says again, sniffling into the tissue once more. I slide under the covers as Merry Carole lies down. I nuzzle into the pillow, and Merry Carole and I face each other in the darkness of her bedroom. Rose water. I breathe it in.
“She said thank you,” I whisper.
“She what?”
“She told Shawn the dish was exactly how she remembered it.”
“Oh my God.”
“I know.”
“How do you feel about it?”
“It’s not like—I mean, we’ve been walking around with this for years. It felt shitty for years, but making this meal did something. Talking to her did something. I can’t believe y’all were right, but you were. It’s like I’ve stopped spinning, if that makes any sense,” I say.
“No, it does.”
We are quiet.
“So were you going to call that guy from Portland tomorrow then?”
“I don’t know if I’ll have time. I’ve got to get my Stallion Batallion cheers and big foam finger ready.”
“The game is after—” Merry Carole sits up in bed and throws her arms around me. She scrunches back under the covers squealing with delight. She pulls the blankets up over her shoulders and smooths my bangs out of my face. “I’m so glad. I can’t wait to tell Cal.”
“Me, too.”
“Night, Queenie.”
“Night night, Merry Carole,” I say, snuggling up to her.
“If you don’t hurry up, I swear I’m going to leave without you, Queen Elizabeth,” Merry Carole says, appearing in my doorway in one of Cal’s jerseys, black pencil pants, and a pair of black peep-toe heels. Her blond hair is the closest to Jesus I think I’ve ever seen it and her makeup is “camera ready” as she likes to say. Rose and Amelia crowd around her as she makes a face at them regarding my unhurried pace. The girls giggle as they shift their Stallion Batallion gear around. Rose and Amelia are wearing the matching gold sundresses Merry Carole bought for them. Merry Carole has done their hair up in pigtails, accentuated with black and gold ribbons that trail down their backs. Merry Carole has a giant gold foam finger tucked under her arm, a pair of pom-poms in one hand, and four gold-and-black seat cushions in the other. Each of the girls has her own set