TAKE TWO_ Who says you can't ma - Heather M. Orgeron Page 0,32
Midge off with Hannah.
“Really? Because your clothes are still all over the bed, and I believe you might need this.” She dangles my toothbrush between two fingers in front of my face.
“Thanks, darlin’.” After retrieving the brush, I plant a smooch on her lips. “I’ll be done before you get back. Swear.”
“You know I don’t like to be late…” Her warning eyes stay fixed on mine as she backs out of the room, only turning when she’s reached the front door.
I wait for the sound of her motor turning over before printing my name at the bottom of her list in bright red ink so it can’t be missed.
Our plane touches down in Dallas a little past eight, but after collecting our luggage and renting a car, we don’t arrive at my parents’ ranch in Copper Hill until well after ten.
“They’re here!” I hear mom shouting to my father as her footsteps draw nearer. It’s Thanksgiving eve, and mom must’ve already started preparing tomorrow’s meal. The scent of browned onions and seasoned meat seeps into the crisp night air, making my stomach growl.
Nya’s sweaty hand grips mine as we make our way up the wood porch steps. She hasn’t seen my family since before the divorce and has convinced herself that they all blame her, even though that couldn’t be further from the truth. Trust me… if they fault anyone, it ain’t her.
“Welcome home, kids.” Momma steps out onto the porch in her signature fuzzy robe and slippers, smothering Ellie with hugs and kisses. Her dark hair is in a knot on top of her head, where her reading glasses are propped for safe keeping.
It gets pin-drop quiet when she pauses her fawning, looking over Ellie’s shoulder to stare at the woman latched onto my arm, her delicate face shrouded in disbelief.
“Surprise!” Ignoring the nerves roiling in the pit of my stomach, I stretch my lips into a smile and nudge my wife, so she’ll do the same.
“Nya.” Her name tumbles out of Momma’s mouth in a whisper as her blue eyes well with tears. She looks like she’s seen a ghost. “What are you—Oh, it doesn’t even matter. I’m so happy to see you, honey.”
“Hi, Nadine.” My wife shoots me a scathing look before falling into my mother’s outstretched arms. “He didn’t tell you I was coming, did he?”
“What?” I shrug my shoulders like a doofus, recoiling from my wife’s evil stare. “I thought we would surprise them.”
“That only works if I’m in on the surprise,” she grits.
“Still getting on like an old married couple, I see,” Momma muses, with happy tears lining her cheeks. She has no idea.
No. Literally… she has no idea.
I sneak past the two most important and frightening women in my life, squeezing behind them to get through the front door. Nya’s anger is a tangible thing. I can feel her evil glare on my back as it dawns on her that my parents know nothing of our wedding, either.
Once I’m safely inside and feeling a little less cornered, I can relax a little. It’s no surprise that the inside already looks like a winter wonderland. My mother has a slightly unhealthy obsession with Christmas. The tree is already up and fully decorated. Looks like she cut it out of a Good Housekeeping article and pasted it into her living room. There’s a fire crackling in the fireplace, and Mom’s Christmas village is all laid out on the bookshelves and countertops. Childhood memories of Christmases spent in this house come flooding back. Funny how no matter how many years I’ve spent away, my parents’ place still feels like home.
“Heya, Pops!”
My dad closes the footrest to his recliner, hopping to his feet to greet me. He’s wearing a red flannel and work jeans covered in dirt and grass stains and worn at the knees. He smells of wood shavings and leather. Running the ranch has kept him young and in his prime. At fifty-five, he still looks and acts like a young buck. The only evidence of his age is the full head of gray hair and salt-and-pepper beard covering his face.
“Liam. My boy!” He holds out a hand to shake mine, pulling me in for a hug and firm pat on the back. “ ’Bout time y’all get here. Your momma was going stir crazy. Pretty sure Thanksgiving dinner is ready to eat now.”
“I can smell it.” I make a show of sniffing the air. “My stomach wouldn’t argue with that idea.” We both laugh.