“Okay.” I nod, trying to do my best to stifle my emotions. “I’m just going to clean up and take my bags to my room.”
“Sounds good.” She grabs me before I’m able to escape. “We got you, Annie.”
She peppers kisses along my forehead, squeezing the hell out of me.
“Love you, Momma,” I whisper into her crazy, curly hair.
“Even more than Pop-Tarts, mac n’ cheese, and sprinkles?” she mumbles into the side of my head.
“Even more,” I add.
I take my time in the bathroom then unpack my belongings into dresser drawers. Hell, when I lived here, I did nothing but grab clothes off the floor. I can only avoid the inevitable for so long. With deep breathing and courage, I don’t have, I make my way back downstairs. The usual scene is before me. The table is set and dinner is ready. Until the storm of my life barrels in.
“Anus Annie.” Mac bounds through the door. He clears his throat and shouts instead of whispers. “Annie is home!”
The loveable little shit closes the distance between us, wrapping me up in a sweaty, soil, manure…trash-like smell. It’s disgusting as hell, but I melt into him. He’s home and my life.
“Welcome home, brat,” he whispers into my ear.
“Fuck off,” I hiss back.
“The Golden Child is home. I’ll shine up the tractor,” he retorts.
I pinch his side. “Don’t make me tell Daddy you’re bullying me.”
“He doesn’t scare me.” He gives me one extra hug.
I pull back instantly, wipe both hands up my eyes and holler out the password. “Daddy!” It used to be Pop-Tarts, but as the days morphed into years, I’ve grown smarter.
A skillet clatters, Dad roars, and is at my side. Mac takes a step back, laughing his ass off, howling at the moon like a coyote.
“She can still play you like a fiddle.” Mac slaps his shoulder.
“Go check the west pivot and make sure the pressure is okay.”
“You still got it, Golden Child.” Mac winks.
“Enough.” Mom wiggles in between all of us. “There are no favorites here.”
I’m wrapped up in another hug. I catch Mac and Dad standing back with shit-eating grins playing out across their faces. The west pivot doesn’t need to be checked. It’s all fun and harassing, and at this moment I find myself forgetting everything else in my life. The only thing sinking in is that I’ll be just okay.
“Lacey, Tripp, Willow, and Miles will be over soon.” Mom brushes her hands off on her apron and turns to the sink. “You can have salad and some appetizers. One each.”
No sooner than she turns around does Mac scoop five smoked Jalapeño poppers on his plate. That little son of a bitch. I pinch his side, dumping half the homemade Caesar salad onto my plate. It was always a childhood fight when I’d polish off the salad and Mac was left with none. Let’s be real here, though. Mac could care less about the salad. He always wanted nothing more than steaks, pork chops, or roast, but he still made a fuss.
It seems the years have changed nothing as we shovel our favorites into our mouths. Like I predicted, Mac guesses something is up with me. He doesn’t scream it outright, but runs his gaze from my head to toes and back again as I shovel scoops of salad in my mouth. Something about the crisp lettuce and tangy dressing has me in heaven.
I quirk an eyebrow, asking Mac a silent question. He banters back with a shake of the head. This goes on and on with different body language until Dad pulls up his chair at the head of the table.
“Something wrong?” Dad asks, settling into his seat and setting his hat on the corner table, with a damn plant I gave him on Father’s Day nearly a decade ago.
“No, Pops. Nothing at all. Just happy to have my sis home,” Mac chirps.
Dad tosses a roll at Mac’s head. He’s fast as hell, catching it with the swoop of his hand then taking a bite out of it. My brother is one talented individual. He’s the kind of person that is good at everything and anything. Even though he’s early in his high school career, big-time universities are already looking at him. Football is his true love. Well, besides farming next to Dad and driving me bat shit crazy.
“Sorry, just super hungry,” I add, shoving another scoop of salad into my mouth.
I don’t even give a shit about caring if everyone has a serving of Mom’s favorite Caesar salad as I polish it off and leave no room for the main course. One thing I’ve learned about being pregnant is that when you’re hungry, eat—because you never know when you’ll be so sick water smells disgusting. Yeah, it’s been pretty bad.