“Why’s it a big deal?” But I know why. She thought I was wasting my time on those videos, and she’s not entirely wrong. I’m doing them because it’s a way to spend my days while I wait for her to fall for me. I’m not a guy with a lot of ambition, and she should know what she’s getting into with me.
“It’s not,” she concedes, but there’s a little line between her eyes as if she can’t figure out what’s bothering her. I don’t press. She’ll have to work that out for herself.
As we glitter up the pinecones and the Styrofoam balls, Logan makes holiday videos. Soon there’s glitter everywhere—in our hair, on our shirts, in my mouth—but everyone seems to be having a good time. Logan’s giggling, and even Dean doesn’t seem to mind that his fingers are coated with red and green sparkles.
Once a pile of ornaments are completed, Rory ties ribbons on the end while Dean and Logan and I place the homemade decorations on the tree. It doesn’t take us long and Dean is about to turn on the lights when the front door opens. A bottle blonde in tight pants and a leopard print shirt with buttons that are fighting for their lives stretched across a very prominent rack appears. She slams the door shut behind her with a kick of her high-heeled shoe and throws out her arms. “Mommy’s home!”
“Sheila,” Rory mutters under her breath and gets to her feet. Her brothers run over to get their hugs. Logan is so happy he’s shaking.
“Mommy! Mommy!” he yells.
“I know, Button. It’s been a while, hasn’t it? Mommy had to go away to earn some money, but she’s back now.” She presses kisses all over Logan’s face. Dean presses close to Sheila’s side, averting his face so we can’t see how overcome he is.
Beside me, Rory grows stiff. I slide my hand into hers, and she clutches my fingers tight. Sheila’s head comes up from kissing her son, her eyes pausing on Rory and my intertwined fingers and then traveling up to my face.
“I heard you were seeing Tyson Carter, but I couldn’t believe it. It’s hard to believe even though I’m seeing it with my own two eyes,” Sheila drawls softly.
Rory tries to wriggle out of my grip, but I hold her tight. Her mama doesn’t scare me.
“Your mom and I went to school together. Did she tell you that?”
“Yeah, she mentioned it once.” A long time ago when I first showed interest in Rory, Mom asked me if it was Sheila Carlson’s girl. I’d said yes, and that was the end of the conversation.
“We used to be friends. She and I would get our hair done at Bannon’s Barbershop. I always got mine lightened, and Cherie would get red highlights put in because your daddy liked those.”
“That sounds like my mom,” I admit.
“We drifted apart after high school. She married your dad, and that put her in a whole different crowd than mine.” Sheila looks around the small living room with the worn-out carpet and the sagging, cracked leather sofas. “It’s nice that you’ve made friends with my Rory. She’s a good girl, aren’t you?”
“Not really,” Rory replies stiffly.
Sheila’s soft face hardens for a split second before a fake smile appears. “My Rory has a lot of spirit, but I bet that’s why you like her.” Sheila winks at me. “I’m going to go get changed. Rory, why don’t you get dinner started? I want to hear all about your romance. You’re staying to eat with us, aren’t you, Tyson?”
“Yup,” I reply.
“No,” Rory says. She glowers at me. “No,” she repeats.
“Yes. I’m not leaving you.” I squeeze her hand. “Let me help you in the kitchen.”
Sheila’s smile turns very real as she disappears down the hall with a son attached to each arm.
“You sure you want part of this world?” Rory tosses down a Styrofoam ball on the ground.
I do, but I’m not sure how to convince Rory of this other than staying by her side, no matter what.
ten
RORY
“She wantsme to make dinner, but I didn’t see her toting any groceries,” I mumble more to myself as I pull open the refrigerator door. I pause when I see it stocked full of more food than has ever been inside it before.
“About that. I tend to eat a lot, and I wasn't sure how long I might be staying.” He gives me one of his normal shrugs to play it off. I realize he’s expecting me to be pissed about it.
“Thanks.” His brows lift in surprise at me not getting mad at him for overstepping. The truth is I’m not sure if I should or not. Tyson is getting hard for me to keep at a distance. I’m starting to see that he truly does care about my brothers. I hadn’t gotten a chance to go to the store this week. I can deliver loads of groceries to other people, but it can be almost impossible to get my own at times.
“You’re welcome.” He smiles, but it drops when he hears my mother’s laughter coming from the other side of the house. He clenches his jaw so tight a tick forms in it.
I can tell he doesn't care for her, and I can’t even be upset. Once upon a time when I was little, I used to rush to her the same as my brothers did. Hanging on to a hope that she might change one day. But I soon realized that day would never come.