“Calliope, leave her alone,” Rowan scolded, suddenly beside me, glaring at his sister. But I knew Rowan’s glares, and this one was all for show. You could see the warmth underneath it.
“Take these, won’t you, Dad?” he asked his father, gesturing to the bags. His father took them, but not before leaning in to kiss his son on the cheek.
“Good to see you, son.”
It made me feel all melty to see the easy affection displayed by even the alpha males in the family.
“Calliope wants to make everyone rich,” Rowan explained, putting his arms around me.
Calliope’s manicured brows furrowed. “Why you’re saying that like it’s a bad thing baffles me.”
“I’ve got everything I need right here,” Rowan replied, squeezing me tighter.
Cue more melty feelings.
Calliope rolled her eyes. “Easy for you to say with a construction business making the high six figures with projections reaching the millions in your ten-year plan.”
“For fuck’s sake, Calliope, stop nosing into my financial shit,” Rowan snapped.
Her ruby lips parted, showing her straight white teeth. “Make me, Rambo.”
After that, I witnessed what seemed to be a routine for the family. Kendra was the peacekeeper between her brother and sister, who loved to argue yet obviously adored each other. The children, Wyatt and Molly, were, as Kendra said, savages but adorable savages. Keith was quiet but friendly. Hank was much like his son, a man of few words but showed each and every member of his family how much they meant to him as easy as breathing.
Jill was the heart of the household. Running around, adding finishing touches to the meal, sneaking her grandchildren treats, making sure to go out of her way to make me feel welcome.
Rowan was always at my side. Always touching me, kissing my temple, reassuring me that he was there, maybe worrying that this was going to be hard.
And I guessed, in a way, it was. That wound inside of me throbbed painfully, but not unbearably. And something else bloomed inside of me.
Hope.
Hope that I could be a part of this family.
“You deserve this, sis,” Ansel’s voice sounded from somewhere deep inside me.
Chapter
Twenty-Three
Recipe: Classic Kiwi Pavlova
Christmas dinner was wonderful. The Derrick’s dining room featured a long table, every seat filled, the entire surface covered in delicious food.
“So, Nora,” Calliope said after we’d all sat down. “What was your brother like?”
There wasn’t the cliché moment where forks stopped clanging, when everything went still since death entered the conversation. Quite the opposite. People still reached over for this dish and that dish.
Kendra scolded Wyatt for trying to eat mashed potatoes with his hands.
Everyone continued going about their dinner table routines, but they were also listening too.
Rowan’s hand clutched my thigh, and I could feel his body tense up beside me. He was coiled, ready to jump to my defense, to protect me from the topic that could send me hurtling back into that pit of despair.
Although the question had surprised me, it didn’t unnerve me. Didn’t make me feel pain or awkwardness or even pitied. She’d asked the question because she was interested. They all were. They weren’t skirting around death, ignoring it. They were finding a way to bring my brother to the table with us.
Rowan, of course, did not see how thoughtful this was because he was in protective alpha mode.
Before he could say anything, I patted his hand and hoped he’d stop giving his sister his death glare.
“He was wonderful.” I laid my napkin on my lap. “He believed in crystals, chakras, lost ancient civilizations and was obsessed with UFOs.”
“Oh my god, I’m obsessed with UFOs too!” Kendra exclaimed. “We go to all the sights, but Roswell is a big letdown. Would not recommend it. Very depressing.”
I smiled because Ansel had said something similar.
“He was once arrested outside Area 51,” I chuckled.
“Tell us everything,” Kendra demanded.
And somehow, I did. I managed to talk about my brother in the past tense, keeping him alive the only way I could.
Between dinner and dessert was presents.
The gift exchange could’ve been awkward. Maybe with every other family, it would’ve been, but not with the Derricks.
It wasn’t awkward. It was wonderful, watching the children tear into their multiple presents with utter glee. Then when they ran off to play with their toys, the adults exchanged gifts with a little less glee, but not much.
Again, I liked seeing the rhythm of it, seeing the love between them, the smiles, the jokes, the thoughtful gifts.
I didn’t expect a gift, not even from Rowan. I’d gotten him a gift. But not one I felt comfortable giving him with an audience, even this audience.
My spot tucked into his side on the large, cozy armchair was pretty much the best place to be. Despite the ever present dull, throbbing pain of grief inside of me—the pain I suspected would always be there, although it might vary in size—I had never felt happier. More comfortable. More… part of something.