Page 168 of Unloved

“Where do you wanna go? Kitchen table or the couch?”

He doesn’t speak at first, just eyes me skeptically.

“Or I can dump you right back outside and let you start over.”

His hand grips me tighter and I think he’s angry at first, before I realize he’s… laughing. He’s laughing so hard he’s about to fall over, so I wrap my arm around his waist to steady him.

“Kitchen,” he says, smiling now as we walk slowly into the house together. I settle him in his seat of choice. Ro flutters around him and her mother like she can’t quite decide what to do.

“Ro said you play hockey?” her mother calls as she continues stirring a large pot on the stove.

“Didn’t say whether you’re any good,” her dad huffs, a glint in his eyes. Ro explained to me that sometimes he speaks easily, the words flowing. Other times he struggles to get a one-word response out.

“Yes, ma’am, I play hockey for our school. But I’m actually signed to play for Dallas after graduation, in the NHL.”

“Oh, that’s amazing,” Mrs. Shariff says, reaching for something behind Ro, who stops her and grabs the stack of bowls for her. “Your parents must be so proud.”

The ache that is permanently etched into my chest throbs a little. Ro walks around the table to stand at my back and squeeze my shoulders.

“Yeah. My mom passed a few years ago, but she was very proud of me.”

It comes easier now—a wave of grief—but there is something beautiful about allowing myself to speak so openly about her. About the loss of her.

Ro shifts the conversation away from me, for which I’m grateful. The reprieve is enough to settle me into their dinner routine, stomach growling as they set a bowl of curry in front of me and a smaller cup of rice.

We eat and laugh and talk across the dinner table, and then move to the back patio where we eat and laugh and talk some more. Ro’s mother tells stories of her in her youth. Her dad holds her hand, scratching her palm and fingers as she lays her head on his shoulder.

Watching Ro with her parents is eye-opening.

They baby her and she grumbles about it, but she softens under their attention. And she’s so fucking beautiful. I want to keep her here, comfortable, away from the shit at school and Tyler and my fucking past. I want her to be able to be like this.Always.

CHAPTER 59Ro

“You really didn’t have to do all of this.”

“Yavrum,” my mom says. She squeezes my biceps and peers around my shoulders to inspect the dough I’m molding. “I wanted to. I think manti is good for dinner, right? How much do you think we should make?”

My mother’s eyes dart around the massive piles of lamb-filled dumplings on which she’s just sprinkled more flour. Her hands are still powdered as she sets them on her hips.

“I think this is more than enough, actually.”

“Matt is a growing boy—”

“He’s not a giant,” I laugh, shaking my head as I finish off the last of the dumplings. My mom gives me a look that screamsHe definitely is a giant. “You’ve made plenty of food, okay? Let’s get these into the water before it boils over.”

I start on the sauce, pulling the ingredients out of the fridge as my mom sings low. The nostalgia of it all—her voice, the smell of her food—soothes me. My muscles relax even further—more than they have in years.

She watches me work, but not in a way that makes it feel like she’s looking for errors—it’s like she’s taking in the sight of me, committing this once-familiar sight to memory.

“What?” I smile at her, blowing a curl out of my eyes. We lookthe most alike—my father’s fairer complexion and blue eyes didn’t stand a chance against her brown skin, hazel eyes, and mass of black curls. My own strands might be a little lighter, a brunette hue more like my dad’s, but I am my mother’s daughter.

You have my heart. I heard the sentiment from both my overly loving parents. Where my father has a gruff exterior, my mother is as soft as they come. Fragile, yes, but strong in her fragility and vulnerability. In a way I’ve always aspired to be.

I just got a little lost along the way.

“Mom.” I find my voice, shaky as I concentrate on stirring the red sauce in front of me. “I’m really, really happy that you’re getting to meet Matt. He—he helped me a lot this semester, and… it’s just special to have him here with you and Dad.”

My boyfriend is currently watching the prep games for World Juniors—which one player from Waterfell is playing in—and from what I overheard, he’s spending most of the time explaining hockey to my dad, answering all his questions.

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