Page 48 of The Probability of Us

“I know,” I tease, squeezing his hand and laughing when he sticks his tongue out at me like a little kid.

We continue talking the rest of the ride there, catching each other up on everything in our lives that happened over the past years.

But when I take the exit for Boston and toward his childhood neighborhood, he turns to stare at me. “What is going on?”

I don’t answer; I park the car in front of the brick house he grew up in and start grabbing the items from the back seat. Warren appears and takes the muffins out of my hands, following behind me as we walk up to the door.

I knock and a moment later a tall, thin woman who looks way younger than her age, answers the door.

“Analise.” She smiles and hugs me.

“I swear you look younger every time I see you, Cindy,” I say.

“I knew there was a reason I liked you so much.” She winks at me before addressing Warren who’s just been standing there, watching us with a confused expression. “And you got my son to come home, that’s a miracle.”

“Hi, Mom,” he says, still obviously confused as he turns toward me. “What’s going on?”

I smile and put my hand on his arm. “I’ll give you two a few minutes to catch up.” I take the muffins from him and start to head inside.

“I already got the vase out,” Cindy says, and I smile as I walk in the house and toward the kitchen.

Ever since I learned Warren hasn’t come to Boston in a while, and then learned it was because of the proximity to me, I’ve been planning a way to get him out here. That was my motive for inviting him to come today, but I would’ve been here even if he wasn’t. I’ve been coming to see Cindy yearly on the Saturday closest to the anniversary of the death of my mom since weekends are easier to make this trip. When my dad started drinking and I needed someone to talk to, she was the closest thing to the person I wanted to talk to, and she welcomed me with open arms when I showed up on her doorstep. That first time was out of desperation, but I kept coming back because it was nice to have someone older and wiser to talk to about life’s problems.

We’ve discussed everything over the years—everything except what happened between Warren and me. I wasn’t sure if she ever told him about my mom, or these visits, but by his reaction at The Dizzy Acorn when I told him she died, and now, it’s obvious she never did.

I’m setting out cups of coffee and plates of muffins on the coffee table when they head in, all smiles on their matching, sunny faces.

“I’ll just grab some milk and sugar,” I say, and Cindy stops me.

“I’ll grab it, dear.”

I sit down next to Warren on the couch, and he leans into me with a smile. “Thiswas the errand you had to run today?”

“I’ve been coming here every year since the weekend after my mom died. She helped me so much right after her death, so it kind of just became a tradition.” I shrug.

His eyes soften and he kisses my cheek. “I guess I know who told you about the reason for the divorce . . . and whose side she took in the breakup.”

“Well, if you bothered to visit,” Cindy says as she walks in, not bothering to hide that she was eavesdropping, “I might’ve taken your side.” She looks at me and smiles. “But probably not.”

“It was too tempting to come back—to be this close,” he says, looking over at me. His fingers reach out across the couch and gently pull my hand towards his. I lace our fingers together and squeeze.

Cindy eyes the movement and purses her lips. “How long did you make him grovel until you took him back?”

“Mom!” Warren exclaims, and I laugh.

“She’s like a daughter to me,” she says. “And I don’t care if you’re my son or not, I need to make sure you’re deserving of her. She’s been hurt too many times already. You know how mom’s like to say,I brought you into this world, and I can take you out?Hurt her again and you’ll find out just how accurate that statement can be.”

“Oh, I have no intention of hurting her again, and I have never been deserving of her,” he says.

“Stop.” I squeeze his hand and move our joined hands to hit him softly on the leg. “If we ignore the past, like, six and a half years, you’ve always been deserving. But when we factor those years in . . .” I grimace jokingly and tilt my head back and forth. “It could go either way.”

“All right.” He wraps his arms around me and pulls me down on his lap, his hands tickling me as I squeal. “You guys are so funny. I know I was the biggest idiot for letting you go, am I going to have to hear about it the rest of my life?”

“If you plan on keeping me around that long,” I tease, hoping he does, “then, yes.”

“Hm,” he murmurs, leaning down to kiss me. “I guess I could live with that.”

When we sit back up, Cindy is sipping her coffee and watching us with a smile.

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