Page 89 of The Only Thing That's Real

“I know, but this is different.”

“She loves you, and just wants to say hello.”

When we got back to the barn, there was a note from his mom asking us to stop by on our way out. I’ve been a nervous wreck since he pulled the pink Post-it note off his truck window five minutes ago. He’s right. I’ve met Sharon hundreds of times, but never on the arm of one of her sons.

Regardless, he leads me up the walkway, opening the front door to the home where I’ve posed for prom pictures and had countless sleepovers. He walks into the house with my hand in his as if it’s the most natural thing he’s ever done.

“Mom, we’re here.”

“I’m in the kitchen,” she calls from the room I’ve enjoyed many meals in.

Reluctantly, I pull on his hand, stopping our progress down the hallway. “What are we doing?”

“Everything, remember?”

“Right. Meeting the parents is part of everything.”

He bends his knees, so we’re eye to eye. “You aren’t meeting my mom. You already know her. She thinks you’re the shit and warned me not to miss this up.”

“Wait, she already knows about us?”

“She does. I came back with her after the service. We spent the afternoon prepping the horses and packing our little picnic.” He stands to his full height. “Come on, she can’t wait to see you.”

Ten steps later, we reach the kitchen where Sharon McKinnon is making her famous pancakes. I should have known. Of course, she wanted to make me pancakes on a day like today. Her batter is full of love made to celebrate the good times and soothe the soul during the heartbreaking times.

“Oh, sweet girl. How are you?” Her arms are outstretched as she meets me in the middle of the kitchen. “I know I gave my condolences at the service today, but since you’re here at the ranch, pancakes are in order.” Releasing me, she moves back to the stove. “I know you heard it a thousand times today, but your grandfather was a wonderful man, and the heart of this community, and I’m truly sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you. And thanks for being there today. It meant a lot to the family.”

“Of course, dear. Here.” She pats the kitchen island. “Sit.”

Following her instructions, I perch on a stool. Two plates, butter, and syrup are already waiting for us. Knox sits beside me, leaning in to press his lips against my temple as Sharon sets down a plate of pancakes.

Her face lights up when she catches us. “Aren’t you two adorable?”

My face flames with embarrassment while Knox beams from ear to ear.

Ignoring her comment, I thank her for the pancakes.

She and Knox talk about the horses. I stuff my mouth full of pancakes, listening to their conversation while watching the way Sharon’s face lights up to have her eldest boy home. Even if for a funeral and only for a day or two. It’s obvious she misses having him home. I’m glad she won’t have to miss him for much longer.

Finished with my pancakes, I rest my knife and fork on my plate. As soon as my hand is free, Knox steals it away in his while his mom looks on.

“You know, I read your article.”

“Wasn’t it great, Mom?”

“It was beautiful. A real love letter to the band.”

My heart soars to hear them praise my work. “Thank you, Mrs. McKinnon. I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

“Please, call me Sharon, sweetheart.”

I nod.

“Your family is so proud of you,” Sharon goes on. “You’re a beautiful writer.”

Knox squeezes my hand.

---