Page 58 of #Awestruck

I redid my ponytail quickly and flew back down the stairs just as Evan rang the doorbell. I opened it to see him standing on the porch, holding a large bouquet of flowers and a paper grocery bag.

“I’m sorry in advance,” I told him in a low voice as he came inside. He kissed me on the cheek, and I wondered if it was for show.

“Mr.Bailey, Mrs.Bailey, thank you for having me over. This is for you.” He handed my mother the flowers and the bag.

“Oh, thank you, Evan. You always were such a thoughtful boy. Brian, will you put these in water?”

My dad took the flowers and held out his hand to shake Evan’s. “So. You’re the Evan Dawson.”

“It’s just Evan, sir. I usually leave out ‘the.’”

My dad laughed as they shook hands. “Pleasure having you here, son.” Only he didn’t move to get water for the flowers. He just stood there, grinning at Evan.

“Hi, Satan,” Charlotte said, tugging on Evan’s hand. Charlotte had always been adept at figuring out words to make adults uncomfortable, and she said them as often as possible.

“Pretty soon that will be Uncle Satan to you, kiddo,” Rory said, waving at Evan.

And we all stood in the foyer, staring at one another.

Evan cleared his throat. “How is everyone?”

“Pleasant and totally normal,” Rory responded, her eyes dancing. She was enjoying herself. Much like her niece, she was also a fan of mischief.

Finally, realizing how uncomfortable the atmosphere had become, my mother started handing out marching orders. She told Rory to take Charlotte and Joey into the other room, reminded my dad to get water for the flowers, and asked Aubrey and Justin to start setting the table.

“Are they always like that?” Evan asked me in a whisper, his words tickling the outside of my ear.

I tried to ignore the shivers that skated across my skin. “No. Sometimes they’re weird.”

He grinned at me, and I couldn’t help but smile back.

“Ice cream?” my mother asked as she reached into the bag Evan had given her.

“It may have started to melt a little. But there are multiple flavors with everything that goes on top. I hope you don’t mind, but on Thanksgiving my family always had ice cream sundaes for dessert.”

For some reason that made my eyes well up, and I noticed it had the same effect on my mother. “That’s very sweet. We would love to honor your family’s tradition. Ashton, would you come help me put these away? Evan, would you mind giving Rory a hand?”

I offered an apologetic smile to Evan before following my mother. My dad filled a vase as quickly as possible, not even bothering to cut off the cellophane wrapping before sticking the flowers in. He rushed out, presumably to rejoin Evan and resume his hero worship.

The kitchen smelled amazing, roasted turkey and pumpkin and sweet potatoes with marshmallows all filling the air. Delicious scents that always made me think of home.

I wondered what my mother was up to as she unloaded the bag. She didn’t need my help to stick ice cream in the freezer. Was this about to turn into a Guantanamo-level interrogation, or were we going to board the SSGuilt Trip?

Turned out to be neither.

“You know, I’d forgotten that Evan’s an orphan. You two will be here for every holiday. That’s every mother’s dream.” Her face was bright and happy at this revelation. She was disturbingly and uncharacteristically giddy. It was disconcerting.

“What? To get an orphaned in-law? You are certifiable,” I said, taking out the toppings, which included hot fudge, caramel, and sprinkles, and placing them in our pantry. There was no countertop space, as the mess for Thanksgiving covered every square inch. “I mean, I love you, but that’s crazy.”

Usually when I threw around words likecrazyorcertifiable, my mom would launch into a long explanation of why I shouldn’t use those kinds of terms because they were hurtful and not clinically quantifiable. Not today. “You’ll understand someday when your children start to get married.”

“You’re not going to, like, kill Justin’s parents, are you? Because now I’m going to have to testify against you so I won’t be prosecuted as an accomplice.”

“Who’s going to kill Justin’s parents?” Aubrey asked as she entered the kitchen.

“Mom. So she can be the only grandma.”

My mother rolled her eyes until Aubrey said, “Justin’s using the wrong silverware, and he won’t listen to me.”

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