Page 89 of Still Yours
Now it takes clamping my teeth against my lips to keep from crying. I give a jerky nod, squeezing back and whispering, “I love you, too,” before departing and heading downstairs to tell everyone the change of plans.
Stone helps bring the necessary TV tables into Mrs. Stalinski’s room without a word. Aaron and Rome are happy to help, with Maisy joining in and Carly, Mae, and I transferring the plates upstairs.
Mae jokes she knew she worked at the Merc’s cafe for a reason when she balances four full dinner plates up at once. Carly agrees that the Merc’s wine cellar has given her the same experience as she carries four pinot noirs in her long arms.
The sisters’ banter travels all the way up the stairs and lightens the mood as we crowd in.
Stone carved the turkey downstairs and the cacophony that began in the kitchen as everyone shouted for their preferred cuts to be dropped on their plate traveled into Mrs. Stalinski’s bedroom with equal fervor.
Maisy and I teamed up and brought the table decorations into her room, too, decorating her vanity, side tables, and wardrobe.
I sit cross-legged on the bed beside Mrs. Stalinski, my plate balanced on my thighs. The rest form a half circle around the bed, Stone the closest to his mother and Aaron on the other side, nearest to me.
Conversation flows as Mrs. Stalinski picks at her plate, then nonchalantly pushes it aside, nestling it beside me. Her appetite wasn’t the point of this dinner, and nobody says a thing as she folds her arms against her concave stomach and joins in on the conversation, her smile permanently in place.
Scrapes of cutlery against emptied plates soon join into the flow. Aaron makes what I hope he considers a joke when Carlystands up for seconds. He fast becomes one of Carly’s many victims under her lethal stare.
“City boys,” Mrs. Stalinski says. “They never learn.”
“Just for that,” Carly says to Aaron, “I’m stealing your cranberry crème brûlée.”
“Wait—there’s crème brûlée here?” Aaron truly appears perplexed that such a dessert would appear in a small town like this.
I laugh. Mae and Maisy join in, with Carly following (though Carly’s is more of anI’m making fun of you, stupid city boylaugh).
“Noa made it, and it’s fucking divine, so you better shut your freshly waxed mouth and respect my women,” Stone adds.
It’s the first time I’ve heard his voice over the others, and I look over at him in surprise.
He catches my eye and winks.
And just like that, my heart floats.
It’s okay. We’re okay.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Stone
Noa saved the day.
I shouldn’t be surprised. The woman has a superpower in bettering a situation simply by being present.
Ma got the Thanksgiving she wanted, and while her condition is no longer a secret, I’m bowled over by the amount of support this close circle of people gives me.
I shouldn’t be surprised at that, either, but big cities have changed me. I’m suspicious, cautious, and constantly searching for a person’s true motive. Falcon Haven is as static as a storybook, unchanging and picturesque with its down-home country vibe. The residents have grown, but the sentiment remains the same: we lift up our own.
The love my mother received tonight was almost too much to witness. She deserves love like this every day, and she gets it. But to see it so concentrated in one room, to watch everyone do their damnedest to keep that smile on her face? I’m about ready to break, and I will never do that alone, never mind in front of a crowd.
I excuse myself while Rome is deep into one of his ranch stories involving a barn owl and his feed supply, exiting with little notice—except for Noa.
She watches me depart, and I don’t feel her eyes leave me until I pass through the doorway.
Her confession to Carly rings in my ears, louder now that the worry over my mother has settled into a low ache. Before I heard her, I was convinced last night was different. We didn’t have sex; we made love. I’ve never in my life kept eye contact with a woman well past orgasm. Noa was so soft and supple, butter in my hands. Her soft cries echo in my head, sounds of true devotion. Proof that I’m hers.
Fuck. I didn’t read any of it correctly.
I can’t read her anymore, not the way I used to.
