Page 101 of Awaiting the Storm
He chuckles. “You’re mighty welcome, son.”
Mom smooths her coat over her lap and peers up at the house. “You sure we shouldn’t have brought something? A pie or a bottle of wine?” she asks, not for the first time.
I chuckle, rounding the hood to open her door. “I told you, I offered, and they practically demanded we didn’t.”
She hesitates for a moment, glancing at the lit porch again. “Well, I’m not used to showing up empty-handed. It feels like we’re imposing.”
“You’re not,” I say, offering her my hand. “Come on. They’ll love you.”
She scoffs, but she takes my hand.
Inside, the house smells of cinnamon and apple pie, mixed with a hint of cedar from the crackling fire in the living room. Voices rise and fall in a rhythm that only families who know each other well can create. I feel a heavy longing in my chest—from how much I crave this kind of warmth and this kind of noise. I want it for Mom too. I know she’s been lonely since Dad passed away, even if she would never admit it.
“Don’t take your boots off!” someone hollers from the back of the house. “We’re outta wine, and there’s still pie!”
“That’s Charli,” I tell Mom, grinning.
“See, I told you we should have brought a bottle of wine,” Mom says out of the corner of her mouth.
We step inside and are immediately engulfed in chaos and joy. Laughter explodes from the living room, where a group of boys—Cabe, Axle, and Royce—are seated around a coffee table, locked in a game of what looks like poker. Cabe slaps a hand of cards down and whoops. Royce groans and throws his head back while Axle mutters something about his baby brother being a cheater.
Earl and Albert are sunk deep in recliners, eyes glued to the football game on TV. Grandpa Earl’s cradling a steaming mug, and Albert’s got a bowl of mixed candied nuts in his lap, absentmindedly munching as he watches the action on the screen.
In the kitchen, the women are gathered around the dining table like a coven, each holding a cocktail glass. Matty stands out immediately—notbecause she is louder or flashier than the others, but because she draws my attention like a moth to a flame, even in a crowd.
She sees us first. Her eyes land on mine, and I catch the way her mouth softens into a smile, slow and warm. She stands and crosses the room without hesitation, weaving around chairs and her sisters, until she’s in front of us.
“I’m so glad you came,” she says, voice low.
“You think we’d pass on Grandma Storm’s famous pie?” I say and watch the smile spread across Evelyn’s face. “Not a chance.”
Matty glances at my mother. “Hi, Marcia. I’ll take your coat.”
Mom steps forward, smiling widely as she shrugs out of her jacket and hands it off to Matty.
Charli swoops in behind her, cranberry cocktail sloshing in her glass. “You must be Caison’s mom,” she says, grabbing Mom’s hand. “We’ve been dyin’ to meet you. I’m Charli. That’s Shelby there in the peach sweater, Harleigh’s the one playing with her phone, and that’s my aunt Irene and uncle Boone by the stove.” She leans over and whispers, “Don’t let them fool you; they look all nice and friendly, but they’re the bossy ones in the family.”
As if on cue, Irene hollers across the kitchen, “Charli Lynn, if you spill another drop of that cocktail on the floor, you’ll be on moppin’ duty in the morning.”
“I always am!” she calls back sweetly. Then cuts her eyes back to us. “See what I mean?”
Harleigh tosses a braid over her shoulder and waves. “Hi, Mrs. Galloway! Sorry about the other night.”
“Please call me Marcia,” Mom says.
“And just what happened the other night?” Evelyn questions.
“Nothing, Grandma,” Charli bellows, and then she looks at me and says a silent,Eek, before bringing a finger to her lips to shush me.
“Charli, let them in. Come have a seat, Marcia. Uncle Boone will pour you a cocktail. Won’t you, Uncle Boone?” Shelby calls.
He lifts his hand in agreement and pulls a glass from the cupboard.
“Y’all are too much,” Mom says, laughing as she sweeps past me toward the table.
I glance down as Matty returns from hanging Mom’s coat.
I wrap my arms around her from behind before she can say a word, pulling her close. She leans into me, back against my chest, and tips her head just enough that I can press a kiss into her hair. She smells like cranberries and oranges, and her body’s soft and warm in my arms.
