Page 36 of Everything Has Changed
Before I forget, I talked to Holly McClean over at the Vineyard. She’s down for the basket idea. Might cost a little extra, but I think it’ll be nothing compared to what your ideas will bring in.
Oh my gosh, thank you. I owe you big time.
Let’s just make this event unforgettable.
13
Gwendolyn
Sunday dinner is the one thing in my week I can count on every single time. My entire life, I knew exactly where I would be and who would be there with me. If you had plans, you changed them or canceled to make sure you didn’t miss the family time.
This was something my parents started when we were kids and our extracurricular activities started to be the norm, with grabbing quick dinners before or after events.
When our parents passed away unexpectedly, Ophelia made it her mission to keep everything as close to normal as possible. So Sunday dinner stayed a staple in our routine. I could count on one hand how many I had missed in my life. Even Kennedy, who lives over five hundred miles away, never misses the occasion, video calling in each time.
I park my car—which really only gets used to travel to my grandmother’s and into the city once or twice a month for supplies—behind Jackson’s SUV. The back of his car is fitted to transport animals, and I wonder if any of his current adoptees are in the house. One great thing about my brother being a vet, he regularly brings animals over for socialization. And right now I was in deep need of some puppy therapy.
Laughter rings through the house as I open the front door. A wave of Italian spices hit me right in the face, and I grin knowing Ophelia is making my favorite lasagna. No one occupies the living room, so I tiptoe my way to the kitchen through the hallway, peeking my head around the corner so I’m not spotted. My grandmother stands at the counter, slicing up fresh bread.
Rowan sits on the floor, her little hands scratching at a tan-colored dog lying on its side. His tongue is lolling to the side in a look of euphoria at all the love my niece is pouring over him. The moment she catches I’m there, her face lights up. I put a finger to my lips as a sign to keep quiet. She grins with wide eyes when I point my finger at her dad, who has his back to us. Row nods her head enthusiastically when she realizes what I plan to do. Her hand covers her mouth to keep her giggles in.
I step slowly into the kitchen, not willing to rush and risk him catching me. When I make it behind him, I connect my eyes with my sister’s face on the iPad situated on the counter. I mime for her to keep talking, to keep Jackson’s attention as I prepare for my attack.
“Jacks, look at my new sweater,” Kennedy says quickly.
I don’t have to see our brother’s face to know that he rolled his eyes as his head fell back slightly. “Kenny, I really don’t care about your new sweater. It’s a sweater. Wait until Gwen gets here and you can gush over fashion together.”
Kennedy sticks her tongue out at him, and I take that as my cue to jump. Literally. Onto his back with a roaring screech. My arms latch around his neck, holding on for dear life as he bounces from foot to foot. A scream erupts from his throat as he slaps at my arms.
“What the hell, Gwen!” he whirls on me with a beet-red face when I fall to the ground. I can’t contain my laughter, especially when Rowan comes bounding toward us to jump on her dad as well.
“Aunt Gwen got you!” She giggles as he tickles her in retaliation.
The dog that was enjoying time with Row walks over to me timidly. I hold my hand out for him to sniff, smiling when he places his head in my hand for more scratches. His tongue returns to its happy place out the side of his grin. That’s when I notice the angry scars along his back legs and around his neck. My heart aches at the horrors this little one must have endured, and I slide closer to bring my other hand to rub on the side of his face.
“What happened to this little guy?” I ask my brother.
He returns his daughter to her feet, and she immediately runs back to the pup in question.
Jackson grunts in annoyance. “Some lowlife left him in a field a few weeks ago. Marty found him tangled in the rope used to tie him to the fence line on patrol.”
My jaw drops, tears pricking my eyes. “How cruel. Someone should tie them up and leave them in the middle of nowhere and see how they like it.”
“I figured no one would come after him, but I hoped they would so I could get the chance to do just that.” Jackson’s jaw clenches.
Ophelia reaches over, rubbing his back in gentle circles. “It’s for the best, Jacks. No one capable of doing that to a defenseless being should be able to come back around them. He’s lucky to have you.”
Jackson crosses his arms over his chest, his eyes sliding back to his daughter cooing over the sweet creature. A slight tightness in his jaw still remains.
“He’s better off now, thanks to you.” Our grandmother pats him on the cheek before turning back to the oven. She pulls out the bubbling carb-loaded goodness as the timer goes off.
Kennedy makes a crying noise that has everyone looking back at her. “I’m so jealous. I miss lasagna nights. Mine never turns out thesame.” She holds up her own dish, which looks exactly like Ophelia’s, so I know she followed the recipe to a T. But she’s right. It’ll never be the same unless you are in this house with it made specially by Grandma.
I stand, my hand patting the pup one more time on the top of his head. “I guess that means you should just come back home then, huh?” I tease, knowing exactly what her response will be.
A veil passes over her face. A sadness I could never understand, but that changed the trajectory of her life, plays out in her eyes quickly. Kennedy shakes out her blonde hair—true blonde strands as opposed to mine, which leans more toward red depending on the season. A trait I took from our mother while my siblings fared more like the Prescott side of our genetics.
“You know I am better off in New York.”
