Page 38 of Everything Has Changed
“But first I have to get it approved by Mrs. Spencer. We have a meeting tomorrow morning to go over details with her.”
Kennedy perks up at that. “We? Ophelia, are you helping? Who is going to man the booth for the cafe?”
“I’ll still be at the booth, which I’ll beg for your help with, if you’re willing to come down. No pressure, though,” my grandmother tacks on the final bit quickly. “Your sister has another partner in crime forthe event.” When I cut my eyes over to her, she hides her grin behind her water, taking a well-timed sip.
“This has got to be good then,” Kennedy rubs her hands together like a cartoon villain. “Please don’t leave me in suspense.”
“Logan Spencer is back in town.” Jackson blurts out in a bored voice.
Somewhere low in my gut warms at the mention of his name, conjuring up the look on his face leaning toward me the other day.
I watch Kenny’s eyebrows reach her hairline in shock. “The prodigal son has returned? And what? He got roped into helping plan the festival? I would think he has other things to do these days. There is only one reason that man would be back.”
I nod my head, my fork swirling in the sauce on my plate. Only halfway through my lasagna, and suddenly I’m not hungry anymore. “His mother volun-told him for the job. Something about wanting him to connect with the town on a personal level.”
“I guess that makes sense,” Kennedy’s voice trails off. “How do you feel about that though?”
My teeth sink into my lower lip as I try to sort through how I’m feeling and how to express that to my family.
“It’s fine—”
“Liar.” Jackson coughs out, and I send a glare his way.
“Daddy says ‘fine’ is a placeholder word and we should say how we really feel so we can handle it properly.”
Three pairs of eyes stare at Jackson as he grins at his daughter. Pride shines clear on his face. He must feel all of us staring as he picks his head up and narrows his gaze.
“I’m actually offended by the shocked looks on your faces right now.”
“That was deep, Jacks. Maybe you should be the writer of the family instead.”
“Keep on procrastinating and maybe I will.”
They bicker back and forth briefly; a nostalgic feeling of our childhood settles into my soul, and I can’t help the smile that releases on my lips. It felt normal, but their arguing also bought me some time to sort through the feelings currently swirling within me.
I don’t have the chance to elaborate though, as Ophelia watches from her seat at the other end of the table. She wears a thoughtful look and her eyes track my fingers twisting my utensil over and over.
“Alright, kids,” she calls to my siblings. “Enough with the bickering. We have more important things to discuss.”
My spine steels at the thought she’s going to call me out to continue talking. Instead. she focuses her attention on Rowan.
“Little bug, do you want to tell your aunties about your spelling bee at school?”
My shoulders fall as I take a deep breath. Ophelia shoots a discreet wink my way as my niece jumps into an animated story about how she almost won, but Jordan H.—not to be confused with Jordan B.—cheated and knocked her out in the final round.
Thank you, I mouth to my grandmother. She blows me a little kiss in the air. Rowan takes over the conversation after that. Full of hand movements and wild descriptions that would make you think she had a rundown in Jurassic Park and not just a loss at the local elementary school spelling bee.
I’m thankful that our family is a bunch of natural born storytellers, all in their own way, because for the rest of the dinner, it’s like a game of popcorn. One person says one thing, and it spurs the next in their own story.
I think I’m getting away scot-free after finishing the dishes with Rowan and stepping out onto the front porch, only to find Ophelia finishing up her conversation with Kennedy.
“Try that creative writing exercise tonight and let me know how it went tomorrow after you’ve slept on it.” Our grandmother was an English teacher at our high school, finally retiring after the three of us all made it through the school. She was always finding new techniques and exercises to help Kennedy produce her beautiful love stories.
“I’ll try,” Kennedy replies. “I’ll be calling you tomorrow, too, Gwen.”
I plop down on the porch swing in the empty space next to Ophelia, leaning in to get into the camera frame. I pop my eyebrow. “That sounds like a threat.”
“Because it is.” Her smile is blinding. A visible difference from the start of the evening, and I know the family time did her some good. Probably thanks to whatever talk they had out here, but it still made me feel good that I was able to help ease my sister’s mind, even a little from so far away.
