When You Come Back to Me (Lost Boys 2)

Moving stiffly, I go to the kitchen and pull out my phone. River answers after one ring, as if he’s been waiting for my call.

“What’s happening? Are you okay?”

“I just invited my aunt and uncle to your Dad’s for dinner tonight.”

“You did?” River asks, happiness edging the wariness in his voice.

“What does that mean?”

He laughs, bewildered. “I think it means you want to spend time with them. As soon as possible.”

“That’s what I think too,” I say, still shell-shocked. “Is that okay?”

“Well…yeah. If that’s what you want, then it’s more than okay.”

“It is. I just needed to hear your voice. I feel like I’m dreaming.”

“Oh, baby…” River’s voice is suddenly choked with emotion.

“Don’t you start,” I scold. “It’s your fault I’ve become a gigantic sap.”

“I’m totally okay with that. Go back to your aunt and uncle,” River says, and that nervous tinge comes back. “I’ll tell Dad and Amelia to add two more settings.”

I blow out a breath. “Thank you. I love you.”

“I love you. And Holden, that happiness you feel right now? Don’t second-guess it. You deserve it.”

I bite the inside of my cheek. “You have to stop talking or I’m going to tear your clothes off the next second I lay eyes on you and we’ll never make it to this dinner.”

“How is that different than any other day?” He chuckles. “Go. I’ll be home in a few.”

I hang up with River and rejoin my aunt and uncle in the living room. They look different somehow, more familiar than when I’d tried to keep them strangers.

“It’s all set. Dinner’s at seven.”

They both rise off the couch and approach me slowly.

“Thank you,” Aunt Mags says. “For the invitation and for forgiving us.”

An awkward silence falls where none of us move. Then Uncle Reginald says, “Well, we’d better get home and freshen up for dinner. Can you text us the address?”

We exchange numbers. I text him Jerry Whitmore’s address and another tight silence passes as I walk them to the door.

“So…can we bring anything?” Aunt Mags asks. “A bottle of wine or two?”

“Not necessary. And anyway, I’m off the sauce. In recovery.”

Identical expressions of worry mixed with pride come over their faces. Thoroughly parental, and suddenly I’m on the damn verge of tears. Again.

Uncle Reg is shaking his head. “Holden…would it be all right if I gave you a hug?”

I can’t move or breathe. I feel my head nod. “Yeah,” I say hoarsely. “That would be all right.”

Uncle Reg takes a tentative step toward me. I still can’t move, as if I’m petrified. My first novel won the National Book Award and it’s nothing compared to this moment. He puts his arms around me stiffly and just before he can pull away, I hug him back. Our stiffness melts and he holds me close; I smell Old Spice and cigars, aftershave and fabric softener. He smells like a dad and tears threaten.

When he lets me go, Aunt Mags is there with her hands clasped in front of her. “My turn?”

I nod and when Uncle Reg turns his back a moment, she hugs me too. Her touch is lighter and more delicate but just as warm.