I have to stop thinking of “before.” I have to stop thinking of how it was. I just can’t help it. Bri belongs in this house just like I do. She belongs by my side. The second she’s inside the foyer, my shoulders relax.
She goes on tiptoe to kiss my cheek. The moment she does, I think she second-guesses it. “Sorry,” she tells me, “bad habit I guess.” I think I’ll feel that touch forever, but I try to play it cool. “It’s fine,” I say, shrugging it off and change the subject, ignoring the warring emotions that make me anxious for tonight. “I’m glad you still wanted to come.”
“Of course I did.”
“Mom’s in the kitchen. Dad’s upstairs.”
She heads to the kitchen without waiting for me as I close the door behind me with a smile that won’t quit. Does she mess me up inside? Yeah. But does she make it feel like not a damn thing matters but being with her? Also yeah.
Plus, she couldn’t help but kiss me.
“Brianna! My Bri,” I hear my mother say before I step inside the threshold to the kitchen, slipping my hands into my pockets.
My mom’s face is lit up and it’s been a while since I’ve seen her smile like that. “Honey, hi,” she says again, embracing Bri a little too tight and a little too long before holding her at arm’s length. “We’re so glad to see you. How are things at your mom’s place?”
“Great,” Bri says and as she does, my mom sees the bottle in my hands. I place it on the counter as a frown forms on my mother’s face. Bri’s statement takes her attention once again and my mom’s quick to correct her fallen expression before Bri can see. “Oh my gosh, let me help you. What can I do?”
My mom tries to insist she’s fine, but Bri won’t take no for an answer. Within minutes they’re chatting near the stove, stepping around each other to put the finishing touches on dinner. The savory scent of seasoned potatoes and baked chicken fills the room. Mom said it’s Bri’s favorite. She insisted it was.
Judging by how wide Bri’s green eyes get when she sees the platter, I’m going to have to agree.
“What should I carry in first?” asks Bri, practically salivating. It’s just like old times. I can’t help but keep thinking about it.
* * *
The dinner table is already set. It’s simple with a vase of sunflowers in the middle. Bri’s comfortable around my mom. It brings up more than a few emotions to see the ease between them. Bri and my mom go back and forth to the dining room table, and then my mom calls for my dad.
We’re taking our seats when he comes into the dining room, looking a little worn out but smiling nonetheless. “Bri,” he says. “Nice to see you.” His overalls have a smudge on them from the garage and I know he’ll be back there tonight.
“It’s so good to see you too.” Bri’s smile is genuine. My nerves amp up, but then they retreat. “Dig in,” my dad tells her.
Bri doesn’t hesitate and the chicken is the first thing she piles onto her plate. Mom has the green beans, which she then passes to Dad. I scoop out the potatoes and realize my mom went overboard.
“We can’t eat all of this, Mom,” I say over the clinking of utensils. “There’s so much food.”
My mom flushes, and she waves me off. “I wanted there to be plenty for everybody.”
“You did just right,” my dad says and he and Mom share a glance with a soft smile. Dishes are handed around the table.
“So, Brianna, what are you up to? You back home for good now?” my father asks. “Tell us everything.”
“Well,” Bri says, her face lighting up. “You know I’m working at my mom’s office. Just for the time being and the salon on the weekends. I’m not really sure what I’m doing with my degree but I’m happy I have it.”
“Oh! The salon?” My mom practically applauds in excitement. “I’ll have to make an appointment with you.”
“I don’t want to steal you away from your stylist,” Bri says.
“I’ve been looking for somebody new. You’re perfect.” A huff of a laugh leaves me. My mom is laying it on thick. It’s making Bri smile, though.
The two of them carry on, laughing and chatting.
It’s a joyful sound. The kind of sound that belongs in this house. The kind that’s been gone for too long.
My dad’s quiet for most of the conversation and so am I. We shovel food in and answer questions when asked as the two of them catch up. He’s always been a quiet man. The loudest he gets is when he’s drunk. I’m glad he’s not a chatterbox tonight. I’d be worried as hell if he was.
“Oh, I forgot the salad dressing in the kitchen,” Bri says. “I meant to bring it out.”
“I’ll get it.” I get up out of my seat, the chair legs grinding against the wooden floor, glad for the chance to catch my breath. Having her here, even if it is as just a friend, is a little too good to be true. It’s like any moment something could happen and it will all fall apart. I wish I could shake the feeling but I can’t.