Craft (The Gibson Boys 2)

Like a fool, I just nod, unable to come up with a coherent reply.

Lacing our fingers together, ignoring my sweaty palms, he leads me to the door. He presses the doorbell, still holding onto my hand.

Each second that passes feels like a lifetime and I want to turn around and go. I have no idea what to expect other than knowing I’ll be leaving with the understanding of how much I fail to make the cut in my mom’s eyes. That’s a given.

As we wait on her, the good ol’ script that always runs through my head starts playing. It reminds me that her mother died when she was ten and her grandmother passed away before that. It’s not totally her fault she doesn’t know how to behave in this role; she’s never been shown. It’s an excuse, I know, but one that does make her inadequacy a little easier to swallow.

The door opens. Mom is standing on the other side, a baby nestled in a soft pink blanket in her arms. “Good morning, Mariah,” she says. “I’m so happy you could make it.”

The sight of her with the baby startles me. I knew Chrissy’s daughter would be here and it’s really the main reason I agreed to this idiotic idea. But seeing the little button nose sticking out of the top of the blankets is enough to sock the wind right out of me.

Lance swoops in for the save. “Happy birthday, Taylor,” he says, squeezing my hand. “It was nice of you to invite us.”

“What a wonderful surprise,” she coos. “I was sure you wouldn’t come.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” he asks.

She looks at me out of the corner of her eye. “I’m sure you have more interesting things you could be doing today than accompany my daughter.”

My initial reaction is to turn away and head to the car. Her jab coupled with the sight of the baby is a bit much for the first twenty seconds, but Lance’s hand grips down on mine. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

“How sweet,” she purrs. “Come in. Your sister and her husband are already in the living room. I was going to invite some friends to brunch with us, but thought we could have a family get together instead.”

It crosses my mind that she might intentionally be trying to drive me crazy as we head through the foyer. The house is nothing like I remember it. It’s nearly all-white now with lots of gold mirrors. Oversized vases sit here and there with sprays of fake flowers jutting out the top. There’s nothing comfortable or home-like about any of it, not that it felt like a home when I lived here.

We go through a newly-rounded doorway where the crystals from a chandelier send sparkles of light throughout the room. We turn a corner and I stop in my tracks.

Chrissy and Eric are standing along a wall of windows. They’re clearly awaiting our arrival. Lance takes a step closer to me as I try to maintain my composure.

My brain is muddled trying to decide what I should say or need to say or whether or not I should say anything at all.

Chrissy looks older than the last time I saw her. Her hair is now a reddish brown and her cheeks fuller than before. She reminds me of our father, in a way, and I wonder if she’s seen him lately.

Eric sports a beer belly that sticks out over the buckle of his belt. His hairline is receding slightly, even earlier than I predicted. There’s no twinkle in his eye, no joke on the tip of his tongue, and I wonder what I ever saw in him to begin with.

“Hello,” Lance says, breaking the ice. “How’s everyone doing?”

Eric darts across the room. “Hi. I’m Eric.” He offers Lance a hand, pointedly ignoring me. Lance bites back a smile as he shakes Eric’s hand.

“I’m Lance. Nice to meet you.”

“You too.” He looks at me and then right back to Lance. “That’s my wife, Chrissy, and our daughter, Betsy.”

Lance forces a swallow. “This is my girlfriend Mariah, but I think you already know that.”

My elbow finds his side and I can feel his body shifting with a silent chuckle.

“Nice to see you, Mariah.” Eric nods in my direction before rejoining my sister a few feet away.

I don’t want to look at any of them. It’s safe tucked against Lance’s side, depending on his predictable way of taking the reins when I need him to. I just wish we were some place else together.

“How are you, Mariah?” It’s Chrissy’s voice, soft and careful, that breaks the awkward silence.

“I’m good.” I pull my gaze away from Lance and settle it on my sister. “How are you, Chrissy?”

“I’m good.” She tries to give me a smile, but seems to be unsure whether it’s the right thing to do.