#Sundaysnippet 10.22.2023

From the 11.1.2023 release of DON’T MESS WITH THE MISTLETOE

“Any updates on the baby?” she asked, moving to the stove, teakettle in hand.

He told her about the diagnosis and the treatment his niece would need while she filled the kettle and then placed it on the stove to heat. When she turned around to him, her face had gone quite pale and a soft curl of moisture shone in her eyes.

“You saved the baby’s life. You know that, right?”

“What?”

“You got her to a place where they could diagnose her and put a plan together to get her better. If you hadn’t been available to fly her to Concord…” she let the rest of the sentence dangle and shook her head again.

“I can’t begin to imagine what your sister is going through.” She wrapped her arms around herself and shook her head. “Her hormones are gonna be going nuts to begin with and now her tiny baby needs heart surgery.”

A single tear snuck down each cheek and when she swiped at them his heart melted.

“I’m sorry for blubbering, but I keep thinking if this had been Blake I don’t know how I would have survived, how I would have handled it. Or what I would have done. I’m upset for your sister.  As a new mother, she must be terrified.”

“One thing you need to know about Sasha,” he said. “She’s nothing if not a fighter and survivor. I bet she’s gonna sign herself out of the hospital in the morning if they don’t discharge her and head right up to Concord to be with her baby. Hell, she’ll probably order me to fly her to save time.”

“And you will, without any thought not to, because she’s your sister. Your family.” Her sigh pulled at him.

She was right. He’d do anything for his sisters, for his parents. The very fact he’d given up a month of his life so his mom could take a well-earned rest was all the proof anyone needed.

They were silent as the teakettle whistled and she went about preparing her nightly brew.

“So,” he said as she took her fist sip, “Everything good around here while I was gone?”

“RayLynn and Winston kept things moving smoothly.”

“Good. Thank goodness for the old-timers. They’ve been around long enough to know what’s what. I know my mom trusts and relies on them. I do, too.”

She sipped her tea, the steam rising, drifting around, and touching her face. His fingers tingled because they wanted to do the same.

Good Lord. Jealous of a wisp of air that got to touch her.

“Julia—”

“Michael—”

Her blush charmed him.

“Sorry,” he said. “You first.”

She sipped her tea then placed the mug down on the table. “I, well. I just wanted you to know how much I…admire you. Your whole family. You’re always there for one another. My parents,” she lifted a shoulder and cast her eyes downward, “have always been a little distant with me, now more than ever since the Jeff incident. I’d love if I had a family like yours. I’d hoped to have one like that for Blake, but, well, life intervened and my husband got sick. Then I went off the deep end with Jeff.” Another head shake. “Your family is the kind I’ve always aspired to have.”

Michael rose from the table and slid his fork and plate into the sink, ran the water to rinse them, and then let them sit.

“You know we’re all adopted, right? Abra, Sasha, and me?”

She nodded. “Someone mentioned it. I can’t remember who. But I think it’s wonderful Amy and Andy wanted to share their home and their hearts.”

He leaned against the sink ledge and crossed his arms over his chest. “I told you to make a point.”

She lifted her gaze, the mug warming in her hands.

“You can have a biological family and hope it’s the dream family everyone wants. Most of the time, though, it isn’t. The perfect family is almost always a fantasy. Or you can make a family with the people you open your heart to, like you said. The people you choose to be your family. Amy chose us. And I thank whoever’s in charge,” he pointed upward, “every single day she did. I truthfully don’t think I’d be alive today if she hadn’t.”

Immediately he regretted saying it. For the second time, with her, he’d divulged a little bit of what he’d always kept hidden, what he’d always considered too much to share. Why did it feel so easy, though, to say things to her he’d never given breath to with any other woman?

“That’s…awful to even consider.”

He shrugged. “Like I said, the perfect family dream is just that. A dream.”

He pushed off the ledge and turned around to wash the dishes he’d had rinsing. Before he could turn the water on, Julia’s hand wound around his bicep.

His gaze flicked to it. Her fingers didn’t even meet halfway around the muscle. Had he noticed how small her hands were before now? How long and slender her fingers were, the nails naked and buffed to a natural shine? Heat, flaming heat, singed through his shirt at her touch. It was a wonder smoke wasn’t billowing up from his arm from where she gripped it.

A worry line dragged her brows together.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, staying still, fearful if he moved he’d give in to temptation and rub his thumb along that thin line to soothe it away.

“The time before you came to Amy?” A nervous flick of her tongue wet her lips.

Michael swallowed and tried to ignore how much the little move made parts of his anatomy twitch. “What about it?”

“Can you…will you…tell me about it?”

His breath hissed like a steam valve opening.

The line disappeared as her eyes opened wide, her gaze mating with his as she waited for him to speak.

“I don’t talk about that time.” His throat was raw and dry like sandpaper. “It’s too…” He dropped his gazed to the sink, fisted his hands on the ledge. “I don’t even remember all that much.”

An outright lie. If pressed, Michael could recall every minute he’d spent in that closet, every cigarette the mean mad had put out on his flesh, every slap he’d suffered across his face and back.

Disappointment shadowed her gaze. Julia dropped her hand from his arm and nodded.

Backing away from him she said in a shaky voice, “Of course. I understand. I’m…sorry. Never mind. Sorry.”

When she dropped her gaze to the floor, a bullet of regret tore through him. He pulled in another bracing breath before forgetting all about the dishes and turning around to face her.

“I was four when I came to Amy,” he said.

She lifted her head, zeroed in on his face.

“Five when she and Andy petitioned to adopt me.”

“So young,” she mumbled. “Barely more than a baby.”

Had he ever been young? Some days, when he thought about that time, he felt as if he’d been born old and jaded.

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