“Now that my boys are big, I have a lot of time on my hands to putter around in the garden.” Aletha unlocked the front door, flanked by bronze mica sconces. “Come on, Grace, I’ll show you to your room. Matthias, please get the wheel, honey.” We stepped into the house as Matt ran back to the minivan.
I didn’t know what to expect. Was she going to give me the third degree or state the house rules? I felt terribly out of place and nervous. I stumbled into the guest room behind her, and she immediately opened the window to let in some fresh air—the same thing Matt did upon entering a room. They were so similar in their graceful movements, their easy temperaments. It made me wonder what traits Matt had gotten from his father, if any.
She came toward me and clutched my arms. My stomach dropped.
She smiled warmly, “No need to be nervous. I wanted a moment to tell you that Matthias seems so happy lately, and I imagine that has something to do with you.”
“Oh?” I tried to be cool.
“Well, I just want to say welcome to my home.”
I set down my suitcase and noticed that she had set Matt’s bag in the corner. “Thank you so much for having me, Aletha. I feel really lucky that Matt was able to bring me out here for the holidays.” I pointed to the double bed, covered in a floral quilt. “Is this where I’ll be sleeping?”
“Yes, I think you two will be comfortable here. Matthias loves this bed.”
I swallowed. You two. My eyeballs felt dry and pasty, as if I hadn’t blinked in a while. Maybe I hadn’t. Aletha laughed and then pulled me in for a hug. “Oh, Grace,” she said, “Sweet Grace. I wasn’t born yesterday.”
She left the room with me standing there, stunned. I plopped onto the bed, exhausted.
LATER THAT EVENING, after a long nap, Matt and I sat at the oak dining table while Aletha served us steaming bowls of hot, fragrant chicken soup.
“Have you spoken to Alexander?” she asked Matt after she brought the bowls to the table.
“No.”
She looked up from her soup and squinted over square spectacles balanced on the end of her nose. She looked incensed, but I didn’t know her well enough to tell for sure.
“I haven’t, Mom. Alex and I didn’t have a great talk the last time I saw him.”
She put her fork down, glanced at me, then back to Matt. “You’re brothers. You two were inseparable as boys. What’s happened to this family?” Her voice cracked.
Matt looked affronted before his expression softened. “I’ll talk to him, Mom.” He reached his hand out to her. She took it and kissed the back of it then let him go. “It’s just that I can’t help but feel that people like Alex are holding us back as a species. He wears pink shorts and polo shirts, and he actually refers to himself as an Adonis.” Matt grinned.
I choked on a piece of chicken and couldn’t help but fall into a fit of laughter. Even Aletha couldn’t hold back. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she let loose boisterous guffaws, laughing so hard she couldn’t even take a breath. She managed to squeak out, “Hey! He’s my son.”
The mood instantly lightened. “It’s not your fault,” Matt said, still chuckling as we all caught our breaths.
“Oh, boy, Matthias. That’s the one thing you get from your father.”
“What’s that?” My interest suddenly piqued.
She smiled warmly. “He and his father are so lighthearted. They can’t be serious about anything for more than two minutes without turning it into a joke.”
“He’s not like that anymore,” Matt interrupted.
Aletha’s shoulders bounced with silent laughter. “Well, at least your father used to be that way.”
We finished our soup in the glow of pleasant conversation, then Matt stood from the table. “Mom, Thank you. This was delicious. Grace, you want to shower while I help my mom clean up?”
“Yes, okay. I can help, too.”
“Don’t be silly, Grace. We’ve got this.” Aletha walked over and patted her son on the shoulder.
Before I left the dining room, a wooden hutch full of photos caught my attention. Matt followed my gaze. There were various childhood pictures of Matt and Alex, as well as a slew of art projects, beaded lampshades, old cameras, handmade pottery pieces, and several black-and-white photos of a much younger Aletha, laughing joyously. “I took those when I was a kid,” Matt said.
“They’re amazing.” I stood to get a closer look and Matt followed. “She was like your first muse.”
I turned and looked up into his dark, squinting eyes. Everything froze for a moment. He looked at my mouth, slightly parted. He ran his fingertips down my cheek and the calloused pads of his thumbs felt divine against my skin. I shivered.
“You’re my first muse, Grace.”
The music Orvin had taught me how to hear was back. The sounds rushed through my ears as Matt bent and kissed me tenderly on the lips.
MATT’S SIDE OF the bed was cold and empty when I woke up the next morning. I shuffled into the dining room to find Aletha sitting alone at the table, sipping coffee and intermittingly spooning globs of oatmeal from a wide bowl.
“Good morning, dear.”
“Good morning, Aletha. Did Matt leave?”
“Yes, he’s out running errands. He didn’t want to wake you. Oatmeal?”