By the time the knock sounds on the door, I’ve thrown most of the pillows on the bed and Andi’s essentially dressed, with the exception of one missing sock and some mad sex hair. I fling open the door.
“Lawrence, why are you in your brother’s—” My mother is already speaking before she realizes it’s not Lawrence. She stops abruptly and scans the two of us, her eyes going from confusion, to realization, to that motherly look that says she knows exactly what was going on before she arrived.
I give Andi credit—she hardly flinches at the intrusion.
“Hello, Mrs. Pierce.” She extends a hand, a polite smile on her face. “We were just about to change for dinner. I didn’t get a chance to fix my hair yet, and I fell asleep on the plane.”
God bless Andi, and God bless my mother. They are both champions of the highest quality because they completely ignore the situation. My mother puts on her perkiest smile and bypasses Andi’s handshake, pulling her in for a full-on Pierce hug.
“It is so great to have you here,” my mother says, holding Andi at arm’s length. “You are gorgeous. Another girl in the house—another woman! Do you know how long I’ve been waiting for this moment? Lilia has been a godsend, and now we have another. My dreams are coming true!”
“Well, I’m happy to be here. Thank you so much for the generous invitation.” Andi bows her head a little, smiles again. “You have a beautiful home.”
“Well, then let me show it to you!” Raising five boys means my mother has seen it all, and she isn’t about to be played a fool. She knows what we were doing, and clearly, she doesn’t want us messing around before dinner. “Come with me, dear.”
“Oh, I already got a tour,” Andi says. “Thank you so much. I should probably fix my hair.”
I feel like it’s my turn to chip in and say something, but I’m not sure what to say, so I stand there with a dumb look on my face. I think I deserve a break though, since my mother almost walked in on a sight she should never see.
“Oh, Ryan’s never been very good at giving tours of the house, except for maybe his bedroom,” my mother adds a little pointedly. “Come on, darling, let me show you the kitchen. Have you ever had lefse? Ryan’s father is Norwegian, you know…”
“Mom,” I say weakly. “Leave her be.”
“I’m just being hospitable,” she says, a sharp edge to her words. “Did you even offer this poor girl something to drink? Can I get you water, coffee, tea? She’s probably starved, Ryan. She’s been on the plane for nearly four hours. Look at her! She’s tiny. She needs food.”
“I’ll go downstairs and help get dinner ready,” Andi says, giving me a look that I interpret to mean everything’s okay. “I’ll…see you soon.”
I nod, and then they’re gone.
Apparently the entire welcome committee has decided to pop in and say hello. I sigh, running a hand through my hair in frustration. Don’t get me wrong, I love that Andi’s happy, satisfied, and yes, welcomed by my family, I’m just not sure what to do now, standing alone in my bedroom with my boner, wishing Andi’s transition to the Midwest had gone just a little bit smoother.
CHAPTER 38
Andi
They live in a fairytale cottage.
Mrs. Pierce, who is incredibly pretty in a soccer mom sort of way, guides me down a hallway lined with pictures of her boys in all stages of hockey careers. She’s going on and on about how much trouble they’ve gotten into over the years, but all I can think about is that this place feels like home.
It’s a little bit hard, I admit, to be here—not because Lawrence burst in while Ryan had his fingers doing unmentionable things, and not because his mother almost caught me doing dirty deeds to her son, but because she’s here—Mrs. Pierce, a mother, and the most motherly mother I’ve ever seen besides my own.
I miss my mom. I miss the way she smelled of cinnamon and vanilla. While my dad had cornered the pizza market, my mom had baked everything. Maybe it was the soft, gooey smell of chocolate chips wafting from the Pierce’s kitchen or the warm, lingering hug she gave me before knowing my name—whatever it was, she reminded me of what life was like before my mother died and things began to fall apart.
On top of all that, their house is yellow with sunshine washing in through generously sized windows to bathe the walls and floor, bouncing its rays all the way up to the vaulted ceiling. Parts of the exterior look Victorian, while other sections appear a little lopsided with a modern spin, as if the Pierce family has made adjustments over the years with each new family member.
Though Ryan’s earlier tour was admittedly short, I didn’t miss the array of pictures out on every surface, or the little trays of peppermints and candies in easy reach on all the end tables. If my nose isn’t lying, a pot of coffee is brewing from the same place as the baking cookies. The whole package is a bundle of warmth and hominess.
“It really is lovely to have you here.” Mrs. Pierce pushes up her sleeves. “Ryan hasn’t stopped talking about you since he came home weeks ago.”
“Really?”
She winks. “I know he can come off as…I don’t know, a little resistant to the idea of dating, but, my dear, it seems you’ve got him infatuated.”
“Oh, well, I don’t know about that. It’s still early in our relationship.”
“I know I’m right, dear.” She gives a tinkling laugh, pats my hand. “And it’s quite easy to see why.”
“Oh,” I say again, for lack of a better phrase. I hadn’t expected this much welcome from Ryan’s mother, especially not after she caught us fooling around five minutes after we stepped foot into her house. “Well, thank you. Thank you so much, again, for letting me stay with you. I could’ve gotten a hotel, or—”
“Any girlfriend of Ryan’s is family,” she says, cutting me off midsentence. “Make yourself at home. Can you grab me the spoons?”
I must go all dazed and confused for a long minute because she points toward the silverware drawer and repeats the question. I hand over a set of spoons and she takes them briskly, organizing them on a towel.
“If you’d like to join Ryan upstairs, you may,” she said softly. “I didn’t mean to kidnap you to the kitchen. I just thought… I’ve never had a daughter, and Lilia’s far too busy to help—it is her wedding, of course.”
“I’d love to help. Really.”
“Are you, by chance, interested in learning to make lefse? I’d love to teach you. The boys always end up throwing it across the room or wrestling each other to the floor.”
A sudden wave of emotion rocks my body, and I swallow past a lump. I haven’t baked since my mother died. Making lefse might not technically be baking, but it feels close enough. “I’d love that,” I say. “My mother was a baker.”
“Oh?” She lets the question hang, as if not wanting to press. “And she is…”
“Gone.” I clear my throat. “Passed away several years ago.”
“Andi…” She shakes her head, the look in her eyes so filled with sympathy, I find my heart cracking in two. “We don’t have to do this now. Why don’t you find Ryan?”