“Who’s Betty?” Niko asks as he steps up next to Wes.
“Niko! Honey,” Mom calls out from behind me. She pushes past me and goes to give Niko a hug. “Is this Oliver? I’ve heard about you?—”
“This isnotOliver,” Niko protests immediately. “You think I’d date this guy? Hell no. This is my half-brother from my dad’s side. Weston.”
Weston gives her a sheepish smile. “I’d shake your hand, but I’ve got all this stuff.”
“Sevan, honey, you should have told me you were having people over. I’d have changed out of these rags.”
Niko rolls his eyes. “You always look stylish, Angie. Sweatpants are fine.”
“Come in, boys, come in.”
I’m still standing there like I have whiplash.
Dumbfounded.
Why thefuckis Weston Knox standing on my doorstep with a bunch of food?
Niko walks in past me and follows Mom into the kitchen, where she’s already offering him various beverages.
Wes steps inside and I gently close the door behind him, staring at him a little longer.
“What the fuck is all of this?” pure confusion in my tone.
Wes looks down toward the Tupperware. “Oh. Well, I’m not really good at cooking things. Other than my own sugar-freegranola recipe, and grilled chicken, I guess. But I wanted this stuff to be actually good. For a normal person’s palate. I made mac and cheese, because Niko told me you love that, and I used extra cheese. Oh, and for the chicken I used more salt than usual, and added lemon and real butter. There’s also brownies, but they’re from Betty Crocker, I’m not going to lie. Niko said the box mix is pretty good, and I don’t know shit about baking, so…”
“You made a bunch of home-cooked food and brought it here?”
He nods, as if it’s an obvious thing to do. “For you and your mom. Where should I set it down?”
I still feel like I’m in a dream as I lead him into the kitchen and he lays out each of the big containers. It all looks incredible. Gourmet, practically.
For the past few days I’ve been feeling awful and precarious, and I feel like someone’s shattered right through it. I’ve been here, worried about Mom, trying to keep her company and not seem overbearing.
But now the house feels alive.
They even brought cinnamon rolls, the kind that come in a can that I always used to love making with Mom when I was a kid. I can’t remember the last time anyone did something like this for me.
“So youweren’tdigging, Miss Coco,” Mom says as Coco bounds inside through the doggy door like a chocolate-colored mop, and she seems particularly happy to meet Wes, jumping on his lower legs while he bends over to pet her.
“Your house is incredible,” Weston tells my mom, looking all around. “Do you make all of the crafts yourself?”cin
“It’s my main hobby,” Mom confirms. “Embroidery is my first love, but I sew dresses here and there. And I like stained glass, if you can’t tell.”
“That window is incredible.”
Wes is looking back at the little window on the back wall that mom replaced with full, homemade stained glass a few years ago. Her work is incredible, but she always downplays it.
“Everything’s better handmade,” Mom says with a smile.
“I wish my childhood home had anything close to custom,” Wes says. “It was kind of like a museum.”
Never in my fucking life did I think Weston Knox would be in my tiny childhood bungalow of a home,complimentingit.
Weston undoubtedly grew up in a mansion.
Certainly with hired help and pristine surfaces.