Raising my fist, I tapped my knuckles twice against the wood before I could overthink it.
This wasn’t the kind of house you just walked into. Never had been. No open-door, wander-in, help-yourself-to-the-fridge energy—everything here started with a knock, with waiting, with being let in.
Footsteps shuffled on the other side of the door, followed by the lock clicking. The door swung open.
“Arch—” She didn’t finish it before pulling me into a hug, arms wrapping tight around my neck.
It caught me off guard just enough that I went still for a second before returning it, hand coming up automatically to her shoulder.
This.
This was what still made sense when everything else was shit.
She still smelled the same as she did when I was ten. Warm sugar, green tea, and the laundry detergent she swore was a miracle for grass stains.
“What am I? Chopped liver?” Rhys called, and Mom pulled away with a laugh, turning to Rhys with that same momentum. “Rhys, hi—come here.”
He stepped in, hugging her easily. “Hi, Nora.”
“I love when you crash our Sunday lunches,” she said, squeezing him once before letting go. “It makes him easier to deal with.”
“Wow,” I said, deadpan. “Good to know my presence alone is not enough.”
“I’m essential,” he said, nodding once like this had been decided long ago.
“You’re insufferable.”
“And yet—” he gestured vaguely at himself, “—invited.”
“I didnotinvite you.”
Mom laughed softly at that, already stepping back to let us in. “Come on, both of you. Food’s ready.”
I stepped past her into the house, slipping off my shoes. Rhys matched the movement before trailing behind me with a pep in his step.
“Do you wanna skip down the hallway with me?”
“You’re laying the sunshine on a little thick, babe. I’m fine.”
But I knew what he was doing. Pulling my attention toward him so I couldn’t spiral.
Too bad for him, I was excellent at it. 10/10. Multiple tabs open, all of them buffering.
“Suit yourself,” Rhys sing-songed, bouncing into the kitchen. He tossed himself onto a stool and pulled out the one next to him, patting the top of it. “Saved you a seat.”
“How chivalrous of you,” I chuckled, but waited to sit. “You need any help, Mom?”
“No,” she said, reaching for a dish towel and then setting it right back down. “You sit. I’ve got it.”
“You sure?” I hovered a second longer than necessary.
“Archie,” she said, a little firmer now. “Sit.”
I nodded and lowered myself onto the stool Rhys had pulled out for me, hands settling on my knees for a second before I hooked them under the edge of the counter instead. It took more effort than it should have to stay put.
Mom moved around the kitchen like she had a list in her head she was trying to keep up with—setting things down, adjusting something that didn’t need adjusting, glancing toward the counter like she might’ve forgotten something important and couldn’t quite remember what it was.
Almost like she was here, but not all the way.