“We did this on the phone. It’s okay. You don’t need to say anything else.”
Adingfrom the direction of the kitchen made her jump back a step, and I had no choice except to let her go. “Uh, come on, boys. I have to pull out cookies.” Talking about sugary treats gave my brain permission to wallow in the sweet and spicy scent wafting around us.
“Is that gingerbread? My favorite!” I took off after her through the pleasantly toasty living room and past the softly crackling fire to the bliss of the kitchen. The dishwasher was humming, a sound I always loved because it meant she’d been cooking. She pulled a cookie sheet out of the oven and dropped it on the stovetop, then slid another one inside in a seamless move perfected over many holidays.
“Yes! I thought we could make some cookies before dinner. Unfortunately, I’ve been sick in the mornings from my tadpole, so I got a deli platter. I hope no one is too disappointed.” She smiled around at us, but the furrow on her brow tugged at my heart. Did she really think we would go home over subpar food?
KC swooped in for the rescue with one of his wide smiles. “That sounds wonderful, Darla.”
“Oh!” She spun toward Ren. “The first time I met you was such a terrible blur. You can call me Darla, too. My name is Darlene, but no one uses it.” She smiled at Ren, then snuck over to me. “You sure did find a pair of cuties.” Her whisper was anything but.
“Mom!”
KC and Ren snickered.
Mom laughed. “I wasn’t up for much, but I made vanilla and chocolate gobs. They’re in the fridge. A fruit cake, no rum sauce this year, just regular icing. And I have candy and icing for our gingerbread gentlemen.” She pointed out candy in containers along the back of the counter. “Wash your hands first.”
Ren looked at me, as if checking to make sure she was serious, and he only moved toward the sink when I nodded.
I pushed up the sleeves of my sweater, a thick blue one that wasn’t all that different from Mom’s, and took my turn with the soap and water. “Thanks, Mom. You know I love this stuff.”
Ren opened a container of gumdrops that were destined to become buttons for the gingerbread men and popped one into his mouth. “I’ve never decorated Christmas cookies.”
“We do it every year.” She seemed happier now that she was laying out cookies that had already cooled on plates in front of us like we were five instead of in our twenties. KC started right away, using some chocolate chips that he dipped in a bowl of icing Mom had put in front of him. They became eyes.
“How’s football going?” she asked, probably thinking that was a safe topic to start a conversation. She leaned forward so she could see KC’s face, but he grimaced. My heart leaped. Before I could say anything to stop this train wreck, she barreled on. “Was it a bad season?”
Ren cleared his throat. “KC had to step back for health reasons.” The look he sent Mom was borderline homicidal, and I elbowed him.
“The situation is new. Sorry I didn’t say,” I mumbled.
“No problem.” KC smiled, but he wasn’t as happy as he’d been prior to the topic of football coming up.
Mom scooted around me and hugged him.
He gasped and stepped back, glancing at her belly with his eyebrows raised.
She giggled. “I know. The shirt hides it, but I’m starting to get a bump. Tell me about yourself, Ren.”
He looked affronted at suddenly becoming the center of attention, and I grinned when I realized he’d just been eating candy instead of decorating. “’M a tattoo artist,” he said around a few gumdrops.
“I never would’ve guessed.” She winked at him.
Warmth wormed through me. I’d missed her so much. I wasn’t sure how I was feeling about everything, but I wanted to have a good time. It was a holiday. I could be mad later if it turned out I didn’t like what she had to say about Dad or anything else. She’d spent over twenty years putting me first. I could probably come to terms with the fact that she was human.
An hour later, we were adding the finishing touches on our gingerbread men. Ren wasn’t even pretending to work anymore. Instead, he was destroying a piled-up plate of our hard work. KC watched him with a wrinkle on his cute nose, so I put the cookie I’d been thinking about eating in the plastic container Mom was filling. If not gobbling up gingerbread men might help KC, I wouldn’t stuff my face in front of him. Ren didn’t notice or maybe had his own ideas about what was best for KC.
Or hell, maybe he was just hungry.
I was searching for something to say to distract KC from what Ren was doing, but all I landed on was “It doesn’t seem like Dad is here.”
Ren coughed, and KC patted his back. Mom closed the container of cookies with a lot more focus than the task required.
“Where is he?” I asked.
Mom went over to the table and pulled out a chair. She collapsed more than sat. “I told him.” She sounded so hurt. So ripped apart.
My hands curled into fists. “That piece of shit.”