Page 13 of Myla: The Hawthornes

“Smells like heaven,” Bas said once he’d finished his ritual with the little girls. “Thanks Noel.”

“It’s just stew and biscuits,” Noel replied, pulling a baking sheet out of the oven. “Nothing fancy.”

“Baby, let me grab that,” Titus ordered as he strode into the room. “Gimme those oven mitts.”

“I can carry dinner to the table,” Noel argued as she handed Titus the oven mitt. She reached for a pitcher of what looked like lemonade instead.

It was a common argument. Noel was insistent that she could get dinner on the table herself, and each of us ignored her and helped as much as we could. She loved making big meals and just generally taking care of us, she got off on that shit—but there was a fine line between giving her that and being lazy assholes. The only reason I hadn’t gotten up from the table to help was because I had Ruth, who we all knew from experience would start screaming the moment I put her in her high chair if there wasn’t already food waiting. By unspoken agreement, whoever was holding the baby at dinnertime focused on that until everything was ready.

“Get in your spots,” Noel ordered the big girls as she started pouring the lemonade.

Ariel climbed into the seat beside me while Diana ran to hers. Somehow, without discussing it, we all had designated seats at the table. I put Ruth into her high chair between Titus and Noel, and she immediately started screeching. We ignored it.

I was going to miss this.

“How’d I make it home so much earlier than you?” I asked Bas as I sat back down. We’d both worked at the garage all day. “Didn’t we leave at the same time?”

“Had to stop by the girls’ place,” Bas replied, taking the lid off the soup pot. “One of those big planters out front tipped over the other night when the wind was bad and they couldn’t get it upright.”

“The big black ones?”

“Yeah. Not sure why Myla doesn’t put those trees in the ground,” Bas said, helping Diana put butter on a biscuit. “It’s just gonna keep tippin’ every time the weather gets bad.”

“Who knows.”

“You call her yet?” Bas asked, glancing at me.

“After she told me not to?” I replied. “No.”

“You know you’re gonna have to.”

“Don’t have to do shit.”

Ariel’s finger went immediately to her cheek as she stared at me.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” I mumbled. She did that whenever we said a curse word. It was better than her calling us out verbally, but barely. It still made me feel guilty every fucking time.

“I don’t know why the two of you won’t just—”

“Drop it,” I ordered.

“Auntie Myla will be sad if you don’t call her,” Ariel said, staring at me.

“No, she won’t, Mermaid,” I assured her.

“You’re her best friend,” she argued.

“Auntie Lou and Auntie Frankie are her best friends,” I corrected, reaching over to ruffle her hair.

“No, Auntie Myla said you’re her best friend.”

“She did?” Titus asked, grinning from the end of the table.

“Yep,” Ariel said easily.

“Auntie Myla will call me if she wants to talk to me,” I told Ariel. “Eat your dinner.”

“I don’t like the beans.”

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