Page 25 of When Love Comes Home

"Mom, it's okay."

"I knew you were upset and wouldn’t want to talk about it, so I didn’t push the issue. But seeing you walk in together makes me wonder what’s going on."

“Adam and I had a long talk today,” I say. "I think we've found some common ground."

Mom looks speechless, so I continue. “He was going to buy another property just so I wouldn’t have to move. He told me he’d never ask me to leave or force me to put up with him. I thought about it, and I can’t bring myself to be that stubborn and let him do that for me.”

“So, he’s moving in?” Mom asks.

“Yes,” I reply.

“So, he’s not buying another place?” she presses.

“No. Well, yes,” I clarify. She looks confused. "He's buying the condo to flip, but he's moving in with me."

“For how long?” she asks. “Are you sure this is what you want?”

"It's what I want," I say, the realization settling over me as much as on her. "I'm teaching him how to cook!"

Mom takes a deep breath, and from the smile that spreads across her face, I can tell she approves.

"I'm proud of you, honey," she says, squeezing my hand. "You're handling this situation like an adult. I'm watching you mature right before my eyes."

I slip on an oven mitt and help her pull the pot roast from the oven, the rich aroma of rosemary and garlic filling the kitchen and making my mouth water. While she spoons drippings into a serving dish, I toss a loaf of garlic bread into the oven, the buttered edges already sizzling. I set the table, smoothing the creases from the cloth napkins like I’ve done a hundred times before, then cup my hands around my mouth and call down the hall, “Dinner’s ready!”

We all file into the dining room and take our usual spots at the table, Adam sitting as far away from me as possible. Not because we’re still enemies, but because that’s just how it’s always been. Our table seats eight. Dad sits at the head, with Mom on one side and me on the other. Next to me is Loren, with Justin at her side. Next to Mom is Laila, and Adam sits next to her. Adam looks up at me, and we exchange smiles. Even though things look the same, they feel different now.

Dinner is filled with a myriad of conversations happening simultaneously between bites of pot roast, salad, potatoes, and bread. Loren and I talk about the wedding, while Dad and Mom discuss the leaky faucet in the upstairs bathroom. Adam offers to help, and then he and Justin debate which team is better—the Giants or the Jets—while Laila sprinkles in ideas and opinions everywhere.

When Loren mentions the wedding flowers, she stops mid-sentence and turns to Adam. “Hey, Adam, the shadow box you gave me for my eighteenth birthday gave me an idea for my bridal bouquet.”

My interest is piqued as she continues. I notice Adam listening intently. Loren goes on, explaining everything there is to know about preserving fresh flowers—preserving the colors, drying them completely, shadow boxes, and silica gel dip. All of it is interesting, but I’m more curious about the shadow box Adam gave her.

After they finish their conversation, I look over at my sister.

“Shadow box?” I say. "Tell me more.”

She starts explaining the process again, but I stop her.

“No, tell me about the birthday gift Adam gave you.”

I can see the confusion on her face. I swear, everyone at the table stops what they’re doing. The forks stop clinking. Conversations end mid-sentence. I can see Justin out of the corner of my eye, a piece of bread in his hand and his mouth wide open, but nothing’s moving. Everyone seems frozen in place. I look at Laila, and her lips are pursed. I can almost hear her thinking, “Oh, oh, here we go again.”

To break the trance, I repeat the request slowly, over-articulating every word. “Loren, I’d love to hear all about the shadow box Adam gave you for your birthday.”

As if on cue, everything starts moving again. People pick up their conversations and their silverware.

I quickly realize it must have been a nightmare living with me back then.

Loren tells me all about it. When she was a little girl, she used to garden with Mom. We have an array of beautiful flowers planted in our garden, thanks to their hard work and green thumbs. Mom has kept it looking gorgeous over the years. In three months, it will serve as the backdrop for Loren and Justin’s wedding.

It all started when Loren was four. She adored Adam. I, on the other hand, was too busy resenting him—even then. He’d walk through the door after school or show up on weekends to watch football with Dad, and there she’d be: perched on the bench by the door, tiny legs swinging, a flower clutched in her little hands. She’d wait for him like he was someone important, someone special. And the moment he stepped inside, she’d march right up to him and say, “Adam, this is for you.”

Unbeknownst to anyone, Adam had been saving most of those flowers. Pressed and dried with care, each one held a memory. He arranged them into a delicate collage—soft petals, faded stems, all captured in a shadow box. Tucked beside them was a short birthday poem he’d written just for Loren,

“Where is it?” I ask.

“It was one of the few things I took with me to college,” Loren responds. “It was a great conversation starter in my dorm room. Now it’s in my bedroom, and when Justin and I move into our new house, it’s coming with me. I'll find the perfect spot for it.”

---