Page 80 of Stick Break
“Marta, it’s so good to see you,” Betsy gushes, and the two women embrace like long-lost sisters at a family reunion. “How’s that grandbaby?”
“Oh, look.” Marta’s already pulling her phone from her apron. She taps a few times, mutters something about the ‘dang cloud,’ and then proudly holds up a photo of a squishy little baby in an oversized bow. I glance at the baby, take in the big eyes that say she already knows she’s going to become the screensaver.
“She’s beautiful,” Betsy croons, her voice softening, then promptly grabs me by the elbow to pull me closer. “This is Charley. She’s staying at Paisley and Gunther’s place.”
Before I can even say hi, Marta wraps me in a full-body hug that knocks the big sunhat clean off my head and nearly clips me in the jaw. Then I’m suddenly cheek-to-cheek with a stranger who smells like lemon and unconditional love. Her hug is warm and motherly, the kind of embrace that hits you in the soft places you pretend don’t ache anymore.
It makes me miss my family. But not the unconditional love that seemed to flow so freely toward my brother, while I stood just outside the circle, trying not to care.
I reach up to fix my hat, but… what’s the point? This heat is slowly melting me into a puddle so I just yank it off and fan myself with it instead. This heat is trying to kill me anyway. So I just yank it off and fan myself with it instead. But then I catch Marta giving me a slow once-over, her eyes narrowing just a touch before Betsy throw a hand out.
“This is Rip,” she says, voice suddenly tight, like she’s trying to swallow so many unsaid words. “He’s… the fiancé.” I swear there’s a tiny growl in there.
Marta’s face softens. “Oh, Rip, it’s so lovely to meet you.”
He steps forward and gives a polite smile. “Nice to meet you, too.”
“They’re interested in buying your place,” Betsy blurts out.
I choke on air and before I can clarify that we are absolutely no house hunting on a random Thursday afternoon, Marta links her arm through mine and starts leading me into the house.
Rip shoots me a wide-eyed what the hell look from the walkway. He looks like he’s about to run, until Emma grabs his hand. With that Rip simply shrugs, his eyes telegraphing a message that says: I guess we’re doing this.
Okay, this will be fine, no problem. We’ll take a look, and kindly respond that it’s not our style. Easy peasy.
But then I step inside.
And everything changes.
“Oh my…” I breathe, the second I cross the threshold, it’s like stepping into someone’s memory. The living room is filled with honey-toned wood, soft light, and furniture that says, ‘come sit, stay awhile’. Wooden beams stretch across the ceiling, and the kitchen smells faintly of cinnamon, warmth…home and hearth.
But it’s the details that get me. Family photos line the walls, dozens of them on mantels and walls. Smiling faces. Birthday candles. Sandcastles. laughter frozen in time. Decades of life, love, growth, laughter. Generations layered together in frames.
It hits me like a sucker punch to the ribs.
This is what I want. What I’ve always wanted. Not the fame. Not the clicks. This.
A life.
As if sensing my emotional free-fall, Rip appears beside me, his hand brushing mine before slipping into it. He gives it a small squeeze. I look up and find him watching me carefully. That’s when I see it, reflected back in his eyes. That same longing. That same grief for something he’s always dreamed of.
Except he’d dreamed it with someone else.
I swallow the lump in my throat and try to speak. “This house,” I say softly. “It’s beautiful.”
“It has three bedrooms,” Marta chimes in, all business now. “Plenty of room for a growing family. Just perfect for you two.”
My heart clenches. I glance at Rip again and all I can manage is one word. feeling. All I can manage is one word. “Yes.” Not a commitment. Not a decision. Just… an honest answer to everything this moment is stirring inside me.
Marta sighs softly, and I watch her face shift, as if memories are flickering behind her eyes like old home movies. There’s a lightness there, a fondness that both hurts my soul and fills it with longing.
“My kids are grown now,” she begins, her voice hitching just slightly in her throat. “I’ve got grandbabies all over the place now. Marty and I need a bit more room to fit everyone under one roof. Big summer barbecues. Board games during rainy days.”
“That sounds amazing,” I squeak out.
She clasps her hands together, and a smile brightens her whole face. “We think we’ve found the perfect place, but as for our cottage here…” Her eyes flick to Betsy. “…we want the right owners. Someone who will love this house like we did. Not just live in it, but treasure it.” She gives Betsy a wink. “If Betsy vouches for you, that’s good enough for me.”
My stomach knots. Not because I don’t want everything she just laid out, but because I do.
