Page 1 of Between Now and Forever
CHAPTER ONE
GABRIELLE
Be careful. You never know which way that pickle’s gonna squirt, Gabs.”
My laughter fills the small kitchen. The sound cuts through the dust particles dancing in the sunlight, adding another layer of magic to the room. As much as my cousin Cricket tries to remain steadfast, the corners of her lips lift.
“Get your mind out of the gutter,” she says, removing her latex gloves. The rubber squeaks as it slides off her fingertips. “Why do you have to make everything so dirty?”
“Oh, come on.You’re the one talking about phallic-shaped items squirting.Youwent there. Not me.”
Cricket huffs, her perfect bright-red curls bouncing at her shoulders. “Fine. I’ll put it another, more straightforward way: you can’t always predict the outcome of home improvement projects, Gabby. It may look like a simple drywall patch. But the next thing you know, you find termites and have to call a contractor to rebuild the walls.” She lifts a brow, eyeing me carefully, like her mother, my aunt Diane, used to do when I was a little girl. “Just ...go slowly. Don’t jump into a bunch of projects at once.”
I wipe my forehead with the back of my hand.She’s probably thinking about the grid incident.
“Yes,”she says. “This has everything to do with you single-handedly bringing down the electric grid for half a city block.”
“That’ssounfair. How was I to know you can’t hook outside lights to the main electric line coming into your house? Doesn’t that seem, I don’t know, likethe point?”
She tosses the gloves into the trash bin. “What about when you hooked water pipes to the drainpipes under the sink in some half-cocked plumbing project?”
“Forgive me for not knowing that not all those pipes ... piped.”
“Only you, Gabs. Only you.”
“Don’t you have better things to do than catalog all my do-it-yourself adventures?” I ask, putting a hand on my hip.
Cricket laughs. “Yes, actually, I do. But when you choose to call me every time you’re standing next to an emergency vehicle, the EMT tending to the results of yourdo-it-yourself adventures, it makes them hard to forget.”
“I don’t recall hearing you complain when the fire chief asked if you were single.”
Her cheeks flush as she waves a hand through the air. “Oh, don’t start with that. He only saw me through FaceTime. Besides, the man was nothing short of a baby. His idea of a night out probably came with a curfew.”
I lean against the cabinets and smile, watching her collect what’s left of the cardboard boxes scattered around the room.
Despite travel fatigue, strongly scented cleaning supplies, and a lack of appropriate caffeine levels, it feels good to behome.
Waking up the last two mornings in the small, sleepy town where I grew up has been a balm to my soul. Pine trees scent the air. The sun is brighter—warmer—on my face each morning. Having family and neighbors stop by to say hello has been wonderful.
It’s everything I hoped it would be.Everything I needed it to be.
“There,” Cricket says, surveying our handiwork with satisfaction. “I think that’s the last box. Is there anything else in the garage?”
“Nope. Your micromanaging talents ensured that my new house was cleaned from top to bottom, and all our possessions were put away.”
“In just three days, despite your insistence that it would take at least fourteen.” She rests her hip against the wooden table I’ve had longer than my children. “How does it feel to be settled in and ready for your new life in Alden?”
The sun chooses this moment to peek out from behind the clouds and shine into the kitchen.
Despite a pinched nerve in my shoulder from the fourteen-hour drive from Boston to Ohio, fatigue deep in my bones, and the deflating effect of being on the other side of an adrenaline rush, I’m cautiously optimistic about the future. It’s been years since I’ve felt so confident, so sure that I’m making the right decision. But admitting that out loud feels like inviting the universe to prove me wrong. So I tiptoe right around her question.
“It feels like my new life in Alden is calling for a hot bubble bath and a bottle of something red,” I say, hopping onto the counter.
“That sounds delightful. Peter will be home shortly, and I need to start dinner. Would you and the boys like to come over? I’m fixing herb-crusted chicken and potatoes like Grandma used to make. Remember them? She’d smother them in cheese.”
My stomach rumbles, and my heart warms at the memory. “That sounds incredible, but we ate at your house last night. We need to eat at home and start new routines.”
“But what will you have? You haven’t gone to the grocery store yet.”
