Page 135 of Her Wicked Plan

“Me too.” I release her and hug my dad. “I’ve missed you guys.”

“We’ve missed you, too,” my father says.

“Uncle Leo! I drew that picture for you!” He beams.

Chloe sighs. “Honey, Uncle Leo just got here. Let him and Uncle Myles go unpack, and then you can show him.” Carter nods, rushing past us and into the living room to play with toys. “Don’t get your hopes up.”

“It’s not that bad, is it?”

My mother laughs. “It isn’t as bad as the last one, that’s for sure. Why don’t you and Myles get upstairs and freshen up? Dinner is about done.”

My bedroom looks the same as when I moved out at eighteen. My mother didn’t touch a single thing in here besides keeping it clean.

The same black comforter is neatly tucked into my bed, and the matching curtains and rug occupy the space. Posters of my favorite bands back then are still tacked to the wall.

I forgot how dark I was back in high school. Having all this decorated in black makes me wonder how I lived in a world like this.

Technically, I’m still a dark person. My apartment room has a deeper gray comforter and curtains, but I added a pop of color to the art I decorated the room with.

Speaking of art, as soon as I enter the kitchen to join the family for dinner, Carter shoves the drawing he made into my hands. My mother didn’t lie; it wasn't as bad as the last.

This one, however, was more complex than the kangaroo he drew. This illustration was of a dinosaur—with wings—a T-Rex, to be specific. Oh, and it was wearing a top hat like Abraham Lincoln with a beard.

I’ll give it to the little guy; he attempted to add as much detail as possible without using color. He remembered that all my other tattoos were black and gray. Even though it looks like a six-year-old drew it, which is because one did, I can’t wait to add it to my body. I’ll have to figure out a time to get it done.

“It looks great, Carter,” I praise him. He smiles big, then runs off.

When I walk into the dining room, Chloe finishes setting up the table, with Myles trailing behind her with napkins. Since it is our mother's birthday, it's a formal dinner. A bouquet of her favorite flowers sits in a clear vase in the middle of the rectangular table.

Chloe peers up at me as she sets down the last plate. “The food is done. Mom is adding her finishing touches.”

“She cooked her own birthday dinner?”

Chloe looks at me with a deadpan stare. “Did you expect anything else? Besides, I offered to cook for her, but she turned it down. She basically threw me out of the kitchen! She said she wanted to cook, knowing her children would be under one roof.”

I shake my head, a soft smile playing on my lips. Sounds like mom.

Dad walks out of the kitchen door, holding a lasagna pan; Mom follows behind him with a huge salad bowl. After Dad sets the dish on the table, he heads back into the kitchen to grab the homemade garlic bread.

This is one thing I miss about being home: all the food was homemade. She enjoyed cooking and even baking treats from scratch.

With love, as she put it.

We all take a seat, my eyes roaming around the table. This is my and Chloe’s favorite food. We share a knowing look before I turn to my mother. “Uh, mom? It’s your birthday. Shouldn’t we be eating one of your favorites?”

“Nonsense! I love lasagna.” She waves a hand.

“Yeah, but it’s not your favorite,” Chloe answers for me.

“I don’t care about what we eat for my birthday dinner. That doesn’t matter to me.” Her eyes go soft. “All that matters is that my children are here.” Out of the corner of my eye, I see Chloe start to tear up. Then my mother looks at Myles. “You are just as much of a son to me as Leo is. Always will be.”

“Thank you,” Myles says with a smile.

“Now, let's eat!” She beams, digging into the pan first.

The sounds of utensils hitting the lasagna pan, our plates in front of us, and even the rim of the wine bottle hitting the edge of our glasses fill the room.

Light chatter of someone asking to pass the salad and the bread is mumbled across the table. This feels like old times, and my heart swells from how much I miss it.