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“Randy's not here.”
“Because he's working, but he'll tell you the same thing when he gets here for dinner.”
The argument we'd been building toward for two weeks was about to explode. I could feel it in the tension in my shoulders, the way Seth's jaw clenched, the familiar battlefield of siblings who knew exactly which buttons to push.
“Now, now.” Mom stepped between us with the practiced ease of someone who'd broken up countless sibling arguments. Her hands were gentle on both our arms, but firm enough to create distance. “Let's not ruin Joy's first family dinner with arguing. Seth, would you set the table? Use the good plates, we're celebrating having Joy back.”
Seth's jaw tightened, but he nodded. “This conversation isn't over.”
“It is for tonight,” Mom said firmly. “Randy will be here soon, and I won't have you two upsetting dinner. Joy, help me with the rolls. Seth, table. Now.”
Crisis averted, at least temporarily. Seth grabbed plates from the cabinet with perhaps more force than necessary, while I pulled the rolls from the oven. The kitchen filled with the warm smell of yeast and butter.
“He means well,” Mom said quietly.
“He's overbearing.”
“He's protective. They both are.”
Randy arrived just as we were putting food on the table, still in his work clothes from the construction site. Where Seth had gotten Mom's lean runner's build, Randy was built like Dad, broad and solid. He hugged me tight, lifting me slightly, but didn't immediately launch into lectures about my living situation.
“Good to have you home, JoJo,” he said simply.
Dinner started peacefully enough. We passed dishes around the table, everyone loading their plates with Mom's salad, pot roast, vegetables, mashed potatoes, and rolls. Conversation flowed easily at first, Randy telling a funny story about a mishap at the construction site and Dad explaining about an old house that he was doing an entire electrical upgrade on.
But I could feel Seth watching me, could sense the conversation he wanted to have bubbling under the surface. Sure enough, as Mom served dessert, he started again.
“Joy, I've been thinking.”
“Dangerous,” Randy muttered, earning a glare from Seth.
“If you insist on living across town, at least let one of us check out the house. Make sure the locks are good, maybe have Dad work with Ace Alarm Systems to install a security system.”
“Miss Laverne has lived there her whole life without incident.”
“Miss Laverne isn't a young woman living alone who works night shifts.”
“Seth, drop it,” I said.
“I'm trying to help.”
“You're trying to control.”
“That's not—”
“Enough.” Dad's voice cut through our building argument. “Both of you. Joy's an adult. She gets to make her own choices, even if we don't like them.” He looked at me. “But you also need to understand we worry because we love you. That's not going to change whether you're twenty-three or eighty-four.”
The table fell silent for a moment. Then Randy reached for another roll.
“Pass the butter?” he asked, and just like that, the tension eased.
We finished dessert, Mom's apple pie that was worth every calorie, and I helped clear the table. As I was washing dishes, Seth came up beside me, taking a dish towel to dry.
“I'm sorry,” he said quietly. “I just worry.”
“I know.”
“But I still think you should consider moving back home.”
