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“They took the snowmobiles out for a quick ride.”
“Aw, I’m jealous.”
“The field’s big enough for all of you to tear up plenty of powder. Maybe after dinner, you and Skye can take them out.”
With a smile, I murmur, “Okay.”
I watch him disappear down the hall toward the garage, then head into the kitchen to find my mom juggling a bowl of mashed potatoes in one hand and a platter of freshly baked rolls in the other.
“Hey, Mama,” I lean in and press a quick kiss to her cheek before grabbing the rolls from her.
“Hey, baby girl. Glad you could make it.”
“Sorry I’m late.”
“Don’t apologize. You’re totally fine, despite whatever crap your dad gave you in the entryway.”
My nose scrunches with a combination of embarrassment and amusement. “How’d you know?”
“Because I’ve been his therapist for the past few weeks,” she informs me with a smirk.
“Way to take one for the team,” I compliment.
She laughs. “He’s just worried about you. And then with everything else going on, it’s been rough. And you know how your father gets.”
“He’s a fixer.”
“Exactly. And therefore, he’s been tinkering away, sticking his nose in everyone else’s business in hopes that it’ll fix things that are out of his control.”
“Even Anthony’s business? The perfect future son-in-law?”
She laughs a little harder before correcting herself. “Okay, maybe not Anthony. But he did mention the fact that Sway’s pink hair is a shade darker than it used to be, and he wouldn’t mind seeing her natural locks every once in a while.”
I snort. He’s always been our biggest fan when it comes to hairstyles, outfits, and everything in between. As long as we didn’t walk out the door looking like prostitutes, then he was cheering us on.
“And what’s Skye’s crime?” I ask.
“Skye’s the youngest––”
“So she can do no wrong,” I finish with a grin. “Lucky little brat.”
“Who’s a brat?” Skye calls, approaching us with empty hands.
“You are.”
She sticks her tongue out at me but doesn’t deny it. Skye has always gotten away with murder, but I assume it’s because our parents were too busy mending my broken heart while trying to help their second-born come to terms with the fact that she would never be able to have children of her own. It was probably refreshing to have a relatively normal caboose to raise during the tough high school years. Until she became the scapegoat for her pending ex, anyway.
“Good to see you too,” Skye returns before rocking back on her heels to assess the messy kitchen. “How can I help?”
“Grab the cranberry sauce from the fridge,” Mama orders while scanning the kitchen from a chef’s perspective and mentally checking off random tasks from her imaginary to-do list. “Other than that, I think we’re ready.”
“It smells amazing, Mama,” I compliment.
She waves me off. “Let’s enjoy it before it gets cold.”
We all head to the dining room with our arms full of a mouth-watering feast, then take a seat and say grace before dishing ourselves up.
“So, how’s the wedding planning going?” Skye asks Sway.
