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“She doesn’t hold grudges,” I lied.
Emilia looked at me skeptically. “Yes, she does.”
“Not against you, apparently.”
“I’m just grateful, I guess.” Emilia shrugged and grew quiet again.
“What would be the point in treatin’ you like shit?” I asked as we pulled up in front of the house. “You’re here. You’re Rhett’s mama. We’re family.”
“You’re right,” Emilia said with a halfhearted smile. “I should probably just lean into it, huh?”
“My parents aren’t like yours, Emilia,” I said quietly, glancing back at Rhett who was passed out in his seat. “They’re not gonna turn on you all of a sudden or freeze you out because you pissed them off.”
“I know that.”
“You piss them off, they’re gonna say somethin’ about it,” I continued. “You’ll know.”
“They must be mad at me,” she argued. “There’s no way that they’re just okay with how it all played out.”
I sighed. “I don’t know. I haven’t had a chance to talk to them since you got here.”
“I just—” She flapped her hands awkwardly in her lap. “I just don’t want to get used to it if it’s going to change.”
“It’s not gonna change,” I replied, reaching out to stop her frantic gestures. “They’re not gonna cut you off or start treatin’ you like shit. That’s not their style.”
“But at some point, it’s going to all come out,” she whispered. “They’re going to say something.”
“Probably,” I replied seriously. “But that will be it. They’ll say somethin’ and give you the opportunity to answer whatever questions they have, and that will be it.”
“I can’t imagine it’ll be that simple,” she muttered.
“Christ, none of this is simple,” I replied, looking back at Rhett again. “But we’ll figure it out.”
I carried Rhett inside and upstairs, and the entire time he was completely limp in my arms. He got that from me. I could remember so many times in my childhood when I’d fallen asleep somewhere and woken up hours later in a completely different place. A few times, I’d fallen asleep at the clubhouse and woken up in my own bed at home, completely unaware of the car ride in between. I couldn’t remember when that had stopped—probably around the time when I’d grown too big for my parents to carry me.
I tucked Rhett into the guest bed and headed back downstairs to find Emilia searching through my fridge.
“Need help?” I asked, making her yelp in surprise.
“I’m starving,” she said sheepishly, turning to face me.
“You shoulda eaten breakfast at the restaurant,” I replied dryly, moving around her to the pantry. “You want a grilled cheese?”
“What kind of cheese do you have?” she asked happily, crouching back down to look in the fridge.
“No clue,” I mumbled as I grabbed the bread. “Probably just cheddar, but I’m sure you can find a way to church it up.”
She’d always loved grilled cheese. We’d made hundreds of them as teenagers, mixing all the stinky cheeses my mom kept in the fridge, always trying to find the best formula.
I hadn’t had one since she’d left.
“This one time,” she said as she stood back up, holding half a block of cheddar and a bottle of sriracha in her hands. “I got this really good peach and jalapeño jam at a farmers’ market and put it on there.”
I wrinkled my nose in disgust.
“It was so freaking good,” she said with a laugh.
“You’re really going to put sriracha on it?” I asked as I grabbed her a pan.
