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Jasper barely tolerates me and yet, here he is.
It makes something shift and unfurl within me.
“Thank you,” I say suddenly, and Jasper freezes, his clothes and bag clutched to his chest. He looks like I just shot him with a gun. His face is pale, his eyes wide. If he starts bleeding we’re going to have a problem.
It’s not a bullet, Jasper. Just a simple acknowledgment.
“It’s nothing,” he says, and I move toward him, pulling him into a reluctant hug. Hell, he feels good against me.
“You flew across the country for me. Just let me say thank you.”
He grumbles under his breath, his face smashed into my chest, his hands still clutching his things. A few seconds later, he pulls away and moves toward the door, his eyes a little wild, his hair sideways.
“Well, no point in hugging. That’s just a waste of time. We…uh…” he says, trying to find his words. “We better get cleaned up and then we can go to the hospital. I’m sure you want to see your mom.”
I nod and grab some clothes, following him out of the trailer. The cold, biting air whips against us, and I pull him into my side, the two of us traipsing across the field toward my sister’s house.
Jasper’s eyes are wide as he takes it all in. He’s probably never seen so much wide-open land. I know that he’s a city boy, born and bred. The space must feel so vast to him, so damn open. If he squints he can make out the roaming cows in the distance. Someone was up early to let them out.
Tootsie brays loudly from her pen, and Jasper jumps slightly.
“You have a donkey?” he whispers as if the donkey can hear him.
Cluck Norris cockadoodles in response, and Jasper snorts. “Of course you do. I am not surprised.”
I know he’s itching to go on and on about how different Kansas is, and knowing Jasper, it’s probably something sarcastic, but he bites his tongue as we make our way up the front porch of my sister’s house and step inside.
Fuck, this feels like coming home. Everything is so familiar. The same kitchen table with nicks in it. The same coat rack with our jackets slung up on it. My eyes swivel to the hallway where our pictures are hung up, displaying all sorts of life events—weddings, graduations, the birth of the grandkids.
This is where I grew up. So many damn memories. When we all moved out, Bridgette stayed here with her husband, Doug, and their kids to help with the farm and to keep our mom company after our dad died. This house is just too damn big for her to live in alone.
“There they are,” my sister, Samantha, says. She’s in the kitchen with Bridgette, cooking breakfast. I can hear the kids screaming in the other room. I glance down at Jasper who seems to be growing tenser and tenser with each step forward.
“Hey,” I say, pulling Bridgette into a hug and then Samantha. “Where’s Kristy?”
“With the kids,” Samantha says.
I love all my sisters, but Kristy is the oldest and the one I have the hardest time with. We’re like oil and water. I’ve just never felt like I could do anything right by her.
“You guys want to eat and then head over to the hospital?” Bridgette asks, stirring some eggs in a pan. “Visiting hours are soonish.”
I nod and then gesture toward the hallway. “We wanna shower first.”
My sisters look at Jasper, and I can see the questions in their eyes. They know I’m gay and now they’re probably wondering if this guy is my boyfriend. I mean, why else would he travel all the way out here with me? I’ve never brought anyone home before, so they’re probably suspicious.
But god, he’s so far from my boyfriend, it’s not even funny.
“We aren’t showeringtogether,” Jasper says, his cheeks flushed. “Your brother and I are…friends.”
He chokes that last word out and a smile tilts my lips up. The first genuine smile since the bad news.
“Of course, no problem. Let me show you where the bathroom is,” Samantha says and then leads Jasper down the hallway. As he goes, the kids make their way down the hallway, running toward me, screeching. I pick up Thomas and settle him in my arms and then glance down at Betsy as she clings to my leg.
“You guys are so big!” I say, ruffling Betsy’s hair before pressing a kiss to Thomas’s chubby cheek
Bridgette smiles at me as she stirs the pancake batter, her son Thomas patting my face with his sticky hands.
“So, just friends?” she asks, and I shrug, shifting Thomas in my arms. Betsy is yanking on my pants, and I swear to god, if she pulls any harder my pants might fall down. But I don’t have the heart to tell her to stop. It’s been two years since I’ve been back. Thomas was just a baby and Betsy was only three.
