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She lifts her gaze to me and I feel her saying ‘I am trying my best here’,but it seems like it won’t be quite enough for Christine to stop being a bitch.
“Would you mind singing something for us, Marko? I heard you have an amazing voice,” Ronan echoes through the fire.
“In your language or in mine?” he responds, and I already know what song he has in his mind.
“In yours. If you don’t mind, of course,” she says sweetly, leaning on Jensen’s shoulder, whilst Christine scoffs.
“We won’t understand what you’re saying if you sing in Serbian.” Her words sound spiteful.
“You’ll know it in your soul,” is the only thing he says before he lets his voice fly through the air and sings his heart out.
The words melt into my bloodstream, through my skin, bringing the memories of my childhood to the surface. Warm bread and homemade apricot jam, lullabies and snuggles, soft hands cupping my cheeks.
There is a huge lump in my throat, as I watch my dad wipe his eyes once the song is finished. It’s an old song by Toma Zdravkovic, his favorite one, the one he used to sing to my mom. For my mom. Her name was Lilly.
Jensen is dead silent, his jaw clenched so tight it might snap in half and break all of his teeth in the process. He blames himself for our mom. If dad knew how he felt, it would break his heart. Ronan is crying hard, wiping her tears on my brother’s sleeve, and even her mother looks touched.
“That was so wonderful, Marko. Thank you!” Ronan says, sniffing.
“I know that one. It was for his late wife.” Christine says, and it surprises me that she knows this, but for once, it seems like the emotions in her eyes aren’t fake or forced. She truly doesn’t mind that he sang a song for our late mother.
“Oh, I’m sorry.” Ronan says, horrified.
“It’s okay, sweetheart. She died a long time ago. I have my beautiful kids thanks to her, I am grateful I had her in my life.”
“She died giving birth to Jensen.” I say, walking over to them, squeezing my brother's shoulder.
For a while nobody talks, and the silence seems comforting, but at the same time, it’s like a calm before the storm. My dad flips the meat on the grill, as we sit and drink our beer. Jensen is still clenching his jaw, but there is nothing I can do to help him. Not until he is ready to listen. Ronan and I rub his back, like I did when he was still a child.
Evening breeze and fresh air coat my lungs in the most delicious way possible. Ronan’s fingers brush mine, as they are passing by, and I hear her take a sharp breath in. She smiles softly over her shoulder, and my heart melts. I love her.
I love her.
Is it too soon? Is it too much? I can’t say it to her. Not yet. Not any time soon.
Do I love her?
Fuck.
What if she leaves again?
At the same time, how didn’t I realize it sooner? The way my stomach flips every time she smiles. The way my heart squeezes when she cries. The way my skin grows warm under her gaze. I am completely smitten.
“Noah?” A greasy grasp on my shoulder snaps me out of my thoughts. “Are you okay, boy? Come fix your plate, I’ve been calling you for like five minutes non-stop," dad laughs.
I grab a tiny piece of chicken and sit back on my log. I feel like no matter how much I chew, it’s going to get stuck in my throat. The feelings I’ve just realized I have for Ronan were not expected, yet there is nothing strange about them. I might have loved her even the night I met her. The pull between us would explain it.
She nibbles on a small chunk of dry chicken breast, wrapped in a lettuce leaf, but I know for a fact that wasn’t her preferred meal. I watch her face change when her mother takes her plate away after just a few bites, saying she’s already had enough. Ronan just hangs her head, too exhausted to fight.
I wish I could eat up her pain. I wish I could shut Christine up, at least for this weekend, but that’s a mission impossible even for Tom Cruise.
Jensen’s phone rings and he rushes into the house, leaving the two of us outside. My dad props his feet on a small fishing chair in front of him and takes a sip of his beer. He offers a new one to Ronan, but her mother is already up, stopping him.
“She doesn’t need it.” Christine says as my eyes rush to Ronan’s, “Do you even know how many calories are there, in one beer? It’s like six slices of bread or something!”
“Let the girl have some fun, Christine,” he responds, hoping she will let it go, but the bitch is relentless.
“Fat girlsdon’t get to have fun until they lose some weight.Fat girlswho don’t listen to their mother when she says one candy is enough, but they take ten anyway, don’t get to have fun, andfat girlswho don’t respect their mother when she asks for the tattoos to be covered up get even less fun than none,” she bites at Ronan, and I’m foaming at the mouth.
