I gave him a wry look. “You sound like your girlfriend.”

Garrett laughed. “Yeah, I guess I do. But it’s something to think about.”

I folded the paper and carried it over to the recycling bin, shoving it in. Garrett was right. We all had some thinking to do.

“Mitch!”

My mother held open the screen door and pulled me into a hug.

“Hey, Ma,” I said, my voice muffled by her shoulder.

Mom pulled back and gave me the maternal once over. “You need to shave. And a good haircut. Come sit down and I’ll grab my scissors. Your dad just stepped out to pick up some firewood. He’ll be back soon. Your sister isn’t here yet. She ran into traffic on 64.”

She ushered me into the kitchen and pushed me down into a chair. My mother wasn’t the sort to waste time on pleasantries. She’d have you in a chair with a plate full of food while sewing the hole in your shirt before you could even say hello.

For my entire life, my mother had been larger than life. She was the kind of woman that took her role as matriarch very seriously. “I was born to be a mother,” she liked to say and damned if she didn’t mean it.

And she didn’t think twice about welcoming anyone who needed a mother figure with open arms.

After Garrett’s parents’ died, he spent most evenings here, in this kitchen, as my mother fussed over him and made sure he was eating enough vegetables. Garrett loved my mother. She was one of the few people, aside from Riley, who could make the guy smile.

And when Cole’s parents had all but abandoned him, my mom picked up the slack, taking him care packages after he moved into his apartment and making sure he had warm socks and pillows for his bed. She took the man shopping for curtains, for Christ’s sake!

She was a sucker for an abandoned puppy. And Cole and Garrett were her favorite abandoned puppies.

“You should have invited the boys to come with you! I haven’t seen Cole, Garrett, or Jordan in so long! Is Jordan still with that lovely girl, Maysie?” she asked, wrapping a towel around my neck and picking up the scissors.

“He is. They’re getting married in August. So be on the look out for an invitation,” I told her, holding perfectly still as she snipped the long pieces of hair around my ears.

“Oh, a wedding! I can’t wait! I love weddings! I keep hoping your sister will finally find someone to settle down with, but I won’t hold my breath.” My thirty-year-old sister had incredibly bad luck when it came to men. Her high school boyfriend had turned out to be gay and her daughter’s dad, who she had been with for almost three years, had taken off the minute he found out she was pregnant. So now Charlotte was doing the single mom thing and I was pretty sure she wasn’t looking to put on a white dress and walk down the aisle any time soon.

Mom leaned down and peered into my face. “I guess I’ll just have to wait for you to settle down then. Though it won’t be the same when you get married. The mother of the groom doesn’t get to do anything fun,” she pouted good-naturedly. She pulled the hair on my forehead between her fingers and started to snip again. “So how is Sophie?” she asked, her voice deceptively light. I knew what she was doing. She was digging. And Mom was one hell of a digger.

“She’s fine,” I said shortly.

“Fine? That’s it? I ask you how your girlfriend is doing and all you can say is that she’s fine? Maybe you should bring her around for dinner again so I can see for myself how she’s doing.” She got out a brush and swept the back of my neck.

“I don’t know. I think she’s busy,” I replied dismissively.

Mom stilled, her hands coming to rest heavily on my shoulders. “Is there a reason we’ve only met this woman twice? Why won’t you bring her around? Are you embarrassed of us or something?” She sounded hurt and I felt horrible. It was so completely far from the truth.

“No, Mom! Of course I’m not embarrassed of you. All my friends love you and Dad. You know that Garrett and Cole would move in if you’d let them,” I told her, trying to make up for being such an insensitive prick.

“Then what’s going on? Why won’t you bring your girlfriend to see us? You used to bring Gracie around all the time. Is there something wrong with this Sophie that you don’t want me to know about?” she asked, sounding suspicious.

“Mom, Gracie was never my girlfriend,” I said tiredly.

“Humph. Sure could have fooled me with the way the two of you looked at each other,” she grumbled. There was no sense arguing with her. Mom lived by the adage, “Mother’s always right.”

“There’s nothing wrong with Sophie. She’s just really shy. I don’t want to make her uncomfortable.” It was a lame excuse and not even an honest one.

I knew my mother would have Sophie relaxed and at ease in no time. It was her talent.

The truth was, I had no excuse. I just never thought about inviting Sophie to hang out with my family. The two times she had been to my parents’ house had been purely by accident. We had bumped into them at the store and had been promptly invited for dinner. Sophie hadn’t been overly enthused by the whole thing so I hadn’t bothered to bring her around again.

“She seems like a nice girl,” Mom commented hesitantly as though expecting me to disagree.

“Yeah, she’s a nice girl,” I said as she took the towel off my shoulders and handed me a mirror.

A nice girl.

Constant. Always there.

That’s what had been important.

“See how much better you look when people can actually see those gorgeous eyes of yours?” Mom cooed, kissing me on the cheek.

I got to my feet and wrapped my arms around her slight frame. “You’re the only woman I need in my life, Ma.”

“Oh, don’t be silly,” she said with a laugh. “What will you do when I’m too old to make you your favorite chicken pot pie? Someone has to ensure you eat properly and have clean underwear on.”

“Mom. You haven’t checked my underwear since I was ten,” I protested.

“Um, why are we talking about Mitch’s underwear?” A woman who looked like an older, female version of me walked into the kitchen carrying a six-month-old baby who sported a head full of brown curls.

“There’s my favorite little girl,” Mom crowed with pleasure, holding out her arms so she could take the baby from my sister. Charlotte handed my niece, Madison, over to our mom and gave me a quick hug.

“Hey, baby brother. Long time no see. I got the package of baby stuff last month. Thank you so much. A gal can never have too many diapers and burp clothes. Though it would have been better to actually see you,” she said mildly, giving me her best glare.

“Yeah, if I could have gotten off the tour I would have in a fucking heartbeat,” I said.

“Watch your mouth around my granddaughter, Mitch Allen Abrams!” my mother scolded.

“Sorry, Ma,” I muttered. Charlotte smirked.

“So the tour was that bad? I thought you were going to be the next big rock star. You were supposed to be my ticket to the easy life, Mitchie. Way to crap on my dreams of swimmin’ pools and movie stars,” she kidded, sitting down at the kitchen table as Mom took the baby into the next room.

“Guess you’ll have to wait until those royalties kick in from being a pain in my ass.” Charlotte smacked the back of my head and I grinned at her.

“So how long are you home for?” she asked.

I picked at my thumbnail, dreading this part. Telling my family that the dream was most likely dead. And now I was stuck without a clue.

“Not sure. We have a call with the label next week.”

“You don’t sound too thrilled about that. What’s going on?” Charlotte was doing her big sister thing and being nosy. I knew she wasn’t trying to piss me off, but her questions still made me defensive.

“Does it matter? I don’t really want to talk about our shit tour and whether or not people are buying our music,” I snapped.