Love, Utley - Page 177
Everything is different.
The mugs are all handmade. The cups are no longer all the same plain glass but rather antique looking with raised polka dots on the sides. The serving dishes are pieces of art.
I love every item. It’s exactly what I’d get if we had the space and money.
I close the cupboard and step back.
Mom’s voice echoes through the house, followed by a laugh that could only belong to Chelsea.
I plan to go and meet them, but then I see the living room. And the now familiar sense of surprise thumps against my chest.
The couch, which is nice but had previously been bare, is covered in throw pillows of all colors and sizes. Blankets are folded on the coffee table alongside another vase, this one overflowing with roses.
And under the coffee table is a new massive rug. It’s plush and red, and I want to walk on it.
But as I cross the room to do just that, I see more.
On the end table, hanging off the side lamp, is a necklace. A tacky plastic necklace made of little baseballs.
I can’t fight against my tears any longer.
My eyes fill and spill over.
“Come on into the kitchen,” Maddox says as their footsteps enter the large space.
“Hey, Aunt Hannah.”
I lift my hand but keep my back to them for another second. “Hey.”
“I have different cans of pop and tea and stuff in the fridge,” Maddox tells them. “Help yourself.”
“Thank you.” Mom’s voice is full of smiles. “Oh, look at these flowers! I just love flowers.”
“I know,” Maddox replies, but he says it quietly from behind me.
I turn, wiping at my eyes. “What is going on?”
His smile is soft, and he holds his hand out to me. “Let me show you.”
I slide my palm into his. “Show me what?”
Maddox lifts my hand and kisses it gently. “The rest of it.” He turns, and I move with him. “You guys want the tour?”
Chelsea nods as her eyes bounce around the giant kitchen.
Maddox points at things, and Mom makes sounds of enjoyment.
He takes us to the basement and shows us the gym and the movie room.
He walks us around the main level.
Chelsea gives me the side-eye each time I sniffle. Each time I see another item that has to be new. Each time we come across another collection of fresh flowers.
Finally, we move up the staircase to the upper level. But Maddox doesn’t let go of my hand. He hasn’t this whole time. And when we reach the top of the stairs, he squeezes my fingers.
He points toward his room. “That’s the way to the owner’s suite. But this way”— he points in the other direction— “is the next stop on our tour.”
Mom and Chelsea turn and walk ahead of us.