“Good! How are your friends in L.A.? Are you keeping in touch with them while you’re here?”
“I’ve only been here for a couple of days, Mom.”
“Yes, I know. But you do have a problem, I’ve noticed, staying in touch with people. You should text them, tell them what’s going on with your life.”
Jas was mildly offended. He knew how to keep in touch with his friends.
Do you? You mostly only kept in touch with Lorne because she provides you with a service.
He rolled his shoulders, disliking how he could kind of see the truth in his mother’s gentle criticism. “I’ll text them more,” he allowed.
“How are you enjoying being home?” Tara asked.
Like he was home. Pleasure. Hurt. The joy of being in his family’s old home, his home. The pain of reopening old wounds with his grandfather.
She nodded when he was silent. “You don’t have to answer. Katrina’s dog seems to like you.” She came closer and brushed a speck of dirt off his shoulder. “That’s unusual for you.”
That statement he didn’t take offense to, because it was a fact. They hadn’t been able to keep any indoor dogs when he was young because of how little they cared for Jas.
It had hurt his feelings when he was a child. Animals had a sixth sense about people, right? What did it mean when they decided you weren’t worthy? “Doodle tolerates me.” Which was the best he could expect from any four-legged creature.
“That’s a sign.”
“What’s the sign with other creatures who don’t tolerate me?” he asked dryly. He’d never been able to suspend skepticism for his mother’s talk of signs and fate, not even when he was a child.
“That they weren’t yours, of course.”
What did that even mean? He changed the subject. “What are you really doing here?”
Her lower lip stuck out in a pretty pout. “I told you, everyone’s here, and I felt left out.”
“You told Grandpa that I was home, didn’t you? That’s why he came back early? That’s why you haven’t called me since I got here, because you knew I’d know?”
She drew herself up, the picture of outraged sensibilities. “Of course not.”
Jas studied her. Her lip twitched at the corner, which gave her away. His mom had a decent poker face, but she’d never been able to control that lip twitch when she was lying. “I don’t believe you.”
“Well, you can believe me or not.”
He sighed. “Don’t bullshit me, Mom.”
Her lips firmed, and she turned away from him, taking a couple of steps away to the counter. “I spoke with Bikram yesterday night.”
“Ah.” His brother had snitched about the fight.
She examined an apple in the fruit bowl, then gave Jas a determined, toothy smile. “I am not going to let this foolish feud between you and your grandfather go on any longer.”
Jas clenched his teeth together. “He’s acting like a child.”
“And so are you! Go to the damn ceremony, Jasvinder. It’ll be in the high school auditorium, for crying out loud, in the midst of an event you know quite well. The only people there will be other people from this town, people you grew up with.”
He didn’t know any of those individuals anymore, but he couldn’t tell her that when she’d just criticized him for not keeping in touch with friends.
Tell her why you can’t go to the parade. “I can’t,” was all he said.
Tara collected herself and breathed deep. “You’re killin’ me, Smalls. One of you has to bend, and I can tell you from experience it will not be my father. I refuse to see you disowned over this foolishness.”
He folded his arms over his chest, in an effort to stifle the sharp pain that went through him at the thought of his grandfather cutting him out of the family. “I don’t want to be disowned.”
“Then do what he wants!”
“I can’t!”
A throat cleared, and he and his mom both looked to the doorway. Katrina’s hair was wet and slicked back from her freshly scrubbed face. She’d changed into a pair of leggings and an oversized sweatshirt, and she looked far younger than she was. “I’m so sorry to interrupt.”
“It’s okay.” Tara gave Katrina a wry smile. “You must think we only yell in this family. I heard you were present for the blowup yesterday.”
“I was.” Katrina took a step into the kitchen. Doodle wasn’t at her side, which meant her shadow had probably fallen asleep upstairs. The creature sure slept a lot. “I know it was hard on Jas.”
He rubbed his jaw, ill at ease with both the sympathy in Katrina’s eyes and this whole conversation. If they kept talking, he’d have to keep talking, and there were so many things he never wanted to talk about. “We don’t need to have this conversation.”
“Yes, we do,” Tara said firmly. “And we’ll have it tonight, at dinner, together.”
Another family dinner? He groaned. “No. Mom . . .”
“For me, Jasvinder.”
Damn it. He stared down at his feet. The thought of going back to the big house for another meal around that table. Ugh. “Fine.”
“Let’s do it here,” Katrina interjected.
He lifted his head. “Here?”
“We can have everyone come here for dinner. I would be happy to cook.”
Tara clicked her tongue. “Oh no. You’re a guest here, Katrina.”
“Right, and I would love to give you some small repayment for hosting me. Cooking is a pleasure for me, truly.”
Tara’s brow creased. “A pleasure? That I don’t understand.”
“If you’d rather not have it here because of my presence, I’m happy to give your family private time to talk.”
“No,” he said sharply. “Anything we say can be said in front of you.”
Tara looked between them with barely suppressed delight, and he realized immediately he’d made a tactical error. He’d been acutely aware Daisy had been subtly grilling Katrina last night in his mother’s absence. His mom was cool and relaxed and all, but she still wanted her eldest son married off with grandbabies on the horizon. “I mean . . .”
“We had dinner at the big house last night, is all,” Katrina noted. “It might be best to try a reconciliation in a different setting.”
Tara’s eyes widened. “Oh, yes. Without the negative vibes clouding anyone’s auras.”
“Ah.” Katrina cocked her head. “Sure.”
Tara nodded. “Excellent idea. This is so exciting, it’s been so long since we had a meal like this in the little house. I will help you cook, Katrina.”
“You don’t want my mom to help you cook,” Jas muttered, and glared at his mother when she reached up and tugged on his ear. Hard.
“Don’t be disrespectful,” Tara ordered. “I was thinking more along the lines of running any errands, acting the sous-chef. My mean son is right, I’m not the best of cooks.”
“Sure. I’d like that. Let me make you a list.”
Tara smiled sweetly at him. “In the meantime, Jas, why don’t you go get cleaned up? You have dirt all over your back. Those mishaps when you’re making hay can leave you filthy.”