Daydream (Maple Hills, #3)(104)

“My mom has a Boston accent because she’s from Boston. Just to clear up any confusion when you meet her.”

“Got it, smarty-pants. Okay, if she hates me, you have to convince her to give me a second chance because I’m not at my best,” Halle says, buttoning up her cardigan and straightening her dress. She unbuttons her cardigan again. “I don’t know what I’m doing; I’m too hot and flustered.”

“Come on. She’s going to love you,” I say, taking her hand.

Thankfully, Halle doesn’t make me drag her into the kitchen with me, but there’s definitely a hint of reluctance in her walk. I keep hold of her hand so she can’t run away, and as suspected, Mama is adding herbs to a soup pot next to her work laptop and a glass of wine.

“Hi, baby. Soup is almost done.” She looks up from the pot and straight past me to Halle. “Halle, it’s so nice to meet you, honey. I’m Maria.” She twists one of the knobs on the stove and takes off her apron, rounding the kitchen island quickly with her arms open. “Please don’t look so scared. Henry said you haven’t been feelin’ so good. Poor girl.”

Mama embraces Halle, but Halle doesn’t let go of the tight grip she has on my hand. Instead, uses her other hand to receive the hug, and seeing Halle so nervous makes me think maybe I should have just taken her to her doctor’s office instead. When Mama finally lets Halle go she takes my face between her hands and kisses me on the cheek. “Did you get taller?”

“Why are you acting like you didn’t see me last week?” I guide Halle to a seat at the island in front of the pot.

“And why are you acting like you aren’t still growing?” she counters, returning to the stove.

“I didn’t get taller in the last week.”

“Halle, darlin’. Do you want your noodles in your soup or on the side?” Halle looks to me for guidance like it’s some kind of test. “When Henry was a toddler, every few months he’d get strep throat and all he’d eat was chicken noodle soup. But he would not eat it if there were noodles touching his carrots. He wouldn’t tell us that, though; we had to figure out why he was crying through a process of elimination.”

“And I’ve heard about it ever since,” I mutter.

“Talk loud enough to be heard or be quiet, baby,” Mama says, not missing a beat. “I think I cooked more soup than every family on the West Coast that year. So now it’s a family tradition to serve your noodles on the side, but I’ll put yours in the bowl for you if you like.”

“On the side sounds good, thank you,” Halle says, sounding more polite than she’s ever been to me.

Mama and Halle talk. Well, Mama asks Halle questions about where she’s from, what she’s studying, what her hobbies are. And Halle answers in the same polite tone instead of saying, “Leave me alone, I’m sick.” My fingers tap against the marble counter and my foot bobs up and down as I listen to them go on, and on, and on.

“What’s got your feathers ruffled?” Mama says to me with a pointed look.

“Are you going to examine her? She’s really sick.” I have too much energy in my body, and I can’t sit still. I just need to stop obsessing over it, but I can’t. Her expression softens.

“I thought it would be polite to let the poor girl eat a hot meal before I start poking at her, Henry. I hear you’re stubborn, Halle.” Halle’s mouth opens, but no sound comes out. “Which suits my son, who is stubborn as a mule when he wants to be. Isn’t that right, baby?”

Now it’s my turn not to have anything to say, because how am I catching strays when Halle is the one in the wrong?

Mama laughs to herself. “Lookin’ like a couple of goldfish. Let me find a thermometer.”

When she disappears, Halle turns to me. “I can’t believe you told your mom I’m stubborn! She’s going to think I’m difficult and unappreciative now. That’s going to be her first impression of me. I’m not even stubborn; I literally agree to do everything for everyone all the time and that’s why I’m sick.”

If she’s annoyed, then I’m more annoyed. “Exactly. You do everything for everyone all the time and you get sick and you don’t ever put yourself first.”

“It’s never a problem when I’m doing things for you!” she says, and I want to argue back, but she’s right. I treat it differently when it benefits me. “I didn’t mean that, Henry. I’m sorry. I’m just grouchy because I’m tired of being sick. You’re right; I should have gone to the doctor last week. I was just… I don’t have an excuse. I’m sorry I made you so worried.”

“I don’t want to be top of your priority list. I mean, I want to be second, but I want to be after you. I want you to start prioritizing yourself over everyone else.”

“I hear you,” she says. Quickly looking around the room and confirming we’re alone, she leans in to kiss my cheek. “I don’t want to give you my germs.”

“That’s okay. We’ll make up for lost time when you’re better.”



* * *



MAMA SAID HALLE HAS A straightforward—not fatal—illness, and with a few days of real rest, hydration, and medicine she would recover.