Meeting her father and brothers… I hadn’t thought of that.

“Splendid,” my mother pipes up from behind, and my head whips in her direction as she approaches the table. “I would love to meet your parents, Winter. Have they met Aleck yet?”

“Mom…” I say, shaking my head, guarding Winter from having to answer uncomfortable questions about her mother and our relationship.

My mom settles into the seat across from Winter, dipping her brows curiously.

“No, he hasn’t. We’ve only just met, really.” She giggles, shifting in her seat. “Not that I’m not thrilled to be here. You all are wonderful”

My full hand presses into her skin, my fingers slipping over and under the silk of her shirt rhythmically.

“Well,” my mom continues. “I can’t wait to gab with your mother about you two—”

“Mom,” I cut her off. My eyes widening in her direction.

“Aleck, it’s fine.” Winter places her hand on my thigh. It’s a slight movement, but one that calls attention to my strong need to protect her. “My mother is no longer with us, Midge.”

My mom gasps quietly, her hand reaching for her necklace as she collects the pearl pendant into her fingertips. “Oh, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s alright. Honestly…” Winter straightens in her seat confidently. “No one asks about her. She’s a sore subject for my family, but that’s always bothered me. If I can’t talk about her, I can’t celebrate her memory, can I?”

The guilt I feel for researching the information without asking her myself is leaving a sour taste in the back of my throat. I’m so used to controlling my environment with research and knowledge about everything that surrounds me, I never considered human interaction is what Winter needed. A conversation, comfort, eye contact…

All things I’m not used to being comfortable with. Though, I suppose I’d like to try. With Winter.

“I’m very close with my dad and brothers,” she continues. “We get together every Sunday for dinner, but we never talk about my mom. After she passed, no one ever mentioned her to me. Mostly because I’m her spitting image. We were exactly alike; We looked alike, sounded the same, we had the same interests and tastes, we even sang together.”

“You sing? How lovely,” my mom says with a sweet smile, eating up every word that comes from Winter’s mouth like it’s gospel.

“She stops you dead in your tracks with that voice,” I say, making my mother clutch her necklace harder.

“How romantic,” she purrs.

Jesus. This is like Christmas for my mother.

“We have a bit of a musician in our midst as well,” my mom muses, eyeing my father.

“Oh, Midge,” he chuckles, shaking his head.

Winter’s smile turns into a grin, overshadowing the beautiful sunset in front of us. “Do you sing, Richard?” she asks.

“No. I can’t hold a tune if my happiness depended on it. I play the piano, dear.”

“I absolutely love the piano. I’ve always believed it to be one of the most beautiful instruments. I would love to hear you play.”