Home to the Burgh…

Eva

The back of Asher’s SUV is packed tight with cases of Tapped Out maple syrup. The bottles clink on the lumpy highway near Punxsutawney as we make our way west, toward Pittsburgh. I reach across the console and rest my hand on my fiancé’s thigh, reveling in getting to call him that a year into the title. He covers my hand with his own, and we drive like that for a while, connected and quiet, the highway unraveling ahead of us.

Instead of relaxed, I’m chewing my thumbnail and mentally cycling through everything that could go wrong at Tapped Out while I’m gone.

“Gran has run a farm for fifty years,” Asher says, reading my spiral without looking at me. “She can handle a bed-and-breakfast for one weekend.”

“What if the guests have questions about the maple process?”

“Diego knows the maple process better than you do.”

“What if Baabara gets into the guest rooms?”

“Baabara will keep the guests in line. That’s basically her job description.” He squeezes my hand. “Pepper will keep her in line.”

I lean my head against the window and watch Pennsylvania scroll by. It’s July, and everything is absurdly green, the hills folding into each other like a rumpled quilt. I’ve made this drive a handful of times now—Fork Lick to Pittsburgh. It’s a seven-hour adventure, and I’m glad to have Asher with me this time to take turns driving.

Each trip has felt different. The first time I went east, I was alone and terrified, driving to a town I’d never heard of to claim property from relatives I didn’t know existed. Now that place is my home, yet I’m heading “home” to the city with a car full of product and a fiancé who is pretending he’s not nervous about seeing all my sisters at once on my home turf.

“You okay?” I ask him.

“Fine.”

“You’re gripping the wheel like it threatened to shave you.”

He loosens his hands. “There will be a lot of people at Esther’s house.”

“It’s my family.”

“Right. A lot of very loud, very opinionated people who will ask me personal questions and expect eye contact.”

“You survived the soft opening. You survive Bedd family dinners on the reg. You can handle a barbecue.”

“I meant…” He closes his eyes briefly, which is alarming on a highway. “I meant you’re easy to be around. For me. You specifically. But you know large groups make me sweaty.”

I pat his arm. “I packed deodorant.”

We hit 279 south, and the landscape shifts. Suburbs give way to the built-up corridor, and then we crest that last hill, and Pittsburgh opens up below us. The skyline punches through the haze, the rivers glinting in the afternoon sun, bridges strung across the water like stitches holding the city together.

I sit up straighter.

I thought coming back would feel complicated. I left Pittsburgh as the baby Storm, the sister without a plan, the one who couldn’t hold a job or finish a class. But as the city fills the windshield, all I feel is joy. Pure, stupid, uncomplicated joy. This is where my sisters are. This is where Esther built us a home when we had nothing. And I’m coming back to it with something of my own.

“You’re smiling,” Asher observes.

“I’m happy.”

“Good.” He exits the highway, and we zip up the hills of the north side like goats chasing wildflowers. “You should be.”

We wind toward Manchester and Esther’s yellow house. Asher follows my directions without complaint, though I can tell by the tension in his jaw that the city noise is already getting to him. A fire truck screams by, and he winces.

“Almost there,” I promise.

And then we turn onto Esther’s street, and I see them.

All of them. A category eight Storm.

Esther is on the front porch chewing her nails, Koa beside her looking enormous and calm. Eden and Nate are in the yard—Eden’s got her hair up and her sleeves rolled, like she’s been working on something. Eila and Ben are sitting on the porch steps, Ben studying something on his phone while Eila gestures at the overgrown flower beds where Maurice is digging. Eliza and Reed are leaning against their truck, and Eliza has brought two goats on leashes… of course.

There’s a banner strung between the porch posts. It says welcome home in hand-painted letters, the Os replaced with little maple leaves. 

“Oh no,” I manage, my throat already closing.

“You okay?”

“They made a sign.” My voice comes out strangled. “With maple leaves.”

Asher puts the car in park and looks at me. “Do you need a minute?”

“I need several minutes. I need a whole day.” I press my hands to my face. “Why am I crying? I knew they’d be here.”

“Because they’re yours,” he says simply. “And you missed them.”

I don’t get the minute I asked for, because Eden spots the car and lets out a shriek that probably registers on seismographs. The yard erupts. My sisters are moving toward us in a wave of dark hair and open arms, and I barely get my door open before Eliza reaches in and hauls me out.

“You’re here!” Eden grabs me from Eliza and squeezes until my ribs creak. “Esther, she’s here!”

“I can see that,” Esther calls from the porch, but she’s already walking toward us, faster than her cool composure usually allows. She doesn’t grab me or shout. She puts her hands on my shoulders and looks at me—really looks, the way she’s done since I was small, checking to make sure I’m fed and whole and okay.

“Hi,” I say, and my voice breaks on the single syllable.

“Hi, baby.” She pulls me in and holds on. Over her shoulder, I watch Koa shake Asher’s hand and then pull him into one of those back-clapping hugs that men do when they’re trying not to show emotion. Asher endures it with minimal visible suffering.

Nate helps unload the syrup while Reed holds Maurice in his arms. Eliza’s goats have discovered Esther’s flower beds and are already being scolded by Eila, who is genuinely distressed about the hostas.

Inside, Esther’s house smells different than it used to. Better. Koa has something roasting in the oven, and there’s a pitcher of something golden and fizzy on the counter.

“Is that your Hokey Pokey special?” I ask, pointing.

Koa grins. “New recipe. I used your spring batch syrup.”

“He’s been experimenting all week,” Esther says. “The kitchen smells like a pancake house.”

“You loved it,” Koa says.

“I tolerated it.” But I can tell from Esther’s face that she loves incorporating my Tapped Out syrup into her cocktails. And that feels like a true full circle moment for me.

We crowd into the living room, all ten of us plus goats that shouldn’t be inside and Maurice, who is losing his mind with excitement. It’s too many people for the space. Elbows bump and drinks slosh and someone steps on someone else’s foot, and Nate ends up sitting on the floor because there aren’t enough seats.

It’s perfect.

“So,” Eden says, tucking her feet underneath her on the couch. “Tell us about the festival. What’s the plan? What’s the booth look like? Do you need help setting up?”

“Yes,” all four of my sisters say in unison before I can answer.

Asher catches my eye from across the room, where he’s wedged between Ben and the arm of the couch. Ben is showing him something on his phone—probably construction inspection data—and Asher looks almost comfortable. He raises his eyebrows at me, a question and encouragement, and I nod.

I look around the room at these people. Esther, who gave up her twenties to raise us and found love with a man from the other side of the world. Eden, who talks to bees and married the guy who groveled. Eila, who doesn’t approve of rules but fell in love with a guy who requires them for his sanity. Eliza, whose goats are currently eating my sister’s curtains while her boyfriend quietly computes how much fiber they’re consuming.

And Asher. My grumpy, brilliant, tender yeti, who brought the internet to an entire town and shows me every day how hard he’s trying to accept his past.

A year ago, I was ignoring certified mail and wondering what I was supposed to do with my life. Now I know. Build things. Feed people. Bring my worlds together. And love fiercely in the space between.

“Okay,” I say, pulling my binder from my bag with a flourish that makes Asher proud and Esther suspicious. “Here’s the plan.”

My sisters lean in. The goats chew. Koa pours drinks. And I begin.

Thank you so much for following my Storm sisters! Catch up with Esther in Last Call or read Lia and Ethan’s love story in Since You’ve Bean Gone.