Chapter 3 — Family Reflections

Gemma

The aroma of roasted chicken filled Lynn Cahill’s cozy kitchen, mingling with the subtle sweetness of honey-glazed carrots and the warm scent of freshly baked rolls. Lynn’s recipe journal lay open on the counter, its leather cover scuffed with age and its pages smudged with flour and faint droplets of gravy. The kitchen table, draped in a well-worn plaid tablecloth, was already set with mismatched plates and silverware, a loving testament to Lynn’s practicality and charm.

Gemma stood at the stove, stirring a pot of mashed potatoes with one hand while steadying Noah with the other as he balanced precariously on a step stool. He leaned over a large mixing bowl, his small hands energetically whisking the gravy under Lynn’s watchful gaze.

“Easy there, sweetheart,” Lynn said with a soft chuckle, gently placing her hand over Noah’s to slow his movements. “We don’t want to wear the gravy instead of eating it.”

Noah giggled, his chestnut brown hair flopping into his eyes as he looked up at his grandmother. “But I’m making it extra good, Grandma!” he declared with an exaggerated puff of his tiny chest. “Just wait till JJ tries it. He’s gonna love it!”

Gemma froze for a split second, the mention of JJ’s name catching her off guard. The wooden spoon in her hand stilled as her fingers tightened around it, her chest constricting as a flicker of unease spread through her. She hadn’t realized how deeply the Play60 event had taken root in Noah’s mind—or how effortlessly her son had adopted JJ as a fixture in his imagination.

“JJ isn’t coming to dinner, Noah,” she said gently, keeping her tone even as she resumed stirring. “This is a family meal. Just us, like always.”

Noah’s enthusiasm dimmed only slightly as he plopped the whisk back into the bowl. “I know,” he said with a small shrug. “But maybe one day he could come. He’s really nice, Mom. And he’s the best football player in the whole world!”

Gemma exchanged a glance with Lynn, who leaned against the counter, her arms crossed and a bemused smile tugging at her lips. Lynn raised her eyebrows meaningfully but said nothing as she reached out to ruffle Noah’s hair.

“Why don’t you go wash your hands, darling?” Lynn said, redirecting him with practiced ease. “Dinner’s almost ready.”

Noah bounded off the stool and dashed out of the kitchen, his little feet thudding against the hardwood floor. His excited voice echoed down the hallway as he launched into an animated retelling of a football play JJ had demonstrated. Gemma let out a soft sigh, setting the pot of potatoes aside.

“I don’t know how to handle this,” she admitted, her voice low but weighted with emotion.

Lynn stepped closer, her warm brown eyes soft with understanding. “Handle what, dear?”

“JJ,” Gemma said, the name feeling strange on her tongue in such an intimate setting. “I mean, he’s not even really part of our lives. But Noah acts like...” She trailed off, struggling to find the right words.

“Like he’s already part of the family?” Lynn offered, her tone careful but perceptive.

Gemma leaned against the counter, her shoulders sagging. “Yes. Exactly that. And the worst part is, I don’t know how to stop it. I can’t tell him not to admire JJ—he’s a good role model, and Noah needs that. But I can’t let him get too attached, either.” Her voice faltered, trembling slightly. “I just can’t bear the thought of Noah being disappointed again.”

Lynn reached out, resting a comforting hand on Gemma’s arm. “You’ve always been a wonderful mother, Gemma. Protective, loving, and strong. But sometimes, protecting Noah might mean letting him take small risks—letting him hope, even if it scares you.”

Gemma shook her head, her throat tight. Her hand drifted instinctively to the Claddagh necklace at her throat, her thumb brushing over the cool, engraved heart. The familiar weight of the pendant reminded her of both the strength she’d built and the vulnerabilities she still carried. “But what if it’s too risky?” she whispered, her words barely audible.

Lynn’s gaze grew distant, her expression shadowed by memories Gemma recognized all too well. “When your father passed, I thought the same thing,” Lynn said quietly. “I thought the best thing I could do for you was shield you from pain, to keep the world at arm’s length. But life doesn’t work that way, sweetheart. Pain finds its way in, no matter how hard we try to block it out. What matters is how we face it—and who we let stand with us when it comes.”

The words struck something deep within Gemma, cutting through the defenses she’d so carefully built. Her chest tightened as she blinked rapidly, trying to hold back the sting of unshed tears. She opened her mouth to respond, but the sound of Noah’s voice carried back into the kitchen before she could find the words.

“Grandma, can we say grace tonight?” Noah asked, climbing onto a chair at the table and swinging his legs excitedly beneath him.

Lynn’s face brightened with a soft smile as she glanced at Gemma, who gave a small nod, grateful for the reprieve.

“Of course, darling,” Lynn said, smoothing her apron as she took her seat. “Why don’t you lead us?”

Noah clasped his hands together, his hazel eyes glowing with a mix of excitement and sincerity. “Thank you for this food, and for Grandma and Mom, and for JJ, ‘cause he’s the best football player in the whole world and a really nice guy,” he said in one breath, his youthful exuberance earning a chuckle from both women.

“And please let Mom take me to a football game one day,” he added, shooting a hopeful glance at Gemma before finishing with a hurried “Amen!”

Gemma’s chest ached as she watched her son’s innocent joy, a pang of fear curling alongside the pride she felt for him. She forced a small smile as she served him a generous helping of chicken and mashed potatoes, her movements automatic as her mind wrestled with her mother’s earlier words.

As the meal passed in a blur of laughter and lighthearted conversation, with Noah recounting his imaginary football plays and Lynn sharing nostalgic anecdotes of Gemma’s childhood, Gemma found herself stealing glances at her son. His boundless enthusiasm lit up the room, his joy so pure and unguarded that it made her heart ache. For a fleeting moment, she let herself imagine a world where she didn’t have to worry—where hope wasn’t something to fear.

Later, when Noah dozed off on the living room couch, curled around his prized autographed football, Gemma lingered in the kitchen with Lynn. They sat at the table, the remnants of dinner spread out between them.

“You’re overthinking again,” Lynn said gently, breaking the comfortable silence.

Gemma raised an eyebrow, a faint smile tugging at her lips despite the tension still knotting her chest. “I can’t help it. It’s what I do.”

Lynn reached across the table, taking her daughter’s hand in hers. “Noah loves you, Gemma. And you’ve given him everything he needs to grow into the kind, resilient boy he is. But love—real love—means taking risks. If you keep shutting out every possibility because it might hurt, you’ll both miss out on so much joy.”

Gemma stared at their joined hands, her throat tightening as the truth of her mother’s words settled over her. She didn’t know if she was ready to take that risk. But as she glanced toward the living room, where Noah lay dreaming with a peaceful smile on his face, she realized she might not have a choice.

For him, she would have to find a way to try.