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Cornell kept his head down, unable to look Ali’s mother in the eye. He nodded slowly.
“You might feel like she doesn’t need you right now. It’s like that for me too. But I promise,” Bobbi said, tugging his hands so Cornell would look at her, “she does. And she’s going to need you more than anyone going forward. You’re her rock. I need you to keep being her rock, Cornell.”
It was excruciating to be boxed out, to be banished to the sidelines. The idea that he wasn’t in the center huddle calling the plays was unnatural. But Cornell realized, no matter how much it hurt, Ali would need to be the play caller for this one, and he would have to be running the routes she wanted—he needed to be her receiver this time. And Cornell swore he would jump, dive, and hurdle to catch whatever ball she threw his way and carry it as long as she needed without fumbling.
And Bobbi didn’t have it quite right. Cornell might be Ali’s rock, but she was the foundation—strong, sturdy, unwavering—that everything sat upon.
“I’m not going anywhere,” was all Cornell said. “I promise.”
Bobbi tried to smile. “I need to get back.” Letting go of his hand, she pushed off the counter. “I’ll try to have Ali call you. I know she misses you a lot.” Bobbi looked at the food on the counter. “She said to make sure you eat the salad before the pie.”
Cornell forced a small laugh, walking Bobbi out, leaving Mowgli sniffing the counter.
“Cornell,” Bobbi said as he opened the door. She stepped closer and with no hesitation, reached out and hugged him. “I’m so happy she has you. We all are,” Bobbi told him before backing away, keeping her hands on his shoulders. “And for what it’s worth, when all of this passes, I’ll be the happiest mother in the world to call you my son-in-law.”
Eyes widening, Cornell cringed. Shit. “I was going to talk to—”
“John’s got a big mouth. But I’m happy he told me. I don’t know about you, but I could use a rainbow in the middle of this shitstorm, and that one has a pot of gold at the end of it—you.” Bobbi pulled back and stepped through the door. “Salad,” she called over her shoulder, heading to her car.
He watched Bobbi drive away and shut the door, making his way back to the kitchen. Cornell looked at the dishes one by one, each stuck with a yellow Post-it.
Lemon chicken with rosemary potatoes—heat on 375
Breakfast casserole—cut whatever you want and heat in toaster oven.
SALAD (eat first).
Lasagna—heat on 400.
And the pecan pie, Cornell knew what to do, so Ali’s note didn’t include instructions.
I’m so sorry. I love you. Home soon.
Cornell traced her handwriting before opening a drawer for a fork. He pulled back the aluminum foil from the pie dish and sat at the counter, digging in.
