Page 21 of Where We Call Home

Balancing all the grocery bags in one trip, I barreled through the door and dumped everything on the counter.

I’d start with the pasta first, leaving out the eggs and flour. Mid-washing my hands, my phone started to ring and a picture of my mom popped up on the screen. Quickly, using the towel to dry my hands, I swiped and accepted the video call.

“Hi, Sweetie!” she greeted, her face filling the screen, way too close for comfort. She and I were spitting images; people said I looked like the male version of her. She had black hair, which she kept cut to above her shoulders, and vibrant green eyes.

“Ma, pull the phone back.” I laughed, leaning on the counter.

She huffed and adjusted the angle. “Better?” Behind her, I caught glimpses of a hotel room.

“Where are you?” I asked.

“Rob surprised me with a trip to the city! He knows how much I love to shop.” She grinned like a teenager, clearly thrilled.

My mom and Rob still lived in Faircloud. Even though she was still close, I didn’t get to see her as often as I should have. She worked the night shift as a nurse in the city, which meant she would work when I was getting off. Rob was a saint in that he always supported her and had nothing negative to say about her job. Instead, he gloated about how amazing and committed she was.

We chatted as I worked, but the moment she noticed me making pasta from scratch, her mom instincts kicked in.

“Homemade pasta? Who’s the lucky lady?”

I hesitated. Lying to my mom wasn’t an option. Lying in general wasn’t something I did. “Theo Matthews,” I admitted, keeping my tone casual.

“And you’re making her a meal? From scratch?” Her voice carried a hint of worry. “Isn’t she… pregnant? Oh my God, is it?—?”

“No, Ma. Definitely not. If it were, you’d have known months ago.”

She softened, but doubt still lingered in her eyes. “I’m just looking out for you. I saw what Jess put you through. I don’t want you to get hurt again.”

“I know,” I said, focusing on the dough beneath my hands, kneading it like it could absorb the tension. “It’s just a date. She’s a nice girl, and she needs a friend right now.”

“Are you sure it’s worth it? That’s a lot to take on if this becomes more than just a date.”

I paused, pressing the heel of my palm into the dough a little harder. “I’m not thinking that far ahead. I’m taking baby steps, Ma, trying to get back out there. And she’s a friend. It’s okay, seriously.”

Her expression softened on the screen, worry etched in the lines around her eyes. “I trust you. Just be careful, okay?”

Her words hit deeper than she probably realized. She’d been there, picking up the pieces. My mom had spent countless sleepless nights sitting with me, pushing through her own exhaustion to make sure I didn’t drown in mine. Back then, the bottle had been my crutch, my escape, and she’d been the one forcing me to face the reality I kept trying to avoid.

“I will. Always,” I promised, meeting her gaze.

Still, I needed to steer the conversation away. Even though she said she trusted me, I could hear the judgment in her voice, subtle but unmistakable.

Just because Theo was pregnant didn’t mean she deserved less care or attention. The weight she carried didn’t make her less worthy of kindness or companionship.

Would my mom feel the same skepticism if the baby were already here? If I invited Theo and her child over for dinner, would she still see it as a risk?

The questions churned in my mind as I shaped the dough, but I didn’t voice them. Some battles didn’t need to be fought out loud.

We’d continued our conversation about work and other little stuff before it was time for them to leave for their dinner reservations.

After we hung up, I put the final touches on my meal. Luckily, I had my mom on the phone because it had been a while since I had made this dish. The recipe was hers, which came from her mom, and so on. It was a generational thing.

Cake baking, sauce simmering, everything felt right. When I glanced at the clock, the nerves hit me like a truck.

Was the house clean enough? Would Theo feel comfortable?

Walking around, I made a few last-minute adjustments. I made sure my bed was made and my bathroom cleaned up, and I even wore a little cologne. A lot depended on the first impression.

Should I light a candle for the table? Was that too forward?

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