Page 60 of Nave
The laugh barked out of me.
“She doesn’t need to deal with things like this right now.”
“You know what I think?”
“What’s that?”
“That you should trust a woman to know what she wants and needs. So you shouldn’t be making those decisions for her.”
There was a clapping noise behind me, making me turn to find my mother standing there.
“Hey, Ma.”
“I have no clue what the larger context of the conversation is, but I agree wholeheartedly with your father on that last bit. Did you figure out what’s wrong with him?”
“He’ssitting right here,” I grumbled.
“Yeah, just sorted it out.”
“Should I be making soup, prepping the spare room, or calling the local treatment center?”
None of that said with judgment.
If I needed a hot meal, a place to sleep, or to head into detox, they were there and they weren’t going to make me feel like shit about it. And since they’d been very open with their own addiction struggles, and we’d all been aware of how that could run in families, they kept an eye on that kind of thing. But so did I. And I never had any issues on that front.
“I wouldn’t mind a home-cooked meal,” I admitted. “But I think I’d rather Dad made it.”
“I’ll go ahead and not be offended by that since I prefer his cooking as well.”
“Your son finally caught feelings for a woman.”
“Have you?” she asked, eyes bright. My mom was far from a nag, but I saw the way she looked at everyone else’s grandbabies. And I was her only shot at having any.
“She’s pregnant,” he went on. Yes, my dad was a vault. But my mom had full access. As she should.
“Not with my baby,” I was quick to clarify.
“Okay. I see what I walked in on now. But I agree with your father. You don’t get to decide for her if she’s in a place for a relationship or not. That’s her choice. Don’t be a jerk. I raised you better.”
A laugh burst out of me, taking me out of my chair and walking over to plant a kiss on her cheek.
“Yes, you did,” I agreed. “Now, about that food…”
“I’ll whip something up,” my father said, draining his coffee, then getting up.
“But you’re not sitting at my table all covered in grass and sweat,” my mother warned. “Go shower. Steal some of your father’s clothes.”
I did just that.
I was overcome with how good it felt to go home sometimes, to get that hit of comfort and nostalgia that only your parents could provide.
“What’s this?” I asked when I was about to leave, and my father came out with a large storage container.
“An excuse to go see your girl,” he said, handing it over with one hand, and clamping me on the shoulder with the other. “Trust yourself, kid. You will know if you are wanted or not. Don’t overcomplicate shit. Life is difficult enough. Thanks for mowing the lawn.”
With that, he went back inside with my mom.
I walked away feeling fifty pounds lighter.
