Page 36 of This Much Is True
He looks up, surprised.
“Answer it,” I say, nodding my insistence. “Always talk to your mom if she wants to talk to you.”
A slow smile slips across his lips as he turns on the speakerphone. “Hi, Momma.”
“Where have you been?” Maggie Marshall asks her son. “I waited for you all day to come and get some beans and cornbread.”
He winks at me. “Mrs. Marshall, I don’t like your tone.”
“Lucas Marshall, I’ll kick your behind if you call me that again.”
Luke laughs. “Settle down. I’m only kidding.”
I sit back and listen to them chatter back and forth.
The Marshalls have always shared a close bond. Maggie and Lonnie, Luke’s parents, always ensured a strong connectionbetween their children—and it stuck. I always loved going to their house. As soon as you walk in, you’re surrounded by an indescribablegoodness. They fill your stomach with food, your heart with laughter, and your soul with love. You can’t walk away from the Marshalls and not leave feeling better than you did when you arrived.
Strangely enough, that was one of the things I missed about home when I moved to Nashville. Not my own childhood home or walking into my mother’s kitchen. It was walking into the Marshall world where people connected. People cared. It’s where people simply love on you because they know you well and love you unconditionally.
“Next week, I promise you I’ll be at church,” Luke says, rolling his eyes at me.
I smile at him.
“You better be,” Maggie says. “You’ve missed three weeks in a row. One more week, and it’ll constitute a habit. It’s been a long while since I showed up at your house and honked my horn until you came out for church, but I’ll do it again.”
“What has gotten into you?” Luke asks, laughing. “Did you get into the communion wine again?”
I snort, holding a hand over my mouth so Maggie doesn’t hear me.
“Lucas.” She sighs heavily. “I need to go. You’re turning me gray.”
“Why do I get blamed for everything?It’s always me. Never Chase, the one who gets in tall buckets and plays with electricity all day. It’s never Gavin, the bartender. You never blame Mallet, and he gets paid to punch people. And God knows it’s not Kate.”
“Be good. I love you, Luke.”
“Love you, Momma.”
“Say your prayers.”
“I will. Good night.”
“Good night, baby boy.”
I wait until Luke ends the call to speak.
“Aw, Luke. That was the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard.”
He takes a bite of his spaghetti. “What part? The one where she said I’m turning her gray or the part where she called me her baby boy?” He shakes his head. “She’s confused, I think. She doesn’t make sense.”
“Oh, I think she makes perfect sense. You’re the baby boy, so you’re the one turning her gray.”
“Technically, Gavin is the youngest boy in the family.” His brows rise. “See? She makes zero sense.”
I laugh. “I wish my mother was like Maggie. I can’t even remember the last time my mom called me.”
His chewing slows. “Really?”
“Really. Once Dad and I started … not seeing eye to eye on everything, she checked out of my life.” I poke at a chunk of meat in the sauce on my plate. “We were never super close anyway, but we’re even less close now. I don’t know whether Dad made her choose sides or if she just isn’t interested in me anymore. Whatever it is, before last weekend, I had only seen my mother a handful of times over the past year.”
