Page 4 of L.O.V.E

Mom mumbled, “I always hated that name.”

I tapped her mug again. “Amen to that.”

Dad strode into the room, his thick gray hair wet from his shower, his shirt unbuttoned, his belt buckle undone. “What are we celebrating?” he asked, sleepy eyes brightening when he looked at Mom.

He slid a weathered hand over her hip, up her spine, then settled on the nape of her neck before pulling her close. A kiss on her forehead. Next, her nose. Then downward to devour her lips. He pulled back, whispered, “Yummy,” making Mom giggle. He then topped off his assault with a sharp smack to her ass. Same routine, every morning, for as long as I could remember. Swear to the good Lord above, Charles and Linda King fell more in love every passing day.

“Mornin’, Nugget.” Dad kissed the top of my head, grabbed the drink out of my hand, and took a long swig.

Holding my coffee hostage, he stared at me long and hard. “Well?”

“I’m happy to report that Holden will not be the father of your grandchildren. It’s over.”

“That’s my girl.” He ruffled my hair. “I always hated his name. Besides,” Dad continued, “he wasn’t your soulmate.” Dad wiggled his eyebrows and turned to the sink before I could shoot him a glare.

“He’s right.” Mom never wasted an opportunity to remind me I’d met my soulmate in the hospital on the day I was born. “You’re going to marry a man named Caleb.”

“Yeah. Yeah. Well, when will I meet this Caleb? I’m gonna be an old maid soon.”

“I wish I knew, baby.” Mom held a palm to her heart. “Fate works on its own top secret schedule.” She bent to pull something out of the cupboard and said while out of sight, “I wish I wouldn’t have lost that woman’s number. I just know we could’ve been great friends.”

Legend had it my mother and my soulmate’s mother had met in the maternity ward while walking the hallways late at night in hopes of speeding up their labor.

I’d heard the story countless times but never tired of the way Mom’s eyes glazed over when she relived that memory.

“Was the funniest thing.” Her voice now muffled, she continued. “You cried and cried. And the second I held you next to that little baby boy, you stopped and smiled. At barely two days old, you smiled.”

Unlikely, I know, but there was no convincing Mom otherwise. Not for lack of trying.

On and on, she went. Dad, still at the sink but now facing me, finished my mug of coffee while he brewed another cup, this time in a travel mug, his gaze glued to Mom’s ass while she dug through the cupboard.

When she surfaced with an ancient brown-tinted glass cake pan, I gasped. “Oh. My. God. You’re making Auntie Mercy’s Mud Cake?”

“For dinner this weekend.” She blew a lock of dirty blond hair out of her face.

“Lacey’s gonna weep with joy when I tell her.” The chocolate gooey concoction had been the star attraction at every family gathering since I was in diapers and had nursed Lacey and I through many adolescent dramas.

Mom winked, her smile triumphant. “Well, an epic breakup deserves epic cake.”

“You’re the best mom ever.”

“I know.”

I hopped off the stool. “I gotta get to work.” I kissed my mother, then Dad, snatching the travel mug from his fingers.

He chuckled. “Love ya, Nugget.”

“Love you guys. See you Sunday.”

“Go ahead and say it.” I stopped outside the painted brick building and pulled Lacey clear of a hurried delivery woman.

My best friend batted her thick, dark lashes, smirked, and then said, “I told you so.”

“You so did.”

“So, you just walked away. You don’t know if he’s alive or dead?”

“Oh, he’s alive. Blowing up my phone. Mad I’m not pining over him at the hospital.” I slapped a hand over my forehead. “God, what was I thinking with that guy?”

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