“Okay, yeah, I’ll do that.”
“I’m making chicken parmesan and spaghetti; come up.”
I hesitate. “Are you sure?”
“Of course, sweetheart.”
“Okay, I’ll be there in a few.”
“Great,” she says and we hang up.
I stare at the raw roast again, then glance toward the window where the last bit of daylight is slipping away. I grab my keys and head out the door.
By the time I pull up to the big house, the sun’s setting over the fields, painting everything in a soft orange glow. Maureen’s car is in the drive, but no Leonard.
When I step inside, the smell hits me first—garlic, chicken, tomato sauce. It’s comforting.
“Hey, come in!” Maureen calls from the kitchen. Her smile is immediate when she sees me. “I’m so glad you came! Leonard is helping with something at church tonight.”
“Oh, well, I’m glad to keep you company then.” I shrug with a laugh.
The kitchen feels so different than how it usually is. No loud conversations, no toddlers running around, just the sound of the oven fan and the TV softly playing in the living room.
Maureen hands me a plate and sits across from me. She prays, something short and simple, but there’s this peace to it that I needed.
“I guess Mason’s working late tonight?”
“Yeah,” I say, picking up my fork. “He’s on shift ’til seven.”
She nods, studying me quietly for a moment. “You seem a little…off. Everything alright between you and Mason?”
I sigh. “Yeah, we’re fine. I’m just feeling dumb about the roast, I think.”
She smiles. “You’re not dumb. Ask me how many times I’ve done that.” She tilts her head at me with a laugh.
“Really?” My smile grows.
“Believe me. We’ve had to settle for peanut butter and jelly sandwiches on more than one occasion.” She laughs again and I join her before it fades, then I sigh.
“Yeah, well, I guess It’s just been kind of a long day too.”
“Mmm, I’m sure. School’s starting next week; it’s a lot of stuff to get ready,” she says.
For a second, I think about just going along with her idea of it only relating to school, but something about her tone, and the way she looks at me without judgment, just quiet understanding, comforts me.
“We found out this morning that I’m not pregnant,” I blurt out.
Her expression softens instantly. “Oh, sweetheart, I’m sorry.”
I blink, looking away, I don’t want to cry. But the way she’s looking at me, worried, genuinely concerned for how I’m handling it, makes me crack. My fingers find the corners of my eyes to stop the tears from falling.
“I know it’s ridiculous to be disappointed. It’s the first month. I just…hoped we would be.”
“That’s not ridiculous at all. Hope is never ridiculous.”
I swallow hard. “I just, I mean…there are people who try for years.”
She shakes her head gently. “And that doesn’t make your feelings any less. When you want something deeply, your heart doesn’t keep score on how long you’ve been waiting.”
