We clean up while Mom brings out a tray of iced tea and lemonade, along with some kind of homemade treat. Black raspberry scones—still warm, of course.
I stand next to Karissa, finishing mine in three quick bites. She holds Cora and eats hers slower, more carefully. Cora watches her chew like she’s fascinated, her round eyes following every bite.
“You ready to go then?” I ask.
Karissa adjusts Cora on her hip. Before she can answer, Cora leans out of her arms toward me.
“Oh?” Karissa says, eyebrows raised.
I reach out and take her. “You never want me,” I mutter, settling her against my chest. “What’s that about?”
She just grins up at me, a drooly smile accompanied by the famous Jennings dimple popping on her left cheek.
“She probably just doesn’t like me,” Karissa says with half a laugh.
“Oh stop,” I say. “She’s not crying; that’s always a plus.”
When we get back home, Karissa heads straight for the shower. While she’s in there, I pull something from the closet I picked up for her a few days ago, then load the dishwasher while I wait for her to come out.
When she does, steam drifts out of the bathroom behind her. Her brown-and-blonde hair is damp, already starting to curl.
Her face doesn’t look much different without makeup, still just as pretty as when she wears it.
“What?” She freezes. Probably wondering why I’m standing here waiting for her. I uncross my arms and tell myself to relax.
I clear my throat. “I got you something,” I blurt out. “I hope you don’t hate me for it though.”
She blinks but her eyes are soft, “What is it?”
I hand over the brand-new, still boxed-up Bible. The inner walls of my chest feel brittle. I don’t know how she’ll take the gesture. Some people can get offended, defensive, with a gift like this, and that’s the last thing I’m trying to do.
She takes it hesitantly, but she takes it.
“You got me a Bible?”
“Yeah,” I admit, still holding my breath. “It’s a study Bible. Addison’s got the same one, said she likes it.”
She stares at the box, and my heart still hasn’t resumed beating. Another second of silence between us and I might die.
“Thank you,” she finally says, looking at it. “Really. That’s a sweet gesture.” She looks up at me, her tone and eyes tell me she’s being genuine.
I nod and flash a soft smile. “Early Mother’s Day gift.”
“I’m not a mom yet,” she argues.
“Yes you are.”
“She’s not here yet.”
“It doesn’t matter. You’re a mom, whether she’s here or not,” I insist, but she doesn’t look convinced.
“But—”
“Just accept the gift, Karissa, and don’t say you’re not a mother again,” I bite out. It’s sharper than I meant it, but it earns me a small smile anyway. The air shifts. It’s lighter, easier, and I take that as a win.
“I’ll read it tonight, before I go to sleep,” she says.
“Good. I usually do mine in the morning, but that’s just preference.”
