“I love you and I hope you get some sleep.”
She smiles. “I will.”
* * *
It’s been a long, successful day full of laughs, limits met, and satisfied clients.
The main house is pretty quiet when I step inside. The faint hum of the news drifts from the TV in the living room, and I catch the sound of the sink running from the kitchen.
I toe off my boots and leave my keys on the table by the door before turning the corner. Mom’s in the kitchen in her pajamas, scrubbing a pot; the microwave’s humming.
“Hey,” I call out, and she eyes me.
“Hey, what’s up?”
“I’ve been thinking about something, and I kinda want your take…and Dad’s.”
She nods and turns the sink off. “Sure.” She pulls her mug from the microwave and dips her tea bag in it. I follow her to the living room. Dad’s in his recliner, feet up, almost asleep.
“Oh boy,” he says when he sees me. He grunts and sits up.
I laugh and take a seat on the couch while Mom sits in her usual spot on the other couch, pulling a blanket over her legs and getting settled.
“So…” I breathe. “I’m thinking about marrying Karissa.”
Mom’s eyes widen and she grins.
“That sounds like a statement, not a question.” Dad laughs.
I exhale sharply. “Yeah, well…it’s both.” I look down before I look up. “I love her and she feels the same. We’ve talked about the future and are on the same page. It’s just…” I pause, rubbing the back of my neck. “I don’t want to rush into it just because it would make life easier, being under the same roof and all. I want to do it for the right reasons.”
“You think love isn’t a good enough reason?” Dad asks, not rude, just firm.
“No, I know it’s a plenty good reason. But I’ve also done this before, and part of me is still…scared.”
“Does she know you’re scared?” Mom asks.
“Yeah.”
“And what did she say?”
“To trust her. That she’s not Bree.”
“Then trust her,” Dad says in a way that doesn’t warrant an argument.
“I do.”
“She’s not some crazy, off-the-wall, immature girl. She’s a mom,” he insists.
“I know. That’s what makes this heavier, I think.”
“You think you’re ready to take on that role?” Dad asks. I look at him. There’s a softness in his eyes.
“No.” I laugh and shrug. “But I’m gonna give it my best shot.”
“You’re already doing great,” Mom says. “She can’t say enough about you and about how helpful you are.”
“Yeah. I think I’ll be alright. It’s only been a few months, though.” I run the back of my neck and sigh. A few months? That just sounds crazy to me.
