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“Whatcha doing?” I ask playfully as I get out of my van and close my door.
He stands and removes his work gloves. “I ran to the hardware store this morning to get the supplies I need for your porch swing. I want to be done with it today because I have court tomorrow morning, but we’ll see how far I get.” My giddy smile must throw him because he crosses his arms and raises an eyebrow at me. “What?”
“Nothing,” I shake my head. “I just can’t believe you’reactuallygoing to make me a porch swing!”
“I said I would,” he teases and pulls me against his body and wraps his hands around my waist.
I reach up and thread my fingers behind his neck. “It’s been twelve years and I’m still waiting for you to take out the trash without being prompted.” I tease and giggle.
His icy stare and narrowed eyes cause me to chuckle even louder.
“Ha. Ha. I’ll give you something to laugh about.” He pokes his fingers in between my ribs and wiggles.
Even though I’m not ticklish, the sharp jabs have me squirming as I try to get away from him. When I finally break free, I stick my tongue out at him.
“I’ll give you somewhere to put that tongue too,” he jokes, his eyebrows bouncing up and down.
Pretending to pout, I say, “I would, but I need to shower and get to lunch with my mom. I do have something special planned for you on our intimate date tomorrow night though.”
His lips turn up after I wink at him. “Oh yeah? What is it?”
“I’m not telling.” I give him a rough peck on the cheek, then make my way inside to get ready.
An hour later, I walk into the little Italian bistro for lunch with my mom. This has been her favorite restaurant for as long as I can remember. It’s a quaint place with clay-colored walls, candles, and fresh flowers on each table. There’s rustic artwork of wine vineyards and famous landmarks in Italy on the walls.
I spot her at the table, and I wave as I make my way over.
“Hey, Mom.”
“Hey, Darling. How are you today?” She stands and we hug for a moment before we take a seat.
“I’m really good.” I pick up my menu to pursue. “I’m really glad we could do this. So, what’s new with you?”
“Well, the flowers I planted a few weeks ago are finally starting to thrive. My book club just agreed on a thriller, which I’m honestly not looking forward to.” I smile at her knowing she’s never been one for any sort of discomfort or negative emotions. “And your father keepings telling me he’s going to retire, but you and I know he never will.” She laughs quietly to herself.
“Yeah, I think he’d be so confused without work.”
“Most definitely. How are things going for you?”
“I’m good too. The kids have been enjoying school and Marco has been swamped at work lately.”
“Yes, but what aboutyou?” She asks with a sincerity in her eyes that makes me pause.
I’m torn between telling her all about how I’ve been finding myself lately and how Marco and I have been focusing on our relationship more, or just sticking with a surface-level answer.
She and I have never really had a deep relationship. She’s been very supportive my whole life, but the uncomfortable topics are usually ones we just skip over.
When I was a teenager and ready to have sex for the first time with Marco, I consulted Jess. When I’m struggling with my transition to motherhood, I joined a support group for new mothers. When I need advice on pretty much anything else, I consulted the Internet.
After Jonathan was born, she came over to make us meals and keep my house clean, which I was super grateful for, but we never once had a conversation about how I was actually feeling. When I would cry silently on the couch while nursing him because everything felt so new and out of my depth, she’d place a plate of food next to me with some warm tea, wipe away my tears with a sympathetic smile, and then go back to washing the dishes or doing the laundry. No words were ever exchanged, but she was always there.
She’s been a wonderful grandmother to all my kids too. She always shows up for them and is there for Marco and me when we need her help. The depth of her love for my kids is clear every time she’s around them, and I couldn’t be more grateful for it.
I still haven’t spoken as I’m unsure how to proceed.
Do I share with her where I’m at in this season of my life or gloss over it like all the past seasons?
Sensing my hesitation, she reaches her hand over the table and lays it on mine. “You seem different, dear. Anything going on you want to talk about?”
