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“You never call this late,” she reminds me.
“I know, I apologize.”
“Well, don’t apologize if nothing’s wrong. It’s just unlike you.”
I can’t help but grin. “Yeah, I know. I’ve done a lot that’s unlike me lately,” I reply, almost absently.
She’s quiet for a few seconds before asking, “Well, are you going to tell me what’s going on?”
“How about dinner tomorrow evening?”
Again, she’s silent on the other end. “Okay,” she finally agrees, but I can hear the hesitancy in that word.
“Can you come here? I’ll cook.”
“Well, sure. What can I bring?”
“Nothing. Freedom will be here, if that’s okay.”
Now, she chuckles and I can practically hear her relax. “Of course it’s okay. I mean, she’s staying there with you while her apartment is worked on, right?”
I clear my throat. I hate I’m lying to her, but this isn’t something you tell your mother over the phone. That’s why I say, “Right.”
“What time?”
“How about five? We can enjoy a few appetizers before dinner at six,” I offer, spelling out my timeline for the evening.
Some things never change.
“I can’t wait,” she says, and I can hear the smile in her voice.
“Great. See you tomorrow,” I tell her.
“Yes. Oh, and, Samuel?”
“Yeah?”
“Are you sure everything’s okay?”
I lean my hip against the counter, spying the marriage certificate still propped against the wall. “Everything’s exactly as it’s supposed to be,” I tell her honestly.
We sign off, and I take a few minutes to make a grocery list for dinner tomorrow night. I’ll grill steaks and portabella mushrooms. Freedom loves the mushrooms with loads of grilled vegetables and cheese. She also prefers chopped potatoes in a foil packet over a big baked potato, so I add a few additional ingredients to my list before setting the paper on the counter for tomorrow.
Making sure the doors are locked for a second time tonight, I grab the glass of water and head back to my bedroom. Our bedroom. I set the glass on the nightstand and slip into bed. “Hey,” I whisper, pulling her into my chest.
“What time is it?” she whispers in a sleepy voice.
I run my hand over her head, loving the way the long locks feel sliding between my fingers. “Almost ten thirty. I brought you some more water.”
She yawns. “If I drink that, I’m going to pee for the tenth time since we got home, and I’m tired of peeing.”
I chuckle as she burrows into my side. “You’re tired of peeing?”
“Yes. They pumped me full of a bag of fluids at the hospital, and you’ve made me drink two glasses of water since we’ve been home.”
Home.I love the way she says it.
“How about just part of the glass?” I coax, moving and reaching for the glass. Freedom grumbles but takes the glass from my hand. She ends up gulping more than half the glass. “Jesus, remind me to never challenge you to a chugging contest.”
