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My concentration remains on turning the spuds into pulp. I'm not sure who to look at or what my reaction should be.
“That's my point, you look so cute doing it. I need a picture.”
She lifts her phone and aims it at us. Carter and I swap glances. I know my face mirrors the suppressed laugh that has his mouth in a little pout.
“Okay, first I want one with you guys doing your thing. Like you don't know I'm here. Let's make it candid.”
Carter picks up a fish filet and holds it over the hot pan with exaggerated gusto. His face is mock serious. I mimic him and lift a grater and banana above the mash with even more gusto.
Honey’s eyes bulge at me, and her head cocks to the side. “What has the poor banana done to deserve such a fate?”
“More importantly, what have our poor palates done to deserve such an atrocious combination?” he quips.
My face remains stoic when I answer. Deadpan. “You wanted candid, well, here’s your candid.”
Carter belts out a hearty laugh which warms my throat. His mom’s face breaks into a smile that warms my heart. I return it, just as bright, and then she takes the first picture.
“Now get closer to your wife, hon. No more monkey games.”
He is next to me in one stride. First he tenderly lifts a rogue braid and tucks it back into my topknot. Next he hangs a strong arm on my shoulders and squeezes me close. I look up into his kind, relaxed face and feel so safe.This has to be real, right?
It feels like we’re alone in the room. Intense heat spreads across my skin, he might as well fry the damn fish on me. I lift a tentative hand to touch his face but land on his chest when I hear his mom speak.
“Is this all for show or is my son really this romantic?”
A flash of panic passes over his face. It’s gone the next time I blink.
“Tell me the truth, Jada. How was he during your honeymoon?” she probes.
My hand moves lazily, feeling the taut, hard flesh beneath his shirt. I tilt my head back and stare deep into his eyes. Snaps of our time at the resort flash through my mind, and I beam up at him. “This is such a small fraction of the kind, caring and attentive man you raised.”
Carter’s eyes shine a bit brighter. I turn to Honey before the lump in my throat spills out through my own.
“Honestly, our honeymoon was a dream. A sweet, sweet dream,” I say to her.
She walks up to us with measured steps. Her face turns to me, then to her son, then she embraces us. As well as a cancer patient can embrace two people.
“I want to hear all about it.” She wipes a lone tear off her cheek. “So hurry up cooking so we can eat and catch up. And don’t mind these tears, I’m just so happy for you.”
Later at the dinner table, we regale her with tales of our escapades at Clearwater. The dancing. The horses. The fun. And, of course, the food. It feels amazing to relive, and I appreciate all over again how much effort he put into making it special.
Honey sits and stares intently at us. Her face flips between passive and animated. A laugh here, a smile or gaped mouth there.
“And she was in full baby talk mode, too,” Carter says.
“I mean, that’s understandable, horses are adorable. But I’m still stuck on the part where you actually got on one.” She clasps her hands together on the table. “You were always so wary of horses. What kind of spell has your lovely wife cast on you?”
The way she says the word wife tears at my chest. Under the table, Carter’s hand finds my knee and rubs it. It’s a gesture of endearment that only makes the pain in my lungs worse. I’m happy here with them, and I want this to be everything it sounds like so bad.
“I’d like to know too. We could package and sell it,” he says, before squeezing my knee where his hand still sits. He leans over and brushes his lips against my temple.
A jolt of electricity runs from the point of contact down to my crotch and sets it alight.Why is he going overboard with the PDA? His mom is already sold. All this extra stuff is just messing with my head.The thoughts race through my mind as Honey’s questions continue.
“How about living together? Has it changed anything between you?”
“No,” I say in earnest. My palms tap the tabletop twice as I think. “I was nervous at first but –” I turn to my husband. “He’s just been so accommodating and wonderful… It almost feels too good to be true.”
The panicked look from earlier stamps his handsome features again. It’s gone when he brings his hand up to lace his fingers with mine. I’m certain Honey’s rose-colored glasses missed it. But I wonder what it means.
