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She had a way of studying people, an ability she'd honed over the years as a therapist. Her gaze lingered on me, and I began to feel self-conscious.
Finally, unable to bear the intensity of her stare any longer, I turned to her.
"Mom, is everything okay? You've been looking at me like you're trying to figure something out."
My mother's expression softened, and she gave me a reassuring smile.
"Oh, dear, I'm just glad to have you home. It's been a while since you visited, and you know how I worry about you. It sounds like you’re doing well, though."
I returned her smile, feeling a sense of relief wash over me.
"I am, Mom. Things are good."
Our conversation flowed smoothly as we ate and talked about everything, from my cat back in New York to my plans for the future.
I mentioned that I had an automatic feeder for Teddy, which my parents found amusing. Teddy had always been a source of comfort and companionship, and I missed him dearly.
As the evening wore on, we continued to catch up. My mother shared stories from her therapy practice, offering insights into her clients' lives without revealing confidential information.
My father, a retired army Lt. Col., reminisced about his days in the service and regaled us with tales from his military adventures.
Once dinner was over, I insisted on helping to clear the table. My mother initially protested, but it was the least I could do after the delicious meal.
As I carried dishes to the kitchen, my father followed me, offering to help with the cleanup.
"You know, Elizabeth," he said, his tone a bit more serious, "If there's ever anything on your mind, you can talk to us. We're here for you, no matter what."
I appreciated his sincerity and knew he could tell there was something I was holding back and hadn’t mentioned it yet.
"Thanks, Dad. I know that, and it means a lot to me."
My parents had always been there for me, offering guidance and support through the ups and downs of life. Although I hadn't planned this visit, I realized it was exactly what I needed — a reminder of the unwavering love and acceptance that only family could provide.
As I carefully stacked the dinner plates in the dishwasher, I could feel a sense of contentment. The meal had been delicious, and the atmosphere was warm and welcoming.
Standing in the doorway watching me do the dishes, my mother stepped towards me and asked, "Elizabeth, are you pregnant?"
The plate I held slipped from my fingers, and my heart raced as it tumbled back into the sink with a clatter.
Breathing heavily, I stared at my mother in disbelief.
“What?"
"How???"
"How did you guess?"
"How did you know?"
My mother smiled through teary eyes and shook her head.
"I'm your mother, dear, and I'm a woman. You can't hide these things from me."
She opened her arms, and I hurried into her embrace, crying right along with her. I was so happy that she had guessed, and I no longer had to worry about how she would react.
I pulled back and sighed, feeling the weight of the truth closing in on me. I sat at the kitchen table, and my father joined me, rubbing my back like he did when I was a child, concern etched on his face.
He leaned forward and rested his hands on the table.
