The Husband Checklist by Miller Jasmin

Author:Miller, Jasmin
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-11-06T16:00:00+00:00

* * *

After dropping off Ollie and Cora at the airport, I decide to visit my mom on the way back. This underlying urge to see her has become stronger this last week, and I guess it’s long overdue anyway. I rarely come here without her asking me to.

After parking the car at the curb, a few feet away from her bright green mailbox, I walk through the little white gate, spotting her in the middle of her flower beds. When she turns at the noise, the tired expression immediately transforms into a happy one, the smile on her face as warm as it always is when she sees me.

“Carter. What a pleasant surprise.” The words are barely out of her mouth when her smile drops a little. “I didn’t expect you. Is everything okay, honey?”

Of course, she thinks something’s happened when I show up out of the blue. “Yes, Mom. I just thought I’d stop by to see you.”

Not really the truth, but close enough. At my statement, she practically glows, giving the blazing sun some honest competition. Standing up, she takes off her garden gloves and brushes her dark-blonde hair out of her face.

Then she opens her arms wide, waiting for her welcome hug. “It’s so good to see you. It’s been too long.”

“I know, Mom. Sorry I’ve been so busy.” For some reason, I enjoy the embrace more today than I do during most of my visits.

“Doesn’t matter, you’re here now. Should we go inside?”

“Sure.” I follow her inside the modest one-story family home. She moved a few towns away with her husband, Tom, when I went to college, and it’s easy to tell how much she loves living here. “Is Tom home?”

“No, he went golfing with his brother.”

“I see.” He’s without a doubt my favorite out of all of her husbands, and I’m glad they still seem to be going strong. I can’t imagine being married at all, let alone five times. But he treats her well, and that’s what I care about the most when it comes to my mom.

Once we’re in the kitchen, she rummages around, washing her hands at the antique farmhouse sink before getting us some homemade lemonade from the fridge. We settle down at the round kitchen table, a place she’s always preferred over the living room—probably because she likes to stay busy, multitasking by prepping or cooking food whenever she can.

After sitting across from me, she leans forward as far as the table will allow her, tilting her head to the side. “So . . . to what do I owe the pleasure?”

I give her a one-shoulder shrug. “Nothing specific really. Just thought it would be nice to visit.”

“I always love seeing you, and I’m happy you stopped by.” Folding her fingers atop the table, her gaze is solely focused on me. “So, how is everything? Are you still staying with Oliver?”

“I am.” For some reason, I pause before rushing through the rest of the sentence. “Julia moved in about two weeks ago too.

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