“Your father is in the garage watching that dreadful television that takes up half the wall. I swear he can’t watch a game of football on a normal television. Life-sized men in front of him, it makes no sense.”
I hold back my laughter, listening to the same bickering argument my mother uses almost daily.
Willa Layne has always been a simple gal. Give her a kitchen filled with ingredients or a library full of books and she’d be busy for hours. Days, even. She enjoyed the little things. A glass of tea on the back porch, listening to the sounds of the birds chirping, but my father, he was an entirely different breed. It all made me wonder how the two of them ever came together in the first place. Their interests were like night and day. The thing was I had never seen two people more in love. They may bicker and hassle one another almost constantly, but at the end of the day there was always undeniable love.
“I didn’t come over to see Dad.” I actually came to see them both, but I loved to see my mother’s face light up. “What can I help with?”
A bright beaming smile, one that stretched out so wide on her lips I was sure it couldn’t get any bigger. “You could knead this dough.”
A lot of men may feel that baking threatened their masculinity, but me, I believed it made me more appealing. Come on now, what woman wouldn’t love a man who knew his way around the kitchen?
“Pies?”
“Six of them, for the Sunday brunch at church.” My father and I weren’t the only ones to appreciate my mother’s baking abilities. “Betsy Miller is bringing her chili, Sandy Tomlinson her lasagna—”
“And all everyone will be doing is rushing through all that to get to these pies. I think we both know they are the best part of these brunches.” She blushed. My ninety-pound, four-foot-eleven mother blushed at my words and tucked her chin to her chest.
“You’re biased.”
“And honest.” Instead of arguing, she continued on with fitting the dough into the pans and pinching the edges. Spanning them out in front of her, she positioned them exactly how she wanted them.
I watched, taking in her movements, even though I’d seen her work so many times before. She still amazed me. Everything so exact, each looking as if they were too perfect to eat. I knew without a doubt that she could do it with her eyes closed and they would still be flawless.
“So tell me…” My mother broke the silence, and I glanced up to find her looking at me as she continued to store the apple concoction before her. “I heard from Winifred Ewing that you were seeing that pretty dental assistant from town.” My pulse quickened. Assistant, more like hygienist, but it wasn’t really worth the correction. “What was her name again?” She paused, and instead of responding, I allowed her to work it out, knowing she already knew. That dramatic effect of a mother prying, I hated to take all the fun away. “Oh yes, Holly.”
“Uh, what?” Standing tall, I stared at her, awaiting the crack of laughter or any little sign of humor.
“Holly Martin, Edgar’s granddaughter.” I was being pranked; there was no other explanation. My sweet mother was trying to get a rise out of me. “Apparently, Edgar told your father that the two of you dated once before but the timing was off. But after recently reconnecting, you’ve decided to give it another shot.”
“Ma.” My mind was racing.
“I’d love to meet her.” She was again focused on her pies, with a look of what I could only describe as hurt on her face. “I must admit hearing my only son has a girlfriend from someone other than him is a little hurtful.”
“Ma.” She continued to mumble, lost in her own thoughts. Needing her full attention, I committed the sin of all sins in a woman’s kitchen, and I grabbed the spoon and bowl from her hands.
When her mouth fell open and she narrowed her eyes at me, I knew I better speak fast or run. “I never told you about Holly, because she and I are not dating.” The glare didn’t leave her face. It was now accompanied with the crossing of her arms over her chest. “Yes, she and I went on a date a long time ago, but it never went further than that.”
Why are mothers always so invested in the love lives of their sons?
“I have been talking to Chloe Rigdon, though.” My mother was very familiar with the Rigdon family. “Everything is still very new, and I’m not even sure you could consider us more than friends at this point, but I do feel like there could be more.”
I didn’t miss the way her face lit up. “Have you told her?”
“I think she knows.”
Stupid boy. If my mother was one thing, it was blunt. She always said what was the point of feeling a certain way about something if you couldn’t express it. Not everyone would like what you had to say, but they were the ones that would have to learn to deal with it or walk away. On most occasions, I appreciated her honesty. That was when she wasn’t drilling me.
“How is anyone supposed to know you feel a certain way if you don’t tell them?”
“Ma.”
“Don’t Ma me, boy.” She turned once again to face me. I knew it was time to listen and not argue. She may be tiny, but she is mighty. “You need to be clear, no need to sit around leaving her guessing. Tell the girl how you feel and stop playing games. As your father would say, be a man and leave the games behind. For once, I agree with your father.”
I smiled and crossed my
