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“Sounds good. Gotta go, Gus. Dinner’s ready. Time to feed chicken parm to the outdoor cat.”
Sounds about right. “Yep. No worries. Love you, Levi.”
“You too.”
32
TENLEY
32 WEEKS
“Goodness gracious, you look beautiful.”
It’s as if I’ve been holding in a full breath for the last seven months.
It’s been close to seven months since I’ve seen my mom, and I feel every second of it.
“Thanks, Mom.” I hug her tight. “It’s so good to see you.”
“Seven months is far too long, isn’t it?” she asks, pulling me back to look at her.
Despite being older than most of my friends’ parents, my mom is strikingly beautiful. Her light brown hair lies in soft waves across her shoulders, and the faint wrinkles that appear more significant than when I last saw her do nothing but make her even more elegant.
Aging has beengood to her.
“It is. Seems like you and Dad had a good trip,” I tell her.
Mom pulls me inside, and as if I’ve never visited, I soak in the core memories this colonial-style home brings me.
Late nights on the living room couch with my parents, laughing our asses off toImpractical Jokers. Spending a full day baking cookies in the kitchen for any and every holiday worth celebrating.
Or the days where school really sucked for me and Mom insisted on finding a way to make me smile. Those were the times we made way more cookies than the three of us could stomach, and we had to find a way to get rid of them.
Mom and Dad would walk me around the neighborhood as I delivered tin cans of cookies to all my favorite neighbors.
The strawberry frosted ones we made for Valentine’s Day one year were my favorite. I used too many heart-shaped sprinkles, making them messy and look inedible, but we ate them with pride.
Still to this day, Dad requests them just like that. I’ve made it a point to spend every Valentine’s Day here since so Mom and I can bake.
Minus the delivering to neighbors part. Dad likes to keep them for himself. However, this past year they were traveling, and I was busy getting pregnant.
We have quite a bit to catch up on.
“It was the best trip. Africa is unlike anything I’ve ever seen. You almost forget you’re in an impoverished area with how stunning the views are around you,” Mom says, leading me to the living room where Dad sits in his recliner watching a college baseball game.
“Isn’t that right, honey?” she asks Dad.
The moment I come into view, he launches from his leather chair. “Well, good golly. Is that my Tenley Belle?” I love Dad’s authentic Georgia accent with everything in me.
Growing up, kids at school frequently teased me about that. I never understood how having a Southern accent warranted bullying and making fun of someone. I mostly grew out of my accent with age, but my parents couldn’t hide it if they tried.
“In the flesh,” I tell him, a big smile warming my face.
Dad pulls me in for a hug, not mentioning the massive boulder attached to my front now. He pulls back to take a good look at me, and that’s when it happens. “I feel like I should introduce myself,” Dad says, winking awkwardly.
I giggle, and Mom follows suit. “Well, he is your grandson, Keith.”
I never knew my heart could feel love so deeply until I heard my dad talk sweetly to my son. His hands find the sides of my belly, eyes lifting first to me for permission.
