Page 54 of Husband of the Year
Marvin: My mother is here.
Olan: Here as in where?
Marvin: Our house. She’s downstairs making dinner with Illona.
Olan: What is she making?
Marvin: Hamburgers. But I think you’re burying the lede. My. Mother. Is. Here.
Olan: Take deep breaths. Let Illona be a buffer. She’s a wonderful diversion. You got this. And remember, I love you more than apple pie.
Marvin: With or without ice cream?
Olan: With ice cream. And whipped cream. And caramel sauce.
Marvin: Now I’m hungry.
Olan: Enjoy your hamburger. And look for an email from me in the morning.
Marvin: I can’t wait. I love you more than a private concert from Lady Gaga.
Olan: No you don’t.
Marvin: Equally then.
Olan: I’ll take it.
Mom’s hamburgers are delicious. She does this thing where the outside is almost burned, but the inside is still pink and juicy. Illona seemed to enjoy making dinner with her. Mom insists she calls her Sarah, but deep down, I know she wishes she’d call her bubbe, or anything resembling grandma. When Illona and I both turn down seconds, Sarah packs them up for our lunches.
“I’m going to make you Happy Meals,” she says. “I only let Marvin have them for very special occasions when he was little, but he loved them.”
“Mom, I don’t think Illona wants leftovers for her lunch at school.” I motion to the food.
Illona nods. “No, actually, it was delicious. I bet it will be even better tomorrow.”
“Perfect.” Mom claps her hands together and shoos Illona and me away while she cleans up.
After dinner, we play Uno, and my mother lets Illona win. Mom’s usual Uno strategy is to crush all hopes and dreams, so this is a little like seeing a unicorn in our living room. But she seems more than willing to lose to Illona.
After I tuck Illona in, I’m ready for my own early bedtime. It’s been a long day, and after a few hours with Sarah, I need a little alone time with Gonzo.
“Good night, Mom.”
“Going to bed so early?” She pulls her sweatshirt around her neck and shivers a little. “I’m not used to this arctic air.”
“Maine isn’t arctic.”
“Compared to Arizona, it is.”
Touché.
“Here,” I say, grabbing a throw from the sofa.
“Thank you.” She wraps the blue knitted blanket around her shoulders like a shawl. “Sleep well.”
I wrap my arms around her, pulling her close. As I envelop her in a warm embrace, I let out a contented sigh, savoring the comfort of her presence. The soft fabric of the shawl blends with the warmth of her body, creating a cocoon of coziness.
“I’m glad you’re here, Mom.”
