Of course, the one way to get out of helping in the kitchen is taking by care of the kids. Her husband is probably on the sofa drinking with the rest of the men.
But this kitchen duty doesn't go as I expect. As soon as we close the door, my mother turns to me with tears in her eyes and hugs me. "I'm so glad you're here, honey. I can't tell you how much I've missed you."
I hug her back, and we hold the embrace longer than normal. I relax, letting myself enjoy the feeling of my mother's arms around me, offering her whatever comfort I can through my own touch.
She sniffles, pulls away, and wipes a falling tear. "I'm sorry. I'm a bit emotional today."
I kick myself again for being such a bitch. "You have every right to be. I can't imagine what you're going through."
She waves her handkerchief at me. "Oh, you'd be glad to see me go. I know I'm just an old woman meddling in affairs that no longer concern me."
Ouch. "You're my mother. It's part of your job description." I try for a lighthearted tone, matched by a smile, and her lips crack into a small grin for just a moment.
"You know, when you were little, I knew you'd grow up to be something great."
I cast my eyes down. "I'm sorry I disappointed you."
She reaches for my hands. "Oh, honey, that's not what I meant. You haven't. I'm so proud of you. Working your way through school, starting a successful business, making your way in the world. I think you're amazing. I just… "
She wipes her eyes again, her mascara smudging. "I just don't want you to grow up and find yourself lonely. I know women these days don't need men to make them happy, and that's probably a good thing. And being married isn't always ice cream and roses, that's for sure. But there's comfort in knowing that you have someone by your side, come what may, who sees you and shares in the many memories you'll make together over the course of a lifetime. There's a certain beauty to that, and I want so badly for you to have that someday."
"Mom, I—"
"But I see now that I didn't need to worry. I can see clear as the nose on my face that you've already found it." She smiles so big her face stretches with the effort. "I don't know why you wanted to keep him a surprise, but you have sure made this day a happy one despite the sadness."
She pulls me into another hug as I try to swallow the lump in my throat.
"I know you two are going to be so very happy," she says in my ear. "And a doctor, no less. What a perfect match!"
Chapter 25
The Devil Is in Me, and It's Coming Out
Tate and Sebastian bond during our trip home. I guess that's good. Maybe. I can't decide. I mean, if things last with Sebastian, then yes, I want my brother to like the man I end up with, obviously. But this leads to other questions of whether I'm ready for that or not, and I don't want to answer those just yet.
Still, it's a pleasant trip home, and I'm even happy to step into the arid Las Vegas heat. Mostly.
I think I did the right thing—not telling my mom about my doubts regarding my relationship. She seemed so happy, and it had been such a hard weekend for her. Sometimes it's better not to fight, to just walk away and let the other person think they've won.
Sebastian and I fall into our familiar routine once home. We finish each other's sentences, do cross word puzzles together in the morning paper, and cuddle on the couch at night, reading in silence.
I know Tate misses me, and I do pop home to spend time with him, and to work, but my nights are all Sebastian's.
Last night he cooked for me. I enjoyed every bite. I didn't feel the stomach cramps until this morning. Didn't know evil had taken root in my gut until it was too late to get to my own house, my own bed, my own bathroom, before it happened.
There are certain tests every relationship faces as it matures, but I am not ready for the one we're about to face.
This could be the end for us. I glare at myself in the mirror, hoping Sebastian doesn't wake up before I've figured out how to handle this disaster.
But before I can come up with a plan that would save us, a wave of nausea hits again, and I scramble to the toilet.
Unfortunately, I'm too late.
Vomit splatters everywhere. I can feel it in my hair, on my feet, the stink rising like something dead and rotting.
And I can't stop.
Then there's the knock on the door.
"You okay, darling?"
I would say yes, would tell him to go away, but as I open my mouth another wave of noxious sludge pours out of me.
The doorknob turns.
He walks in.
He's naked. We're both naked from the night before, but I'm the only one covered in last night's dinner.
Chicken marsala, if you were wondering. It's not nearly as good coming back up.
"Oh, honey, you look—"
I glare at him and dare him to finish the sentence.
He cocks his head. "Sick. You look sick. Since we ate the same thing yesterday, I'm guessing stomach flu. Let's clean you up and get you back to bed. Doctor's orders."
And my humiliation begins. I shower quickly, with his aid, and he dries me and wraps me up in blankets then brings me a bucket to puke into and seltzer water to help calm my stomach.