“No, you’re not,” I grumble, unable to resist her hug and wrapping my arms around her back, holding her close.
“You’re such a brave, tough girl, but deep down, you’re still my sweet baby who hated when her peas touched the carrots.”
“They’re different colors. They can’t touch. It’s absurd. It’s like a little vegetable massacre if they’re not all in their little sections. I can’t handle the chaos.”
“Yet you mix your peas into your mash potatoes,” she says, pulling back and raising a brow, giving me a smug grin.
I roll my eyes, pulling out of her arms. “Don’t get me started on you,” I tell her, grabbing the vase and wrapping it in bubble wrap, only to have Mom come over and undo everything I just did to do it again her own way.
“What’s going on?” she asks, glancing back at me. “This is the last thing I would have taken you to get emotional about. Is everything alright?”
“Yeah, it’s fine. I guess I’m just stressing about the whole Nic thing, and then there are all these ridiculous pregnancy hormones. They’re making me an emotional wreck. Yesterday, a butterfly flew past me and its wings just fluttered so peacefully, and it didn’t have a single care in the world as it passed, and I couldn’t help it, I burst into tears. Colton panicked and called 911. He thought I was hurt and was in the middle of demanding an ambulance by the time I was able to actually get the words out that I was alright. It’s insane.”
Mom bites down on her bottom lip before studying the bubble wrap very hard, fighting the smile that’s desperate to tear across her face.
“Mooooom,” I whine, walking around the pool house and flopping down on the couch, studiously ignoring the amusement on her face.
“I’m sorry,” she says. “It’s just funny. It’ll pass, and soon enough, your body will learn how to handle it all. It gets easier. Just be thankful that you don’t have absurd morning sickness like I did. I was throwing up in my shoes while riding public transport with you. It’s still one of the most humiliating moments of my life.”
I gape at her, horrified. I’d die of embarrassment if that were me. “Are you kidding? I’ve never heard that story.”
Mom smirks. “And there’s good reason for that. You never would have let me live it down.”
I laugh. “Yeah, you’re probably right,” I tell her, watching as she gets back to her packing.
The heaviness instantly comes over me again, and I sink back into the couch, wishing there was some way for me to hold onto her forever. Though, I don’t know why it’s hitting me so hard. She’s only going to be two minutes down the road, and it’s not like I can’t just visit her whenever I want.
Mom glances up, pausing midway through wrapping the photo frame of us with dad, the very last family photo we had together before Nic decided to ruin everything. “This is really bothering you, isn’t it?” she asks, her brows furrowing as she watches me.
I press my lips together and gently nod my head as I let out a heavy sigh. Mom instantly comes around the counter and joins me on the couch. “You can always come with me,” she reminds me. “Roman said it was an open offer. He’s already got a room for you right beside Hendrix’s. All you have to do is say yes.”
I shake my head. Mom and I have already been over this, and she knows damn well that I’m not moving away from Colton. Not now. Things are too real between us, too serious. He's my forever, and while I’ll never actually say the words to Mom, she knows it just as well as I do. “Why can’t Roman move into the pool house?” I question, smirking at the thought of the billionaire moving from a ginormous mansion into a small, two-bedroom pool house. “Drix and I could get bunk beds.”
Mom laughs. “And have to share a bathroom with that girl? You know that would drive you crazy. I’ve walked past her room in the mornings and nearly suffocated from the fumes that came out of there. The perfume, body sprays, deodorant, and hairspray. It’s honestly the most horrendous thing I’ve ever seen.”
I can’t help but laugh knowing exactly what she’s talking about, after having to suffer through it once with her. I never agreed to stay the night again.
Mom takes a deep breath and curls her arm around me before tugging me in beside her. “You can always come and visit when you’re missing me,” she tells me. “I’ll never be far away.”
“Except for when you’re on your year-long honeymoon.”
“Six weeks is hardly a year,” she grumbles, rolling her eyes.
“Feels like it,” I say before sitting up. “Just do me a favor and leave the packing for now. Just get yourself ready for your honeymoon. Drix and I will do everything else while you’re gone.”