Page 56 of Anything (Mayberry University #1)

CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

“Want some company?”

Later that day Mom catches me in my left splits—they’re finally back—while I finish my schoolwork on the floor. Tomorrow afternoon my friends will pick me up for the drive back. This time they’re splitting the drive into two days.

“Yes, please.”

Snow floats into a pile outside my bedroom window. Mom grabs her crochet basket and settles against the bed beside me, looping her red hair into a knot.

I ease out of the splits and open Spotify on my laptop. “Walker Hayes?” I ask. “Rich Mullins?” Mom and I share some favorite artists—her old go-tos are surprisingly good, and I keep her up to date.

“Let’s do some Walker.” Her needles find rhythm on a blanket she’s making for her friend’s new granddaughter. It’s weird that she’s crocheting now. “Don’t laugh at my old lady activity,” she jokes.

Reading my mind like she always does. Now I know she’s been cheating in her telepathy somewhat. Levi said my face is expressive.

“It helps me slow down,” she says. “Hurry must be fought.”

When “Fancy Like” comes on, we do a sitting version of the TikTok dance and deteriorate into giggles. She asked me to teach it to her back when the song came out.

I’m nearly done with my work when she goes still and rigid. Her eyes turn glassy. It isn’t precisely what I do when I freak out, but maybe a miniature version of that.

I bend toward her. Is she okay? Did something happen to her too? “Mom?”

No answer. She appears to be listening. I turn my attention to what’s playing. “Delorean.” I know the song. Mom would say it’s inappropriate, but that’s clearly not what she’s upset about.

She tries to swallow her tears. “It’s so hard as a mom to know how much to share. Maybe I should have told you a long time ago, but I didn’t want to burden you with my past mistakes, with information that is … too much.”

The song is about triggering happy memories, about falling in love. What kind of bad memory could this be?

“I need to tell you more about dating your dad.” Her eyes remain unfocused and aimed at my side table.

“I’ve been wondering how you knew that Dad was The One.” Oops. Outside voice.

That drags Mom’s mind back to the present as if I tied a rope around it and yanked. Her red-brown eyebrows shoot up. I think I gave her mental whiplash.

“Well,” she starts, “I could imagine building a life with him from early in our relationship, but we weren’t ready for that until we got our priorities straight. We had to break up to learn some hard truths.”

“Break up? I thought you’ve been together since you were teenagers.” How could I know so little about my parents’ story? Looks like I’m not the only one who hides things.

“We met when we were sixteen, yes. It was a whirlwind. I loved him so much, so soon, but things were rocky, to put it lightly. Your dad made me incredibly happy, but happiness wasn’t enough.

Like I’ve always told you, marriage exists to make us better, not to make us happy.

And a relationship that becomes an idol can’t make you better.

I’m thankful we learned that before we got married and not after.

” She tilts her head, knowing I have something to say. She always knows.

“So, if happiness isn’t the metric, how does a girl know when she’s found the right guy?”

She squeezes my arm and considers. “To answer that I’d want to know what she’s falling in love with.

People fall in love for all sorts of reasons that don’t make their person marriage material.

But, is she falling in love with his relationship with the Lord?

With his loyalty and devotion to her? With his commitment to growing as a person?

Attraction and fun and humor and intelligence and personality are wonderful, but they aren’t enough on their own. ”

“What if you had to make, like, a list? A deal-breaker list?”

She considers. “A guy who One”—she holds up a finger—“worships Jesus with everything he is, which should imply that he, Two, wants to grow. Three, loves you more than he loves any other human. And Four, believes divorce is not an option. That’s the absolute ideal.

Most anything else can be sorted out along the way because of One to Three, and the time for that to happen exists because of Four. ”

I trace the keys on my laptop. I shouldn’t torment myself with thoughts about Levi like this, but I can’t not. He’s all of that. He checks every box.

I wish things were different. I wish I could have him. I wish I hadn’t gotten so attached.

But I’ll trust you. Your plan is better .

“Tell me about falling in love with Dad? You never told me about the breakup stuff.”

“Is all of this about Levi perhaps?” she asks.

“You first, then I’ll spill.”

“Deal. Let’s take a walk.”

Dad ambles in when we’re on our feet. “Hey, sweetie. It’s so good to have you home this week.” He scratches my back in his way and kisses me on the head.

I squeeze his side and step back to analyze him. His brown hair has more gray in it since summer. The laugh lines around his mouth tell of his years smiling at Mom. I can almost imagine him when he was my age.

He wraps an arm around Mom’s waist.

“Archie.” Mom smiles flirtatiously at him. “Kit and I are going on a walk so I can tell her about falling in love with you.”

His eyes sparkle. He grabs Mom’s hand to twirl her in a circle and dip her. She laughs and snuggles into his chest for a hug. He squeezes her tight and kisses her head.

These two … This is nothing new, but the bone-deep ache when I see it is. I wish I knew how to?—

Nope. I shove the mental box back onto the porch. This isn’t for me to mastermind.

For those who love me, all things work together for good.

“God knew,” Dad says to Mom. “He used it all. His gifts are better than anything we could dream up.” He winks at me and leaves us to our walk.

I suck in a breath and let it out. Downstairs, I slide into my warmest coat, hat, and boots and open the front door.

Your gifts are better than anything I could dream up. I can trust you with this.