Page 41 of Dear Future Husband

I placed a hand on my heart. “You know, I bet, even if I had my memories, this would still be the nicest thing that anyone has ever done for me.” I twisted to him. “I honestly don’t know what to say… Well, except thank you, of course, but that doesn’t feel like enough.”

He smiled down at me. “You being awake is thanks enough.” His tone was hushed and before I could comment, he gestured to the closet. “It’s full of my mom’s old clothes she thought would fit you, so feel free to raid that for things to wear.”

I looked down at my baggy sweats and tee. “I don’t know. This style is kind of growing on me.”

His gaze did a couple of lazy laps up and down my body before he abruptly rose from the bed. “You can use the bathroom directly across the hall. Oh, and here!” He strode to the desk and opened a drawer, pulling out a cell phone. My eyes again went wide as he handed me the device.

“You got me a phone?”

To my relief, Trey shook his head.

“It’s yours, you—you had—um, misplaced it. I got it back and was holding onto it for you, but I forgot to give it back the last night I saw you. So, I held onto it, keeping it safe for until you woke up.”

I stared at the phone. With how he stuttered around the explanation, I knew there were a few details he was leaving out, but I didn’t ask for more. I instead raised my eyes to his. “It’s cute and a little creepy how obsessed you are with me.”

His brows furrowed. “I am not obsessed with you.”

“Mhmm,” I hummed. “Sure.”

“I’m not,” he said with more finality, but the little waver in his voice betrayed him.

I giggled. “You sat and watched me sleep for a year. Now, you’ve practically adopted me. That sounds a bit obsessive to me.”

Dimples.

Trey had dimples that made a heart-stopping appearance as he waved off my teasing.

“I’m going to bed, if you need anything…” He hesitated, giving me a long once over. A coy grin pulled up his lips. “If you need anything, my bedroom is just down the hall.”

He turned for the exit, taking one step out the door, instantly halting when I called his name.

“Trey.”

“Yeah, May?”

“Thank you.”

Again,dimples.

“Of course.”

Dear love of my life,

Let me preface by saying you are my best friend and will always be my best friend. But before I get to have you, I have my mom. My mom is amazing. She’s kind, she’s beautiful, intelligent and someone I strive to be like every day.

My mom and I have been through thick and thin together. I remember nights when I was small of her singing me to sleep. I remember her reading me piles and piles of books during summer breaks.

But I especially remember the days she held me while I cried.

A slightly embarrassing but vital piece of information about me is that my mom still holds me and rocks me on her lap when I cry. Yes—even at sixteen years old, my mom lugs my body on top of her petite frame and rocks me while I cry.

I think she does it because when I was small, I used to hold her.

I remember, years after dad passed, and we moved in with Richard, Mom would crawl into my bed most nights, after I’d fallen asleep, and she would cry. I remember hooking my arms around her neck, holding as tight as I could. At the time, I hadn’t understood why she cried… Now I do, and I wish I would have held her tighter.

But—yes, while you are my best friend and I will go to you, always, there may be times I still go to her, needing to be held by my mom and rocked while I cry.

Love,