Page 3 of Dear Future Husband (The Dearly Written #1)
Maybelle
My family's home was a humble spot. It had a cute red door with a white and black wood sign painted with Mason in bold letters atop the door frame.
I often thought it was a perfect sign to let anyone who might come lurking know exactly where we lived.
But my mom thought it was a darling decoration piece, so I didn’t have the heart to voice my anxieties.
I passed the small family car in the driveway, noting my mom was home from work. Walking through the front door, I took in a deep breath of the sweetest aromas. Citrus, vanilla, and maybe a hint of cinnamon.
Stephanie Mason, my mom, loved having a scented candle lit in each room of our home. Most people would probably get a migraine living in this wonderland of fragrances, but not Mom. She was proud of her home, smelling so vibrant.
I entered, peering into the compact, front living space to find my mom in her favorite blue armchair. She was next to the window reading a self-help book, diligently annotating the page.
I had a lot in common with my mom. We looked alike, shared a lot of the same interests, but we were especially similar in our undying love for books.
Except while my genius, therapist mother, read books on mental health and the meaning of life, I would forever be drawn to my books of romance and other worlds.
“Hey Lovebug, how was the rally this morning?” Mom asked, shutting the book and leaving her highlighter in between the pages.
“It was alright. Lots of screaming. Liam did great with his whole student-body-prez thing. Speaking of which, he wanted me to let you know that he and Trey went off to surf. I’m guessing he will be back later tonight.
” I dropped my bag on the floor and flopped onto the couch in front of my mom.
I sprawled across the decorative pillows and cushions.
“Good to know. Wish my sweet boy had the forethought to come in and tell me so himself. But who am I but his dutiful mother, who awaits on his every whim,” Mom said, punctuating the sarcasm of her statement with a wink.
“Guess that just gives me more alone time with my favorite girl. So, what are we gonna do in the meantime?” she asked, her countenance always, ever so bright.
“We could go get a treat, go for a beach walk, or—spice things up and go for a bike ride.”
Smirking, I rolled from the couch to my feet. “I would love to walk the beach with you.”
***
“How was work today?”
Mom and I strolled arm in arm in the glow of the afternoon sun, near the beach walk. There were hordes of people laying out, playing volleyball, biking, and running.
“It was amazing. We did an activity with the women called ice bathing today. It taught them how to breathe, overcome their fight, flight, or freeze responses, and they all did so well. I was so proud.”
My mom was a very skilled and well-known licensed Marriage and Family Therapist in the area. She specialized in Betrayal Trauma Healing for women. She held groups where women came together to learn how to live with their trauma and heal with a gained support system.
After everything she’d been through, my mom was a resilient powerhouse of a human being.
“Sounds cool. You’ll have to teach me a bit about that,” I said. Unbidden, my thoughts slithered back to my personal dilemma with freezing and the disgusting touch of Clayton’s hand. A slight shiver ran down my whole body with the reminder.
Smiling, Mom pulled me closer as we continued our walk down the beach. “And how are you feeling about high school ending? It’s insane that you’re already here.”
Nodding my head, I willed my train of thought not to be distracted by the incredible smell of churros being sold by a vendor we passed. “Yeah, crazy. I’m fine. I don’t really know what I’m going to do with myself once I graduate, but I’ll figure it out.”
I sent out a few college applications because—well, everyone else was.
A few colleges, including Southern Desert University, accepted me and Liam.
SDU was my first choice in schools, but I didn’t see a reason to rush into college if I didn’t know what I wanted to do.
Seemed like a waste of time and money not to have a plan or goal in mind.
A sharp tug on one of my stray curls had me whirling to find my mom trying and failing to be discreet as she pointed to a street corner. “Your team,” she snickered.
This was one of our games, a favorite, especially in a crowded scene such as this.
The game was only playable in a setting where we could easily watch copious amounts of people.
As we studied our surroundings, we would point out only the most obscenely odd people, forcing our opponent to accept the individual as “their team”.
No one really ever won or lost the game.
Well—whoever found the most absurd person usually got bragging rights, I guess.
Once, I pointed out a man making out with his chihuahua. That find had earned me a whole week of gloating, reminding my mom of the horrid scene.
I followed her pointed finger to a woman who stood waiting at an intersection. The woman was nearly two knuckles deep, digging up her nostril.
I grimaced and slanted my mother a look. “Your sixth sense for finding strange people is impressive.”
She snorted, her gaze still eating up the sight. “Takes a weirdo to know a weirdo.”
Mom tugged me along our path, picking up the conversation where we had left off. “I was going to say there’s no rush. If you’re not sure what you want to do yet, that’s okay. You’ll figure it out. I’m just so proud of you; I hope you know that. You amaze me.”
My mother only stood about an inch shorter than me. Short enough to rest her head of blonde wavy hair onto my shoulder as we continued arm in arm.
“I know, Mom. I’m proud of you, too.”
She kept her head on my shoulder as we approached a vacant bench just off the beach. Guiding me to the bench, she sat first, patting the spot for me to join. I did.
“You know,” she started, her eyes looking out on the burning horizon. “Your dad would be proud of you too if he were here.”
I glanced at her, a little surprised.
She didn’t talk too much about dad. Not because it was a taboo topic. If I asked, she’d tell me anything I wanted to know, but it had been many years since my dad past. Almost sixteen years. Long enough that I had no recollection of the man.
My birth dad passed due to a rare form of cancer when Liam and I were only a couple of years old. From the few stories mom has told me of those days, it sounded like a time of pure bliss that was cut far too short.
“Why? I haven’t done much,” I mumbled, tearing my gaze away from my mother and out onto the people peppering the sand.
“May, why would you say that?”
Do I really have to answer that ? That was the message I portrayed in the look I gave her. That earned me a reluctant chuckle.
She went quiet for a minute, watching the coast before she finally sighed.
“Your father had the biggest heart. His love knew no bounds. He would’ve been proud of you just for getting out of bed every morning and going to school.
” Mom laced her fingers with mine, smiling.
“He would have cheered you on when you were in sports. And he would’ve cheered you on when you dropped out to focus on school because he loved you. ”
Slumping in my seat, I relished in the way the breeze picked up, blowing salty mist at us. “You make him sound so perfect.”
Mom sniffed at that. “He was far from perfect. He snored so loud the walls of our first apartment shook and he had the worst time management. I constantly had to tell him an event was at least two hours earlier than it really was.” Giggling, she shook her head as she gave my hand a squeeze.
“But he was perfect for me—in the way he loved me, needed me, listened to me, talked to me—befriended me…”
Trailing off, she looked down at her lap, licking her lips. “He was perfect in the way he loved his kids—he would’ve done anything to keep you and Liam happy and healthy.” Straightening, she turned to face me, sea foam eyes bright. “I wish you could’ve grown up knowing a love like that.”
Yeah, you and me both.
If only to know the love and acceptance of a good, generous, faithful father-figure and not—the opposite.
“I did,” I said, instead. “I had you. ”
I could see the emotion welling up in my mother’s eyes as she shook her head. “It’s not the same.”