Page 113 of Him

Another mug reading “HIS.”

“Mom!” Jess hollers. “The point of labeled mugs is so that they can tell them apart! You should have done their initials.”

“But that wouldn’tamuseme,” his mother explains, grinning.

“Thanks,” I chuckle while my boyfriend laughs.

I turn the mug over in my hands, imagining Cindy making this for me in her pottery studio. The glaze is glossy and bright, thecup broad and solid in my hands. It’s beautiful, and receiving it from her feels like the membership card to a club I really want to join.

Grasping the handle, I turn the mug upside down to see if she’s signed it. Sure enough, there’s something etched into the unglazed bottom. I have to squint to read the tiny letters.

Dear Ryan. Thank you for making Jamie so happy. He loves you and so do we. Welcome to the Canning clan.

Oh boy. There’s a burn at the back of my throat, and I concentrate hard on settling the mug back into the box. I spend more time than necessary tucking the tissue paper around it with the care of someone performing neurosurgery. When I’m finally ready to look up again, Jamie’s mom is waiting for me. The warm look in her eye makes the sting in my throat even worse.

I try to give her a casual smile, but I can’t quite pull it off. Nobody’s ever said anything so sweet to me. Nobody except Jamie.

As if I’ve summoned him, a warm hand slides onto my lower back. I adjust my stance just a fractional degree, leaning in to that hand.

Cindy is still watching us. She gives a quick wink I know is just for me. Then, just as quickly, her face is all business. She claps her hands once. “Okay, troops! The turkey is in the oven, but there’s still some heavy lifting to be done! I need someone to sauté the vegetables for stuffing. I need someone to start the grill. I need two people to whip the cream! And the rest of you get the heck out of my kitchen.”

Without ceasing their chatter, the Cannings move around thekitchen, opening and shutting cabinets and passing around bottles of beer. Jamie doesn’t leave my side, though. He and I are the calm eye of a friendly, familial hurricane.

And I hope the storm will never pass.

THE END