“I’ll get takeout for dinner so we don’t have to think about it. And as soon as I get home, we’ll pick up where I left off and make absolutely certain you’re satisfied. As many times as necessary.”
“Promises, promises,” she sang.
He pressed a fast kiss to her lips. “Always.”
~*~
“Mom, what are you doing here?” Piper struggled to inject some pleasure into the surprise. She’d hope to come home to someone, but that definitely hadn’t been her mother. Myles had been forced to work late all week, putting out fires at the paper. Given that her mom was parked in the driveway, obviously that trend was continuing. So much for a post-work, stress relief quickie.
“Do I need a reason to come see my daughter?”
Um, yes. But Piper didn’t give voice to the thought. Instead she stepped forward to give her mom a hug. “It’s good to see you. Come in.”
She unlocked the door and led Twyla into the kitchen. The house was a wreck, a fact Piper had been able to live with until her mother walked inside. Now all she could see was the explosion of boxes there’d been no time to unpack.
“Good Lord. You haven’t gotten all this stuff put away?”
Piper fought the automatic defensiveness. “It’s a work in progress. My place is still a long way from packed up. There wasn’t time before the wedding, and we’ve only been back a little over a week.”
Twyla stepped past her, eyes skimming the living room, which, while comfortable, still very much said ‘bachelor’. “Have you gotten any of your stuff properly moved in?”
“Clothes, toiletries, some kitchen stuff. The essentials that could easily be gotten out of the floor. I’ve been going to my place a little bit every day after work to keep packing things up, but it’s slow going. I’m so tired. I feel like it’s been go go go go go since we got engaged, and it’s all starting to catch up with me. As soon as everything’s packed up at my house, we’re getting actual movers. But we still have to sort out what’s staying, what’s going and all that jazz, since there’s not room here for everything from my house and everything he has.”
Twyla made an elegant sniff of disapproval, but let the subject drop. “What will you be doing with your house? Selling or trying to rent it out?”
“I haven’t decided yet.” She wasn’t quite ready to let go of her place. She didn’t really know why. Myles had the bigger house, so there was no question where they’d live. And he’d given her carte blanche to do whatever she needed or wanted in order to feel more at home in their place. But she felt strange making decisions about the house without him.
They’d decided so fast that this marriage would be something real, and there’d been no bumps in that road, so that rather than feeling real, it felt…surreal. She didn’t want to acknowledge the niggling sense of doubt and she sure as hell didn’t want to examine it. But it was there, keeping her from fully investing in the marital reality of household meshing. So she hadn’t done that much to move in, which meant she felt more like she was on an extended stay-over rather than actually living here. The whole thing left her unsettled.
Not that there’d been time to talk to him about it. After all the intense one-on-one time during the honeymoon, she felt like she’d barely seen him the last week. She couldn’t help wondering if their honeymoon period was already over and worrying about what that might mean. But she’d go to her grave before admitting any of that to her mother.
“Well, it’s a lovely house. These counters are beautiful. What are they? Soapstone?” Twyla set her enormous purse on said counters and began to rummage.
“I believe so,” Piper said carefully, struggling valiantly not to remember exactly what she and her new husband had been doing on that spot the night before. The composition of the counters had been far less a concern than the convenience of their height.
Twyla produced a small binder. “I wanted to bring you this.”
“What is it?”
“It’s all the cards from your reception.”
“What cards?”
Exasperation flickered over her face. “We had a station, remember? Where all the guests could write their well wishes or advice for you. I organized them in an album.”
Piper had missed that entirely. Then again, Myles had completely stolen the show. “That was really thoughtful, Mom. Thank you.”
She flipped the book open and read the first card, written in her mother’s familiar, looping script. Recipe for a happy husband: Leave discussion of your bad days and personal problems to your friends, be a cheerful, happy harbor for your spouse, and always have a hot meal ready and waiting.
“How very 1950s,” Piper remarked, unable to rein in the sarcasm.
“My mother gave me that advice when I got married, and it’s solid. Your father and I have been happily married for thirty-five years. You’d do well to emulate it. The last thing Myles is going to want to hear about when he gets home from a long day is whatever gross thing you had to deal with at work.”
Healing being such a messy business and all. But this time she managed to keep the thought to herself.
“Home should be a pleasant, non-stressful place for him, and he’ll always be happy to come back to it, no matter what he’s been dealing with.”
The whole thing sounded like a recipe for denial of reality to Piper, but she was past the point where she tried to get her mom to see another viewpoint. She’d just be wasting her breath. “Well, thank you for the advice. I’m sure the rest of the album will be interesting reading.”