Page 42 of Easy On Me

“Hi, sweetheart.” On screen, Mama smiled at me, her hair in a ponytail, Daddy on the hotel couch beside her, remote in hand.

I dropped into the recliner, the one that still held an outline of Grandaddy’s form, and fumbled for the lever on the side to let out the footrest. “What are y’all up to?”

“Your daddy played golf, and I went to the spa.” She patted her cheeks, still smiling.

“You, um, look moisturized.” I half-listened while she went on about the mud wrap she’d had and the hot stone massage. I never went wrong at Christmas or her birthday with a gift certificate because the woman loved a good spa treatment.

When she’d finished the spa story and waxed poetic about how good the hotel restaurant was, I cleared my throat.

“So, um, remember me telling you about Tyler?” I scuffed a hand over my hair. Nerves jumped in my gut. That had nothing to do with Tyler, and everything to do with how my parents, mainly my mama, would react.

Mama’s gaze followed the gesture, her eyes narrowing and taking on a sharp gleam. The problem with being an only child? That meant there was only me to focus on, and she knew me too well.

“I do.”

“Your grandma and grandaddy liked her.” Daddy didn’t look at me, but he was listening, at least.

“I’m glad.” I cleared my throat again. Might as well jump in. “So . . . she’s pregnant. We’re getting married.”

Silence lingered, heavy and weighted. Mama lifted a brow, her familiar teacher stare. Daddy didn’t react, simply waiting.

After a moment, Mama’s audible inhale filled the air. “John, get dressed. We’re going home.”

I groaned.

Shit. As much as I’d known this was coming, I’d hoped it wouldn’t.

“Mama, don’t be like that.” I rubbed my forehead.

“John Carpenter.”

Not my government name. Shit.

“A gallon of milk lasts longer than you’ve been with her.”

“Mama.”

“You don’t know anything about her.” On her feet, Mama threw clothes in her suitcase. “You don’t know her bad habits or what she does in a hard spot or if she throws her dirty clothes on the floor–”

I closed my eyes.

This was going great.

“Mama.”

“Hon, stop packing.” Daddy’s voice brooked no argument. “He’s a grown man, not sixteen. Take a breath and listen to the boy. Son, tell your mama why you believe this is the best call.”

“John. He just got out of a toxic relationship, and I am so glad he broke things off with that little girl and now he wants to–”

“Delane. Hush up and listen to your boy.”

With a hot glare at him, she subsided and eyed me unhappily, arms crossed tighter than a church girl’s thighs on Sunday. I waited a full twenty seconds to make sure she wouldn’t interrupt.

“I know you’re worried and I know it’s fast. I’m not stupid, Mama, and I learn from my mistakes. I know what I don’t want. I learned that, trust me. She’s right for me, and I’m good for her. I’m not saying I love her or she loves me–”

That wanted to get stuck in my throat.

“--but we’re suited and we’re steady. She likes me for who I am, and I care about her. We can build something good together, build a family for our baby.”