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ChapterSeventeen
Paislee
When my mother pushes the door open, I step into her arms with a wide grin. “Mom,” I say, as she gives me one of the biggest hugs.
“It's so good to see you, my baby.” She croons.
“It's great to see you too, mom,” I tell her, not ready to let go.
I hold mom a few seconds longer, enjoying the familiar scent of baked cookies that has managed to cling to her for years.
“I'm so happy you're here.” She breathes. This time, I'm the one who brings my arms down, allowing her to hug me for as long as she wants.
When she finally steps back, she immediately closes her hands over mine and leads me to the kitchen. Dad is standing by the big stove, turning pasta.
“Hello, dad.” I grin as I wrap one hand around him and place a sound kiss on his cheek.
“If it isn't my favorite.”
I roll my eyes.
“Dad, everyone is your favorite.”
“Only the cool ones.” He chuckles. “How are you?”
“I'm fine,” I tell him as I step back to allow him to turn the pot more freely.
Dad and mom have always enjoyed cooking together. I grew up enjoying home-cooked meals and sweets such as baked cookies, cakes, and croissants. They experimented constantly with ingredients and were always steps away from setting the house on fire. Yet the house has remained standing for all these years, and so has their love.
I watch mom peck him tenderly on the cheek and observe the moment that passes between them. I have always wanted what they have. They’ve taught me to never settle until I have it.
Does what I have going on with Sebastian count as settling?
“Honey, we are sorry we couldn't get started on dinner earlier. It'll be ready in thirty minutes.” Mom apologizes.
I wave her apology away.
“It's alright. I better set the table,” I say as I begin to pull the pantry door open. I frown a little when I realize that the plates are no longer where they used to be.
“Mom!” I shout over my shoulder. “Where are the plates?”
“Right here, honey,” Mom says as she comes over and pushes the power door open.
“Why is it there?” I ask with some confusion.
Mom looks over at dad, who has an almost sad look in his eyes.
“I've been having some problems with my movements lately. The doctor says it could be because I'm aging. Or the early signs of arthritis.”
I gasp. Mom's eyes widen.
“It's not anything serious, honey,” She assures me, but I am already moving toward her and taking her hands in mine.
“Mom, why didn't you tell me?”
“And have you worried about us?”
“Of course, I'll always worry,” I tell her. “I love you.”
