"Are you okay?" His mother looks at me, and I smile. "It’s okay to miss home."
"I miss home," I admit. "But I’m happier that I’m here." I look around the empty house, and I can see myself having coffee every single morning. But more importantly, I can see us building our lives here.
"Are you going to be okay living here in this house?" she asks, and I see her nervously wringing her hands. "He was engaged."
"Yes," I confirm. "But she didn’t live here."
"That she didn’t," she says. "She barely came here. I think she did once, and then she was going to move in when they got married." She looks down at her hands and then up again. "I didn’t think I’d ever see him happy again." She blinks away the tears that are welling up in her eyes. "Every time I would ask him if he was okay, he would bark at me that he was fine, but I knew he wasn’t."
"I know how that feels. He wasn’t the only one not happy."
"When he told me he was getting married, I knew it was a mistake. God, I felt it in my bones. I tried so hard to be supportive, but then every time the wedding discussion came up, he just said I don’t care, just do whatever. Who does that?" She shakes her head. "I bet you everything that I have if I ask him about your wedding, he’s going to have a list of things that he wants done for you."
I can’t help but smile. "I don’t know Jennifer," I say. "And I don’t ask him any questions about it because well, it’s in the past, but I’m really, really happy that I got that invitation in the mail."
She looks at me, and I see her eyes twinkle. "I’m really, really glad I mailed it to you." She winks at me, and I gasp. "I knew that if he saw you, it would change his mind."
"What if I didn’t come?" I ask her.
"I would have had to fake a heart attack," she says, getting up. "Now I’m going to go home and celebrate having my son back." She stops next to me. "And getting a new daughter."
I hug her, and then she walks out of the house, leaving me all alone. Walking over to the fridge, I open it to put the leftovers in it and spot a new jug of milk. "Oh, well played," I say to the empty room. "Well freaking played."
I finish cleaning the kitchen when I hear his car come back. He walks in with two jugs of milk. "Did everyone leave?" he asks, and I nod my head at him. He pulls open the fridge and then spots the milk. "She played me."
"That she did." I laugh and lean against the counter. "That she did."
"What did she tell you?" he asks when he leans against his side of the counter.
"None of your business," I scoff at him. "I didn’t ask you what happened with my parents."
"I was too busy celebrating the fact I didn’t get shot,” he jokes, then looks at me. "I have to talk to you about something."
"What?" I ask nervously, standing straight up.
"Well, I was talking to my partners today," he starts saying. "And we were discussing bringing another vet in." My eyebrows shoot up.
"Just like that, out of the blue." I fold my arms over my chest, looking at him and seeing that he’s lying.
"I mean, I did mention to them that you were moving in with me after I took back the offer for them to buy me out," he confesses, and I shake my head. "And I did mention that you were way better than me." He comes to me and pulls me to him. "And I also said you would only do it if we would be able to have the same shifts."
"I have no words," I say.
"Good, you start in two weeks." He kisses my lips. "Now, can we go and celebrate you moving in with me?” He picks me up and then stops when he gets to the stairs. "Shit," he says. "We don’t have a bed."
"What do you mean you don’t have a bed?" I ask, shocked.
"I assumed that you were bringing yours," he says, and I wiggle down.
"Why the hell did you assume that?" I shriek at him.
"You." He points at me. "You always said how much you love your bed, so I assumed you would bring it with you."
"Did I once say, hey, I’m bringing my bed?" I yell at him. "Not once."
"Let’s go," he says, grabbing my hand and pulling me out of the house. He locks the door, and I don’t even ask him questions. Assuming that we’ll be going to a hotel and I’m suddenly so pissed at him. I sit in the car stewing mad at his idiotness when I see us pull up to the place where we spent his wedding night.