I’m pulled from my thoughts when my phone vibrates inside of my pocket. I reach for it and find a text from Beckham.
My BMW: Hey. Heading out now. Text you when I’m home.
Me: Sounds good!
My BWM: I love you.
I’ve heard or read the sentiment from him a thousand times but, in this particular moment, I need it. It soothes me in ways that he has no idea I currently require.
Me: I love you, too.
It’s still early, five o’clock, when we pull into the driveway. My parents have lived in the same house since my freshman year of high school. Dad is a settler—not in the sense that he accepts less than he should, but in the sense that he likes to plant roots. His parents were in the military, which had him moving all over the place growing up, like Grayson. I know my grandpa wanted him to follow in his footsteps and enlist in the Air Force, but that just wasn’t my dad. Instead, he stopped the last place my grandparents stopped—Colorado. He went to college, met my mom, got a great job in advertising, had twin girls, and settled.
My mom is kind of the opposite. She’s an explorer, which is why every year for as long as I can remember, we go on family trips. We’ve been to Europe, South America, Canada and all over the United States. Avery and I are quite well-traveled, if I do say so myself. While my mom likes to travel and discover new things, she’s also a homemaker—which is the part of her that enables her to be a wife and a mother, tied down to her family but with little complaint. I also think that’s part of the reason why she’s a teacher. She teaches high school choir and I know that she’s got a reputation for being that teacher that’s practically a second mom to her kids from year to year. It’s just who she is.
I hope my students will love me like hers love her.
I notice, as we make our way inside, that dad’s car is gone; but when we walk in, I smell dinner right away. Avery and I both head straight for the kitchen, assuming that’s where we’ll find mom. We assume correctly.
Mom’s taller than us by a couple inches, but she’s still petite like we are. Her straight black hair is streaked with gray and cut into an asymmetrical bob. When she hears us enter the kitchen, she turns and greets us first with her eyes. Their tilted teardrop shape mixed with the way her cheeks perk up when she grins, makes her dark brown eyes all but disappear as she giggles. “My girls made it!”
“Hey, mom,” Avery and I say in unison. We both go in for a hug and she accepts us together, one arm wrapped around each of us.
“How was your drive?”she asks as she pulls away.
“Not bad. There was a little traffic, but nothing too crazy,” Avery answers as she reaches up to tighten her ponytail. “Where’s daddy?”
“I sent him to the store,” mom says as she turns to resume the task she was busy with when we arrived. “I needed a couple things to round out dinner. He should be back any minute.”
“What are you making?” I ask, peeking over her shoulder.
“Mediterranean.” Just like always, my mom answers my what with a where. We’ve always known dinner by culture or region, not by dish. It was confusing when we were younger, but we’ve all managed to catch on.
“When do you think it’ll be ready?” asks Avery.
“My, my—someone is hungry,” mom says with a smile over her shoulder.
“Actually, I was thinking it might be nice to head out for a quick run before dinner. I feel like a slug after being in the car for the last couple of hours. Do I have time?”
“Oh, sure. Just be ready to sit down in about an hour.”
“Awesome.” She’s gone in a flash and I can’t help but smile. No one should ever be that excited about running.
“You don’t have to stick around for me, Addie Jane. If you need to go freshen up, we’ll have plenty of time to catch up later.”
I think about it for only a second and then I realize that this might be the only time all weekend that I have my mother to myself. I hadn’t planned on walking in and dumping my Beckham worries in her lap, but who am I kidding? I won’t really be able to focus wholeheartedly on anything else until I’ve had the chance to speak with her. Now is as good a time as any. “I’m okay. Is there anything I can help with?”
“Sure. I’ve got some cabbage in the fridge that still needs chopped—can you handle that?”
“Of course.” I wash my hands and grab the cabbage while my mom starts asking me questions about my upcoming finals. The answers roll off my tongue with little thought. There’s enough room on the counter for me to situate myself just beside her and I settle into a grove as we prep together. She must notice my lack of enthusiasm for her chosen conversation topic because it’s not too long before she taps her hip against mine, causing me to focus my attention on her.
“What’s on your mind?” she asks, her eyes warm and inviting in that look only a mother can convey.
“Beckham,” I confess without a moment’s hesitation. I feel relieved simply by uttering his name; it opens the door that has been holding back all of my anxiety and confusion.
“What about that sweetheart of yours has you so preoccupied?”
“He said some things…I don’t know. I’m just worried we’re not on the same page right now.”
“How do you mean?” she asks, folding her arms across her chest. While it might look like an act of intimidation, I can tell she’s simply pulling her hands away from her task so that she can focus all of her attention on me. I mimic her gesture and fill her in on the conversation Beck and I had the previous Sunday. When I’m finished, she offers me a nod. I can tell that she’s processing what I’ve said, so I wait for her to find the words she wishes to speak. “I know you two have talked about getting married, but there is no rush for you to do it right now.”
“I’m not talking about right now, I’m talking about a year from now.” I hear the defensiveness in my tone, but I can’t help it. Is she taking his side?
“And I understand that. With the direction your lives are moving, it would certainly be convenient for you to plan to be married next summer.” I relax a bit, comforted that she understands where I’m coming from. “But Addie, you’ve got to let him take the lead on this one.”
My shoulders slump in disappointment. She is taking his side. It never really crossed my mind that she would. Then again, that’s probably because I didn’t want her to. I’ve spent all week with the mindset that I’m right—that getting engaged sooner than later and married before he heads to medical school is the best plan. I still stand by that timeline—but I’m, apparently, the only one who thinks that way.
“Oh, honey,” she coos as she cups her hands around my cheeks. Her touch draws my eyes back up to meet hers. “I know that’s not what you wanted to hear. I can tell. The truth is, you can’t rush a man into marriage. If he’s not ready, you have to be okay with that.”
Her words sting and the tears that fill my eyes take me by surprise. “How could he not be ready? If he doesn’t know by now whether or not he wants to marry me, why are we still together?”
“Come now, Addison, now you’re just being dramatic,” she chuckles, pulling me into her arms. I go willingly, knowing she is right. “He loves you very deeply—just like you love him. Marriage is a big deal, it’s a big change, you know that; and you two are still so young.”
“You were twenty-two when you got married,” I mutter against her shoulder.
“That’s not a very solid comeback, my dear, and you know it. You’re still only twenty.”
“Only for a few more weeks,” I huff.
“Well, besides that, you know your father. When he makes his mind up about something, it’s made up. Beckham is different—his goals are different, more grandiose. So maybe it takes you two longer to get down the aisle, that doesn’t say a single thing about your relationship, except that you aren’t rushing.” I groan as I try and push away my stubbornness and let her words sink in. She pulls away from me, just enough to look into my eyes, before she continues. �
��Beck knows your heart. He knows what you want and he isn’t telling you no. Beck also knows his own heart. So does God. Above all else, you must know that God has your best interests at heart. I believe you’ve snagged yourself a wonderful young man who loves the Lord and walks with Him as faithfully as he can. I can only hope that if he isn’t ready, that means God isn’t ready for you to be married, either. You’ve got to have more trust—in Beckham and in the Lord.”
She’s right. I know she’s right. I know she’s right because while there are still tears in my eyes, I feel calmed by her reminders—by the truth. I need to trust that feeling I get in my gut, the one that tells me that if we choose each other, God will bless our union. He already has. I know in my heart that Beckham is a gift so carefully crafted and bestowed. I also need to trust the man that I love—trust that his promises are true and that he’s looking at marriage from the driver’s seat…which is exactly where I want him to be, in the role of leader. It’s where God has called him to be. Just because things might not turn out the way that I think they should doesn’t mean that I should doubt him.
“Thanks mom,” I murmur, reaching up to dry my cheeks. “I needed to hear that.”
“You’re welcome. You’re always welcome,” she says, giving my shoulders a squeeze. “I’m here for you any time. Don’t forget that God is, too. He wants to hear you confess your fears just as much as I do—more even. When you do, you open the door for Him to take them and replace them with the peace only He can provide.”
“Yeah,” I sigh. I understand what she’s saying, but I also know there is one other person who can make me feel better about the whole situation, if I just allow myself to be completely honest with him. Tomorrow. I’ll make sure we talk about it tomorrow.
I had every intention of leaving Fort Collins right after my last class. I told my mom she could except me around six—but it’s a little after seven when I pull in front of our house. There’s a reason I’m late. I’ve been distracted thinking about it the whole drive. Still, I can’t help but spend another minute behind the wheel lost in my thoughts.
Grayson comes home with me quite often. Unless it’s the middle of football season, if I’m headed home for the weekend, so is he. He doesn’t have any family of his own—well, not family by blood that he wishes to associate with—but he’s practically been adopted by my parents. So, when he told me he wasn’t planning on leaving town with me this weekend, I was a little surprised. Then I found out that Mrs. Davis was going to be in town. Upon hearing the news that Jack’s mom was going to be around, I was kind of disappointed that I wouldn’t be. We love it when Jack’s mom comes to visit—mostly because she’s always in our kitchen hooking us up with homemade meals like none-other. Seriously, I don’t know how anything so delicious could come out of our small kitchen, but she never fails to deliver.
Jackson’s family lives in Georgia so it’s a bit of a trek for his mom to come out. I thought it was kind of odd timing, considering finals week is coming up and it would have made more sense for her to come out the following week, but I didn’t really think too much about it. Then, just when I was getting ready to leave the apartment, Jackson offered the explanation I wasn’t anticipating. He asked me to stay for a minute longer and called Gray into the room so that he could make his announcement.
He’s going to propose to Claire.
The Davis family is pretty well off. Jackson is fortunate enough to be a trust-fund baby. Yet, despite where he comes from, you would never really know. He’s not completely void of arrogance, he knows he’s good at football and he’s never been afraid to brag about it—plus, he’s pretty confident about his looks—but he’s also very humble. Anyone whose met his mother would know why. He’s studying business, because he intends to work for his family’s company after he graduates, but he’s been given the freedom to do what he wants and where he wants until it’s time for him to buckle down and get to work; that’s how he ended up in Colorado—he wanted to play football and he wanted out of Georgia.
In any case, he’s ready to buy a ring and his mom is coming to help him spend the large amount of money he intends to drop on said ring. As far as timing is concerned, he wants to propose next weekend, just after finals. Claire is also not a Colorado native, but unlike Jackson, she won’t be sticking around for the summer. She’ll be in Arizona with her family for the next couple of months and Jack wants to be engaged before she leaves.
My first thought was: oh, crap.
My second thought was: oh, crap!
My third thought was: what is Addison going to say?
Jackson and Claire have been together for less than two years. Addison and I have been together for almost five. I can’t wrap my head around the fact that Jack is ready to be engaged because I’m not. I don’t know what it feels like to be sure. Whenever I think about getting married, I feel anxious and afraid. Not because I don’t love Addie, but because marriage is a big deal.
It wasn’t until Grayson stood up and congratulated Jackson with a hug that I realized I was also excited for him. I delivered a congratulatory hug of my own before Jack dived into details about when, where, and how he plans to propose. I don’t know how I did it, but I managed to pay attention to him and encourage him until I insisted that I had to go. As soon as I was in my car, though, I was consumed by this heavy feeling in my gut. It’s how I feel even now.
As I step out of my vehicle, I ask myself, Why am I not ready to get married?
I enter the house through the front door and smell pizza. I follow my nose to the kitchen and spot my mom at the sink. I smile to myself as I watch her load the dishes from dinner into the dishwasher. Her dark brown hair is pulled back into a ponytail and she’s wearing a pair of jeans and a blue blouse I know matches the color of her eyes. As I make my way toward her, I walk lightly and set my backpack down. She’s humming to herself, which makes me smile even more as I draw closer.
My mom is a few inches shorter than I am. She’s curvy and soft—which she blames on Kenzie and me—and she complains about her broad hips and laments over the loss of her flat belly sometimes. She might be self conscious about her body, but I love it—she’s always been so warm and comforting. When I look at her, all I see is my mom. She’s the most dedicated mother I’ve ever met.
I know I have taken her for granted over the years. She’s a stay-at-home mom and having her around all the time growing up was a blessing I didn’t appreciate as much as I should have. I don’t know that I will ever be able to; it’s hard to imagine having a mom who works away from home because I never had to experience that.
She jumps when I wrap my arms around her shoulders and press a kiss onto her cheek. “Beckham Michael, you know better than to sneak up on your mother like that!”
“Hi, mom,” I mumble as I squeeze her tighter and ignore her reprimand. I smile victoriously when she turns her head and returns my kiss with a kiss of her own.
“Hi, sweetie. How was your drive?”
“Not bad.”
“Well, you must be hungry. I saved you some pizza. It’s in the oven.”
“Thanks,” I reply as I begin to pull away from her.
Kenzie’s squeal is the only thing that prepares me for the moment when she throws herself at me from behind. I catch her legs and she uses the support of my hands to push herself further up onto my back. When she places her chin on my shoulder, I feel her long unruly curls brush against my arm. She’s taller than Addison, but doesn’t weight much more, so I hold her with little effort.
“You’re late,” she scolds me.
I turn my head and lean away from her so that I can see her face. Her brown eyes sparkle with amusement and I can’t help the grin that pulls at my lips. “Better late than never.”
She rolls her eyes. “I guess.” A whine escapes her when I set her on her feet, but her complaint stops there as she follows me around while I prepare a dinner plate for myself. She chats with me while I eat, my mom joining the conversation every now and
again as she finishes her clean up. It isn’t until Kenzie inquires about Addie that I remember Jack’s news and the familiar weight of anxiety tugs at my insides. I know that I won’t be able to get through the weekend if I don’t try and sort out these feelings and I know there’s only one person who can help me with them.
“Is dad home?”
My father is a very busy man, always has been. I know he likes to spend the weekends at home, but sometimes he just can’t—so even though it’s after eight o’clock on a Friday night, I know it’s possible he could still be at work. I’ve always known him to be extremely professional and hard working. I respect him and admire him like nobody else. He’s the reason why I want to become a doctor. He’s a physician anesthesiologist and I hope to become at least a fraction as brilliant as he is. While we’ve bumped heads more than a few times in the last twenty-one years, he’s my dad and he loves me like no one else can. This is how I know that I can talk to him about what I’m feeling without having to worry about receiving any sort of judgment.
“Yes, he’s home. He’s in his study,” my mom answers. “In fact, I was just going to take him some coffee—but if you’re headed that way…” She hands me his mug and then takes my empty plate. I thank her and then make my way out of the kitchen, through the sitting room, and then into his office. I knock on the closed French doors before inviting myself in. I shut myself inside as he looks up from the paperwork in front of him.
“Beck—hey, welcome home,” he greets me as he stands. I set his coffee down as he comes around to meet me for a hug. We’re the same height with similar builds. As he smiles at me, I see my reflection thirty years from now—curly hair gone gray, eyes decorated with laugh lines but still full of life. Except, behind his glasses are brown eyes and I have my mother’s blue irises.
The Promises We Keep (Made for Love Book 1) Page 5
