The tree-lined block was well-loved, full of generations of stories he was eager to hear and add to. May in Chicago meant magnolia trees blooming along the parkway, their scent thick and sweet.
He parked and grabbed the groceries from the trunk. Tonight was Justin’s going-away dinner, before his flight to Belgium tomorrow morning. The house would be full—twins, support group friends, maybe Cassie and Taurion with Ezra if the kid wasn’t too tired.
Maurice let himself in with his key. His key. To their home.
The living room showed evidence of recent chaos—Ezra’s toy fire truck parked under the coffee table, a stack of picture books on the couch from when Cassie and Taurion had visited last Sunday. Monique’s camera bag sat by the door, which meant she’d been out shooting.
“Mo?” Her voice came from the kitchen.
“Yeah, it’s me. Got everything on the list.” He found her at the stove, stirring something that smelled like her grandmother’s recipe. She’d tied her hair back, was barefoot in joggers and one of his T-shirts.
She turned, smiled, and he saw it—that slight puffiness around her eyes. She’d been crying. Again.
“You okay?” He set the groceries down, went to her.
“Fine. Just—” She waved the spoon. “My baby’s leaving the country tomorrow.
“He’s twenty.”
“I know. Doesn’t make it easier.” She leaned into him when he wrapped his arms around her waist. “Tell me I’m doing the right thing. Letting him go.”
“You’re doing the right thing. He’s ready.”
“What if he needs me and I’m not there?”
“Then he’ll figure it out. Like you taught him to.” Maurice kissed the top of her head. “Where is he?”
“Picking up Jasmine from the train station. She got in early.” Monique turned in his arms. “Which means we have about thirty minutes before this place turns into chaos.”
“Thirty whole minutes?”
“Mmm.” She reached up to touch his face, and he saw it—the way she was memorizing this moment. The quiet before the storm. “I went to the park today. The magnolias are perfect.”
“Yeah?”
“You should come with me later. After dinner. The light will be good.”
The ring box felt heavy in his pocket. Had been there every day for two weeks. “Okay.”
She studied him. “You’re being weird.”
“I’m not being weird.”
“You are. You’ve got that face.”
“What face?”
“That face you get when you’re planning something.” She poked his chest. “What are you planning, Maurice Martin?”
He was saved by the front door opening. “Ma! We’re home!” Jasmine’s voice rang through the house, followed by the deeper rumble of Justin’s laugh.
Monique’s face lit up. She pulled away from Maurice and headed for the front room, where her children were dumping bags and shedding jackets.
“There’s my baby.” She grabbed Justin, who’d grown another inch since January and bent low to hug her.
“Ma, I’m not a baby.”
“You’ll always be my baby.” She held him at arm’s length. “Let me look at you.”