My Replacement Husband

My Replacement Husband (19) Without Reproach

 Since I wrote it up already, why make you all wait a week to read it?

When I was with Evan, I was bathed in idyllic love.

I didn't fall in love at first sight, but when I fell in love with him there was no going back for 21-year-old Julie Carson. Even the most everyday things like waking up or taking a walk around the block became rich with color and meaning. I didn't know much about love besides the stories I would read from romance novels, but I suddenly felt like I was the main character in every book and Evan was my dashing male lead.

"Julie, will you be returning home this Thanksgiving?"

No romance is without its obstacles.

My mother was curt as usual. She had finally relented on giving me the silent treatment, but it wasn't without stringent requirements. I was to come home on holidays without a fuss, and I was supposed to do everything I could to 'make up for embarrassing the family'. The latter, while vaguer, meant that my mother could make any request of me to give up or take on any task she saw fit.

Maybe you'd say 'no dice' to this deal, but I still was a mama's girl at heart. I missed my mother for all it was worth, and I was extremely homesick as much as I loved my new home. You can take the girl out of Alabama, but you can't take the need to please her mother out of the very same girl.

So, when my mother asked about my return home it wasn't a yes or no question but more of a confirmation of when.

"My flight is booked," I assured her. My fingers were fidgeting with the buttons on my denim jacket as I slowly built up my courage. "Mom, I have something to tell you."

Silence followed.

"Did you hear me?" I asked, shifting my body to face closer to the window.

"I'm just remembering the last time you had something to tell me," she answered making me lose almost all the confidence in my body.

"I met someone," I finally blurted out of sheer force.

"Bill O'Reily's son is in town," she answered.

"Mom, I'm trying to tell you that I'm dating someone." Someone that I really loved. Someone that made me feel over the moon. Someone that made me feel more energized than three cups of coffee could ever do.

Baby steps first. "I like him a lot."

"What's he like?" she asked.

I brightened. "He's an English major."

"What's he planning to do with that?" her voice was hard to read.

"Become a writer," I said.

Deep breath.

"That's nice."

I almost dropped my phone.

Was my mother day-drinking? What was going on with her reaction?

"Really, mom?" I squeaked. "You're not going to bash on his career path? Aren't you going to say how unstable writing is as work? Aren't you...?"

"Julie, you are an adult. You can make your own choices," she answered plainly. For some reason, I felt a pit in my stomach grow. "You should decide the kind of life you should live."

I can't stop myself from saying it. "I want to hear your thoughts."

"Does what I think even matter to you?"

I swallowed. "Mom...of course it does."

"All I have wanted, Julie, is the best for you. Maybe it is controlling sometimes, I understand how I can go overboard. You feel like a prisoner and I'm the warden who keeps you locked up, isn't that right?" she asked matter-of-factly.

She wasn't wrong, but I felt the hurt in her voice as she spoke.

My rash decision had left scars on my family and our relationship, and I had to accept that.

"Why do you like this boy?"

Her question surprised me.

"I think he's a lot like me. We both love reading noir novels, spending our time indoors, and we think a lot alike too." I felt a little shy gushing. "He's really smart, mom. He's lived in New York all his life, and he's taught me so much about the city. He's always challenging himself to be the best he can be too, and I like how head-strong he is when he wants something."

She hummed. "Sounds a lot like you."

Was that a good or bad thing?

"I think you'd like him, mom. We're both graduating next year, and it's really exciting how we'll both be heading into the workforce together. I think he wants to travel a bit first, but..."

"I love you, Rosebud," she said following that thought.

Again, I was taken aback. I was born in nearly two months early in April before Northwick was alive with dahlias, roses, marigolds, and petunias. I was her Rosebud that bloomed too early.

"I love you too, mom," I said whole-heartedly.

"This boy, I don't know him, but if he's anything like you then you're in a world of trouble."

She was confusing me. "Why would you say that?"

"Because you're good too," she sighed. "Until it's time to leave."

"Even when you were just a baby in my belly, you did things your way and on your own accord," she rambled on. "Do you think head-strong and ambitious stays in one place for anyone?"

"I'm not going anywhere anymore," I asserted. "I just finally settled into New York. I'm happy here."

"I'm not saying it's you," she said. "Have you ever thought that your New York is just his Northwick?"

"You don't know that." I felt indignant.

"Bring him home for Thanksgiving next year then," she challenged.

"I will," I huffed.

"Julie, I'm not saying these things to hurt you," she asserted. "I would love to be wrong, as hard as that is to believe."

I was adamant. "One year isn't going to change anything."

"Okay," she replied.

When I came home empty-handed that following Thanksgiving, she didn't say a word about this conversation.