They insist on a tour of the house first, so we go from room to room while Peter sets the table. As I show everything to my parents, I’m once again amazed at how much my husband accomplished yesterday. Though a few boxes are still sitting discreetly in some corners and the furniture is minimal at best, everything is organized and neat… almost unnaturally so.
“I can’t believe you’re so settled already,” Mom says, voicing my thoughts. “I thought your closing was Thursday?”
“It was,” I say. “But Peter has a way of getting things done.”
“No kidding,” Dad mutters, opening a linen closet and finding the towels already inside, neatly folded. “He’s a machine, that husband of yours.”
I reach over to squeeze Dad’s weathered forearm. “Yes, and that’s a good thing.”
My parents aren’t exactly on b
