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He grunted his response. He’d never much been one for talking—he was always pretty passive. The most personality I’d seen from him growing up was during our time on the golf course.
“Where’s Mom?”
“Kitchen.”
“Great. Good talk.” I carried Jamey through the expanse of the living room, over the plush, Indian carpets and through the second living room, the main dining room, and finally, into the kitchen. Their house was like a damn maze, and I was glad they’d moved into it after I’d moved out on my own. I wouldn’t want to live in something so massive and flashy, even though I could easily afford it. It was just a hassle.
“Honey! You’re here,” Mom smiled, turning from her stand mixer, her apron covered in flour and what I hoped was some kind of red-colored jam.
“Yeah, just picking up Jamey. Figured I’d say hello so you didn’t think he’d run off.” His little legs kicked against my waist, so I plopped him down on the countertop next to his Grandma. “Was anyone watching him?”
“Oh don’t be ridiculous, Hudson. Julia was looking after him.”
Julia. One of their many hired-in maids that practically lived on site, Julia was at least one of the nicest, but I still didn’t love the idea of a cleaning professional watching my son instead of someone with experience. Like my parents. “Great,” I deadpanned. “I heard you taught him to make a cocktail?”
“Oh, that’s what Grandma called it!” Jamey chimed in.
My mom chuckled as she flipped the switch on her stand mixer, turning it off and lifting the whisk attachment out of the beige-colored batter. “I taught him how to make a Mai-Tai. Should be useful for both of us, sweetheart.”
I groaned as I lifted Jamey from the counter, plopping him back down on the floor. “Why don’t you go grab your stuff and pack it up so we can get going, okay?”
“Okay, Daddy,” he chirped, his legs kicking into action and carrying him off to god-knows-where.
“Can you maybe not teach my son how to make mixed drinks? It’s a little inappropriate, don’t you think?” I leveled my eyes at her as I leaned forward on the counter. I stuck a finger into her batter then popped it in my mouth, savoring the taste of what was unmistakably my mom’s famous cinnamon-swirl muffins. So where did the jam come from?
“Oh, honey, don’t be so strict with him. You were making your father and me cocktails when you were his age,” she laughed, swatting my hand away as I went back for another dip.
“Yeah, and you guys would get drunk and forget I existed. Did you forget about that part?”
She rolled her eyes at me as she moved the bowl a foot away from my meddling hands. “No, I didn’t forget that part. But we don’t drink that heavily anymore… at least not often.”
“Mmm.”
“So how are things with Sophie? How’s the wedding planning going?”
“Great,” I lied, because things were honestly more confusing than ever right now even though we were back on good terms. “Though the wedding planning is a little tricky at the moment.”
She didn’t seem to be fully paying attention, and I thanked my lucky stars because had she been, she would have questioned it. “Are you guys living together now?”
“Oh, no. She lives next door, actually. That’s how we met.”
“But you’re engaged. Shouldn’t you be actively getting her more involved in Jamey’s life?” She pulled out an ice cream scooper from one of the drawers and began filling a prepared muffin tray.
“We just don’t want to get too ahead of ourselves for the time being, and she spends enough time with Jamey as it is. We’ll move her in after the wedding.”
“Wait, hold on, rewind,” she faltered, turning quickly. She faced me with her brows knit, her eyes narrowed. “If the wedding planning is tricky at the moment, why would you wait to move her in? And for that matter, why is it tricky?”
I bit my lip as I watched her. I’d have to tell her eventually; I couldn’t hide it eternally. And if I was being honest, I wanted to tell her. I was excited to be a dad again, more than I thought I would have been if this situation ever occurred, and it was because of that excitement that I let it slip. “Sophie’s pregnant.”
The scoop in her hand slipped from her grip, clanging to the floor and spilling batter down the front of her apron. Slowly, a smile as wide as Jamey’s when I’d come through the door spread across her cheeks. “She’s pregnant?”
I nodded.
“Oh my god, Hudson, that’s amazing!” She reached for the towel hanging from the stove and wiped her hands and the batter from her chest. “How far along is she? Do you know the sex yet? Does Jamey know?”
“Only a few weeks. No, we don’t know the sex, and no, Jamey doesn’t know,” I chuckled, reaching down and picking up the scooper for her before chucking it in the sink. “We’re still in the danger zone so we haven’t really told anybody yet. We only just found out earlier this week. And as far as Jamey goes, we’ll tell him when we think the time is right.”
“Oh, honey. I’m so excited for you. I wish we’d have had more, but we just… we didn’t have the time, you know? And you were so perfect.”
