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“Drinks too much,” Dad muttered.
“I guess,” Mom said, “but she was sober enough when I saw her. Anyway, you’re here today, aren’t you?” she told me. “Maybe she spoke to him.”
“Maybe.”
“Talon will take good care of you and your little boy,” Mom added. “Just like he does Mary.”
“Yeah.” I nodded agreement, but inside, I cringed as another piece of the puzzle of Talon’s family slotted into place.
I didn’t want to be another of his responsibilities like his mom.
I didn’t want to be taken “good care of.” I could take care of myself.
I wanted Talon to be with me because it was what he wanted. That it was what he’d choose even if there was no baby.
The rest of the afternoon passed quickly. Dad got out the Scrabble board and we played until we’d used all the tiles, razzing each other and stabbing the other players in the back whenever possible. I hadn’t laughed so much since I’d found out I was pregnant.
The sun dropped over the cove. Talon texted me, asking if everything was okay. I sent him a thumbs-up in return and got to my feet. “Time for me to go.”
While in Halifax searching for me, my dad had stayed with my sister and her husband. Now he took out his phone, saying, “I almost forgot, I have pictures of Freya and Devon.”
He pulled up a couple of photos. Devon had his arm around Freya’s shoulders. In the first photo, they grinned at the camera. In the second Devon nuzzled my sister’s cheek. Her expression was so satisfied, so happy, that I couldn’t help a twinge of envy.
“They look great,” I said, handing the phone back.
If only I’d fallen for a human like Freya had. Life would be so much simpler.
“They’ll be here for Boxing Day,” Dad said. “You’re coming, aren’t you?”
“Of course. No way I’d miss Boxing Day.”
Our annual after-Christmas celebration was when we exchanged gifts. I’d have to clear it with Talon, but he’d be sleeping anyway. Maybe by then he’d even have let me off the tight leash he kept me on.
I shrugged into my jacket and went to the front door. The SUV was idling at to the curb, the back door open. Mom and Dad followed me onto the porch.
Mom pulled me into a tight hug. “Come back next Saturday, and this time stay for dinner. I’ll make my bisque.”
I hugged her back. “I’ll do my best. And this time, you have to show me how to make it.” Mom’s lobster bisque was freaking amazing—chunks of lobster swimming in cream and butter, and flavored with a dash of sherry and her special spices.
“We’ll see,” she said like she always did, adding (also like always), “if you knew the recipe, you wouldn’t have a reason to visit.”
“I’d visit anyway, and you know it.”
She chuckled and kissed my cheek. “Love you, sweetheart. And Eden? You’ve got this. I have faith in you. You’re going to be a good mom.”
I hadn’t known how much I’d needed her to say that until she had. “Love you back,” I said around the golf ball lodged in my throat. “I’ll do my best.”
“I know, honey. And we’re right here whenever you need us. To talk or help out, okay?”
Then it was Dad’s turn to pull me into a hug. “You take care of yourself, okay?” he said. “And the little guy, too.”
I nodded against his flannel shirt. “I will.”
Giving him a squeeze, I jogged down the front steps and climbed into the back of the SUV. I didn’t think anything of it when Mr. Jones didn’t get out to shut the door after me. I could close my own doors, after all.
The locks clicked and the SUV moved off. My parents stood on the front porch, framed in the light spilling from the hallway, Dad with his lanky, scarecrow body and Mom, a head shorter and curvy. I waved at them through the darkened window, even though I knew they probably couldn’t see me, then faced front.
Somehow, being with them today had renewed my hope. I wasn’t done fighting.
