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I laugh. “I’m happy for you.”
Marc knocks on the door and Scott answers. He says hello, nods at Marc, but gives me a hug.
“Marco!” Stephanie runs up to him and hugs his legs.
“What’s up, little Steph?” He sees Stella standing near the threshold to the kitchen and he says, “Hey, Stella. I hear you like cookies.” He holds up the bag. Stella runs over, and Marc hands the bag over. She opens the bag, sees what kind they are, frowns, and hands them back before running away from him. I can’t help but laugh. Marc turns to me.
“She has a favorite.”
“And you couldn’t have told me that?” he asks with an incredulous tone.
“Sorry.” I cover my mouth to hide my chuckles.
“Can I have them?” Stephanie asks.
“Of course.”
Scott shakes his head at us. “After dinner, Stephanie. Come on. It should be ready.”
“You’re so going to pay for that,” Marc whispers to me as we follow him into the dining room.
Stella is already in her seat. I leave Marc to see if Sylvia needs any help to finish setting the table. I help her with drinks and then we’re all seated and start eating. At first, the twins talk quietly amongst themselves, Marc and Scott are talking about hockey, and Sylvia keeps giving me looks that are making me uneasy.
What is she up to?
“So, Marc, how’s life?”
I snort. She’s so up to something. Marc glances at me curiously, but answers her.
“Life is great. No complaints.”
“What are your plans for our Lizzy?”
“You can’t ask him that!” She can’t seriously want to interrogate him like he’s some stranger I’m bringing home for the first time.
“Fine.” She rolls her eyes as if I’m being the crazy person here. “Do you want to get married some day?”
“Yeah, of course,” Marc answers.
“Do you want kids one day?”
I still. What is she doing?
“Yeah, of course,” he repeats.
“What do you want to do after hockey?”
“I’ll think about that when the time comes.”
“Well, are you going to stay in the States or go back home to Canada?”
“Stay here,” he quickly answers.
“Where do you see yourself in five years?”
“Married with a kid or two maybe.”
My head swims. I hate Sylvia so much. “Can I speak to you privately please?” I stand before she answers. I know exactly what she’s doing and I’m fuming by the time she walks into the kitchen. “It’s not your choice, Sylvia.”
