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“Mom?” I say, walking into the kitchen. “What are you doing here?”
“Celebrating you two being back together and the pending birth of my first grandbaby.” Well when she puts it like that.
So, for a couple hours my mom, Mark’s mom, his sister Lara, and myself cook dinner while the guys set the table and watch sports. I have to smile at the familiarity of this whether it was here in this kitchen or in my parents' house. For a moment, my mind thinks about the house Mark bought for us and I picture us doing this with our own children in that house surrounded by pictures of our love as it grew.
The table is set, and dinner is served. The conversation is light at first, my dad and brother who got here a half hour ago joining in on the laughter. Mark, seated to my left, looks at me, his hand gripping mine under the table reassuring me and making me feel safe even though I have nothing to fear. I am actually feeling light myself and appreciative that no one has brought it up. “So Tiff, where were you for six months?” Well, there goes that.
“In Georgia.” I say simply hoping it ends there.
“Georgia? Alone?” Guess not.
“No. I was with my cousin Love and her husband Trimble.”
“You have a cousin?” Mark’s mom says with a comical amount of incredulity that I understand. My father was born and raised here but my mom was not. She moved here when my parents met and fell in love on a cruise for high school seniors. She has been here since she graduated. So, like everyone else, Mark’s mom finds it preposterous that she has a family that is not from here.
“Yes. I had a little sister named Rachel who was three years younger than me. When she was sixteen she ran away from home and my parents were never able to find her. A couple of years ago, Tiffany had to do an ancestry project for school, and we found a familial match to me. Turns out my sister birthed a daughter named Love and then she died when her daughter was sixteen.” The table is as quiet as crickets while my mom tells the story. It dawns on me right now that I haven’t even told Mark where I was.
“Oh my,” Mark’s mom says, clutching her chest.
“Yes. We have all been corresponding over phone and email. Her husband owns a very successful custom bike/car repair business and Love is always pregnant, so they never get to travel, but with Love having given birth three months ago, her husband took some vacation time, and they are going to come here on the thirteenth and stay through the fifteenth.”
“Wow. That’s both sad and amazing,” Lara says. I nod my head in agreement. Those were my exact feelings when I first began talking to her.
“The real question,” my mom starts, “is when are we going to have this baby shower for the first granddaughter?” The chatter around the table amplifies and I settle back in the chair, hand cradling my stomach. Smiling, my heart warms knowing my little girl is going to have one huge loving family. I feel Mark’s hand join mine and we both laugh as the baby begins to flip and act out.
“I love you,'' he says into my ear before kissing the side of my head. I know, I think to myself as I lean on him. I just forgot for a second.
Chapter Twelve
MARK
DAY SEVEN
“Dr. Bishop, so good to see you.” Smiling, I usher town busybody Mrs. Broderick inside of the exam room for her annual.
“I am not a doctor, yet Mrs. Broderick.” Her exam barely takes thirty minutes and then she is done. I don’t bother checking the schedule to see who is next. No matter who it is, I am going to know them. Joys of a small town.
I finish cleaning and walk out into the waiting room. “Nancy, who is next?” The receptionist looks at the schedule and calls the next patient.
“Miss Isaac you’re up.” I inwardly cringe when I hear her annoying voice come around the corner. Ugh. Siobhan is the one girl from high school I never wanted to see again. She was the perpetual mean girl when we were in school. She made a hobby out of tormenting girls shyer and less fortunate than her. Hell, she tried to bully my baby when we were together, her sights always set on me and my family’s power, but I shut her ass down in front of the entire cafeteria that day, and she bit her tongue for the rest of school.
Recently while Tiff was away she began her campaign to try to win me over. I found her leaning against my car in the morning with a coffee before work. Or she would show up on my lunch with lunch in her hands and her shirt entirely too low cut. Somewhere in her mind she has learned that revealing skintight clothes are a turn on. Maybe for some. Not for me. “Looking good, Mark,” she says, sauntering past me. My eyes stay glued to the wall above me, revolted at the thought of checking out anyone else that isn't my future wife.
