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One Month Later
Jillian
It didn’t make a lick of sense to be nervous. Yet here I stood, on the front stoop of Adam’s parents’ house, with a sweaty face holding sweaty potato salad (the container—it was humid outside) eager to make a good second first impression.
The front door swung open. “Jillian, hey.”
A familiar tall man wearing an unbuttoned short-sleeved shirt over a T-shirt faced me. “Gabriel!” Why I used his full name, I’d have to think on later. “Holy cats. Did you grow a foot taller?”
He laughed with an easy-going smile as he let me pass into the house. “Growth spurt at nineteen. Late bloomer, I guess. Jillian, meet my better half, Saya.”
A dark-haired woman in a lush pink tunic stood in the entryway. I held out my hand and she clasped mine with both of hers. “So nice to meet you.”
She had a lilt to her voice, with an Indian accent. “Great to meet you too.”
Saya let go and her hand hovered briefly over her stomach. She quickly moved her hand to her side. I zipped my mouth shut, but she noticed I’d seen her action thanks to my famously terrible poker face.
“I’m pregnant,” she admitted. “The family knows, but it’s new.”
“Congratulations! Wow, imagine Gabe as a dad.” I snorted.
“Hey!” Gabe elbowed me in the side.
Saya laughed nervously.
“Ignore me, please.” I needed to rein in these nerves. “That was so rude of me, I apologize. I haven’t witnessed Gabe as an adult. It’s sort of blowing my mind.”
She seemed to relax. “Let’s get you a drink.”
I handed the sweaty potato salad to Gabe. “I like your idea.”
Adam told me his parents downsized, but this supposedly smaller house was larger than where I’d grown up, where my parents still lived. The kitchen looked like a curated #homedecorinspo post on Instagram.
“Jillian!” Adam’s mom went straight for the hugs.
She looked energetic and only a touch older than I remembered. “Good to see you Mrs. Hoffstetter.”
She hadn’t let go. “Please, call me Belinda. And welcome back to the family.”
Belinda released our embrace and beamed at me with all the power wattage of the U of M stadium lit up at night. “Dr. Levesque. My goodness, we are so proud of you!”
Adam’s dad appeared and clapped me on the back. “Big-time proud of you. A neuroscientist. Not surprised one bit how well you’ve done for yourself.”
Emotions hit me from all sides: nostalgia, pride, happiness. But an uncomfortable tinge swam beneath the pleasant current. Adam’s parents valued status. They’d always wanted a doctor in the family. I wasn’t an accessory or a trophy. I couldn’t help worry how this would play out if they focused on my educational success over Adam.
My own parents entered the chat, er kitchen, moments later. More rounds of hugs were followed by more congratulating my recent success. They’d been filled in on everything by now, but their own pride burst out in a barrage of questions.
“Your new job, how is it working out?” Dad asked. “Your car doing okay? Maybe time to trade in for a new one with that commute of yours.”
“Honey, don’t pester her about the car.” Mom set down a sheet cake covered in foil. She always insisted on bringing a dessert even though Adam’s family supplied enough food to feed a small town. “Did you adopt a puppy?”
“No puppy yet. The job is fantastic.” I turned to Adam’s parents. “I get to work on degenerative diseases, screening for potentially hot new drugs.” I coughed. “Prescription—legal drugs.” They would know what I meant, but it still sounded weird. Nerves, ugh. “My car is fine. Lots of my coworkers drive in from all over Metro Detroit and even beyond. Ann Arbor’s not much of a stretch.”
Belinda placed an ice-filled glass of lemonade in front of me on the glistening kitchen island. “Soon you won’t have to worry about your far-off apartment.”
“Mom,” Gabe said in a warning tone. “Take it down a notch.”
“What? We all know it’s a matter of time.” She winked at me.
