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Penelope puts her hand in mine as we walk up the driveway to the front door. I don’t bother ringing because I did that the first time, and then they asked me what the fuck was wrong with me. The minute Penelope opens the door, I hear the chaos coming from the back of the house.
I don’t even see Penelope as she walks in and hugs a couple of the adults before she makes her way over to the kids, who yell her name when she gets there. I can’t help but smile when I see her run to them but then turn around and come back to me. I’m kissing Parker on the cheek when Penelope finds me. “Dad, can you get my backpack so Dylan can sign my puck?”
“Sure thing,” I say, hugging Cooper, OG I call him. Actually, everyone is calling him OG lately. The kids are even calling him Grandpa OG. “I’ll be right back,” I tell Matthew when he finds me walking toward the front door. “Penelope forgot her bag in the car.”
I take five steps to the front door when everything stops. I literally stop mid-step when I see her walking in. She is so fucking beautiful I stop even breathing. Her eyes go big when she sees me but then she is pushed inside the door by Gabriella behind her. “Can you move any slower?” she huffs before she is pushed aside by Michael, who comes in with Jillian and their kids, followed by Dylan and Alex. There are about ten people now standing in the entryway, but my eyes are only on her. Always on her.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
ABIGAIL
I push open the door, breathing through my nose and out my mouth. The queasiness has never been this strong. The only thing I’m trying to control is not barfing all over the place. My hand is still on the door handle when I take a step in and see him coming to me. My eyes go big when I see him. I don’t even have a chance to do or say anything when I’m pushed inside the door by Gabriella behind me. “Can you move any slower?” she huffs out at me.
I feel like I’m having an out-of-body experience. My breathing is coming out in puffs right now. My ears feel like they are ringing, and all I can hear is the thumping of my heart. My mouth goes so dry it feels like paste in my mouth. I don’t even have a chance to do anything before Gabriella is pushed aside by Michael, who comes in with Jillian and their kids. “What are you guys doing blocking the door?” He is then pushed to the side by Dylan.
“Is this a meeting that I didn’t know about?” Alex asks everyone standing by the front door.
I can feel his eyes on me, but I’m afraid to even look over at him. My stomach lurches when Michael comes to stand next to me, pushing me closer toward Tristan. I tuck my hair behind my ear when I look at him. It’s almost as if everything is standing still. My head goes up slowly, and our eyes meet.
“Hi,” he says to me, my body now feeling clammy as I try to wipe my hands on my yoga pants. I tried to wear my jeans today, but the zipper stopped halfway, so the yoga pants won out yet again. The past couple of weeks all I’ve been wearing has been yoga pants and sweaters.
“Hi,” I say nervously, wanting to get the fuck away from him as soon as I can.
“Congratulations,” he says, his smile forced on his face, “on the baby.” I can’t stop the vomit that comes out of my mouth. In the middle of the entryway, I vomit all over Tristan, including his shoes.
“Oh my God,” Alex shouts, jumping in to help me while Michael and Dylan rush the kids away from me.
Jillian and Gabriella both rush to get me some water and all I can do is run away from him and go to the bathroom; not sure I’m not going to vomit on him again. I shut the door, putting my forehead on it. I turn around and walk over to the sink, turning on the cold water, putting my hand under the stream, and rinsing out my mouth. I grab a small hand towel out of the basket on the counter, wetting it and then wringing it out before putting it on my face. “Well,” I say, putting the towel on the counter, “that couldn’t have gone any worse.” My stomach rises and then falls to let me know that maybe, just maybe, it could have been worse. I was almost afraid to ask if he would be here today. I thought he might be, but then he hadn’t been here in a while, so I thought I might have been saved. But, apparently, I’ve dodged this bullet for as long as I could.
I wait in the bathroom until I can walk without feeling like I’m going to barf, opening the door and slowly walking out. There doesn’t sound like there’s any noise coming from the front. All the noise I hear sounds to be coming from the back of the house.
I literally take a second to think about ducking out when I round the corner and come face-to-face with Tristan as he’s walking down the steps from upstairs. He is now wearing shorts and a new shirt. “I’m so sorry,” I apologize as he walks down the last step and stands in front of me.
“Not the first time I’ve been vomited on.” He tries to make me feel better. “Don’t think it’ll be the last time.” We stare at each other, and it feels so awkward between us, unlike all the other times.
“There you are,” Vivienne declares, walking into the room with a bottle of water in her hand. “Gabriella said you were in the bathroom.” She looks at me and then at Tristan. “How are you feeling?”
“Better,” I reply, avoiding looking at Tristan. “Less queasy, but I think it’s because I skipped breakfast.”
“Well, you should get some food in you,” Vivienne suggests, handing me the bottle of water. “The food just came out.”
“Sounds good,” I say as the three of us turn and walk into the kitchen. I’m saved again when my aunt Allison spots me and comes over to me. I veer toward her as I feel Tristan move away from me and go toward the food and the men.
“How are you feeling?” she asks with a look of worry on her face. “Do you want some ginger ale?”
“I think I’m good. I just need to eat something,” I tell her as she puts her hand around me and takes me over to get a plate of food. I grab a plate and fill it up with a little bit of food, not wanting to overdo it. I put some pasta on the plate and then also add a little bit of grilled chicken and of course some french fries. I’ve been craving those the past couple of days with loads of ketchup.
I walk out into the backyard, where white tables are set up. I spot Gabriella sitting at the table with Erika, Alex, Vivienne, Jillian, and Julia. I sit down in the empty chair, grabbing a bottle of water from the middle of the table.
“You just threw up, and you think eating pasta is a good idea?” Gabriella asks as she cuts her grilled chicken and pops a piece into her mouth.
“I’m fine. I got sick because I didn’t eat breakfast.” I glare at her.
“Why are you giving me that look?” she asks. “I’m not the one who slept until five minutes before we had to leave.”
“I told you yesterday to wake me at eight.” I point my fork at her, then stab two pieces of pasta.
“Do you think I was up at eight?” She laughs. “I got home at four o’clock.”
