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The big holiday market
The upcoming town meeting.
The last town meeting.
Gossip about who was getting married in town.
Or who was pregnant.
But Emmaline definitely took the cake in that department when she stood up and announced she had to hurl. Then she proceeded to do so all over Aunt Erma’s precious Irish linen tablecloth that Clint had brought out of storage for this auspicious meal of pizza, green beans, wilted peppers, onion petals, and Cobb salad.
My father proved he was maybe not as big of a jerk as he’d once been by helping Em rush to the bathroom while whispering kind, comforting things to her.
Her own father seemed shocked into inaction. I couldn’t imagine that happened often.
Felicia leaned over and whispered in my ear, “You don’t think your father is interested in her, do you?”
“Are you serious?” Clint asked his sister.
She shrugged and elbowed Magnus, who’d said virtually nothing this entire meal. I couldn’t say I blamed him. We were in the presence of vocal champions. “Love blossoms in unusual places.” She smiled brightly. “Or at least the dollar store version.”
Before anyone could addressthat,Mr. Hauser spoke in a decidedly stilted tone. “Does anyone know what’s wrong with Emmaline?”
Another of Clint’s sisters—pretty sure now that her name was Melodie—hurried to help clean up the mess. She ripped the tablecloth off the table, along with all of the plates. Thank God they were paper.
I started to stand to help but Clint stayed me with a hand on my shoulder. I dropped back down and resisted the urge to fidget.
With this family, sitting motionlessly was just asking to be a target.
Fletcher kicked back in his chair. “A French puppet knocked up Em.” He groaned as Felicia leaned over Magnus to knock her brother in the ribs.“Ow, now what? Or did you say poppet? You know I don’t know that stupid language.” Then he smirked. “An older man, no less. Named Pierre.”
“Hey, he’s not that much older than Clint.” Felicia popped a pepperoni in her mouth, raising her eyebrows innocently when Clint pointed at her. “Just saying.”
“Were you or were you not indisposed in my bedroom with Kitty’s, uh, friend this morning?”
“Point? That doesn’t change you being just about Pierre’s age if you’re throwing stones. We all live in glass cases of emotion here, pal.”
Despite being amused at the Will Farrell reference, I tried to shrink down in my chair in futile hope that Felicia might not notice me beside her. No such luck. Her piercing green eyes zeroed in on me. “How old are you again?”
“Twenty-five in a few days,” my father announced as he swept back into the room.
“How’s Emmaline?” I asked loudly, hoping no one had heard about my birthday.
Especially Clint. I hated fuss at my birthday. Worse, I hated getting up my expectations and then getting them crushed. It was just easier all around for no one to know, period.
“She’s just fine.” Em strolled in and refastened her hair into a ponytail then cupped her stomach protectively. “Daddy, I’m pregnant. Sorry you found out this way. Leave it to your grandkid to make an entrance. First time I’ve actually been sick.” She smiled sheepishly.
“Sweetheart.” Clint’s father stood and went to her, speaking softly while my belly quivered with both sympathy and longing.
Not for a baby. God, no. Charise was enough of a child for me.
But what would it be like to have a father who clearly loved his daughter so much?
Clint’s dad wouldn’t lie to escape spending Christmas Eve with his daughter because he’d gotten a better offer. He just would not.
Clint wouldn’t either. Already I knew he’d be the very best parent to his son or daughter someday. I slid him a look out of the corner of my eye. Maybe one of each.
“Are you okay?” Clint asked quietly. “Only a bit longer and they’ll hit the road, I promise. They might make questionable decisions, but at least they course correct fast.”
