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I try to keep those negative thoughts out of my mind as I go inside my parents’ house. The television’s going in the living room—my dad has some true crime or war show playing, as usual—and my mother is in the kitchen making lunch.
“Hi, guys,” I say, placing my purse on the table in the entryway. My mom lights up but puts her finger to her lips. I realize why when I hear the snore. My dad’s passed out in his recliner, another usual thing for him. “Ooh, sorry.”
“You’re just in time,” she says. “I’m making egg salad sandwiches.”
“Yum,” I say, glad it’s not cold cuts. I’d hate to have to explain why I’m not eating my normal turkey-apple sandwich because of possible listeria contamination.
“Guess what? I’m going to be a grandmother again soon,” she says, not looking up from assembling the sandwiches.
My heart free falls. “What?”
“I just got the call. Abby’s in labor. I’m going to go up there, to Lewiston, later today.”
I let out a sigh of relief. “That’s exciting. I have a gift for them. I’ll come up, too.”
She dries her hands on a dishrag and envelops my face in them. They smell like her favoite Dawn dish soap.
“Let me get a look at you,” she says. “Something’s different.”
I shrink back slightly as she looks me over, wondering if she can tell. Can she?
“Hmm. Have you gained weight?” she asks.
I pull back. “Maybe a few pounds? It’s all those leftovers from Ted’s.”
She holds my hand, still inspecting me. “I’m not saying it’s bad. In fact, it looks good on you. There’s something different about you.”
I haven’t been in the house for more than a minute. I haven’t even taken off my jacket yet. Am I really this transparent or is my mom just that good at seeing through me?
“I was probably too skinny before,” I say, going to the other side of the center island to block her view of me. After moving back from New York, the stress of everything made my appetite almost non-existent. “The weight probably makes me look healthier.”
“Anastasia …” Her tone is a warning, and I can’t meet her eyes, which only makes me look even more like I’m hiding something.
“What?”
“There’s not something you want to tell me?” she says, glancing over at my snoring father and then going over and shutting off the war movie with the remote. She spins to me. “Is there?”
I play dumb despite the fact that she’s already piecing it together in real time.
Her expression narrows, and she leans in to whisper. “Are you pregnant?”
All the air leaves my lungs, and I hear my heart beating over the sound of my father’s snores.
“Oh my God. You are.” Her mouth opens, and for a moment, nothing comes out. “Oh, my. Oh, my, my, my.”
“Don’t tell Cooper and Aidan. Promise me you won’t.”
“Of course I won’t, it’s your business to tell them when you feel right, but … why would you not want me to … oh.” Her eyes light up. “Wait. Is Alec the father?”
I nod.
The smile that breaks out on her face is almost enough to convince me that everything is perfect, that we can all go forward as one big happy family. She actually claps her hands excitedly. She’s always had an unnatural love for my tormentor.
“I knew it.” She does a mini jump. “When I learned you were neighbors and he called the other day asking for my risotto recipe, I started piecing it together. That and I always knew he had a thing for you. My goodness, you’d have to be blind as a bat back in the day not to notice the way he looked at you.”
“Really?”
She laughs. “You didn’t see it?”
I shake my head. She doesn’t know anything about Yours Cruelly or the homecoming debacle. I always kept it inside, not wanting to re-live it or risk her getting my brothers involved because they tended to make things worse instead of better sometimes.
“They’re going to kill us, aren’t they?” I ask. “Cooper and Aidan.”
“Oh.” She waves me off. “Heavens, no. They love Alec like a brother, and now he really will be a part of the family.”
I’m not so sure I can agree with her rosy assessment of the situation. “Remember all those boys they beat up? The ones who had the gall to look at me?”
“They were kids. They wanted to protect you. They’re all adults now. You, too. You can make your own choices, and they don’t have a vote.”
“They might have families of their own, but that didn’t stop them from doing a number on Mason last year,” I point out.
“I think we can all agree Mason deserved what he got,” she says under her breath.
“Did you know Cooper got a tattoo of the Death Star on his bicep last week? He still thinks he’s part of the Rebel Alliance or something,” I add.
