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“Mom!” Meghan said. “You were the one who told me not to tell anyone because I wasn’t far enough along. By the way, I’m up the duff, in case you didn’t get that from my mother’s grandmother comment.”
The whole family attacked the pair of us on the couch. My stepbrothers dove for us, followed by Carl and Annie—and Rob tumbled on top toward the end before I shouted, “Be careful, Meg’s got a baby in there. Save the Twister for after dinner!”
There was more genuine laughter, and there was nothing to do now but settle back into the warmth of a solid champagne-centered glow. Watching Rob, and seeing how comfortable he was with my family, I could tell how fond he was of them. Of how laid back they were. The cacophony when we were all together, the different conversations mingling, everyone talking over each other and shouting to be heard. He appreciated how we bought joke presents alongside the ones that were more thoughtful. He entertained every single question Daniel had about the markets—my stepbrother had just returned home from his second semester at Western. Josh was at McMaster. They were both doing business degrees, their brains mimicking Carl’s in every possible way.
“You didn’t even bring me any sparkling water,” Meghan complained. “Being pregnant sucks.” When Jason went to grab a glass of champagne, she said, “Don’t you dare. I’m dry. You’re dry. You won’t let me touch a drop so you’re going to suffer alongside me for the remaining seven and a half months.”
“Meghan,” Jason said, “you’re going to kill me. I don’t think I’ll make it. Who can stay sober for almost eight months when you’re such a stress case?”
“Jason, better watch what you say—she’s about to blow.” I laughed. “I’d be the one to fetch that Perrier if I were you. And maybe, just maybe, my mother’s got some gin in the freezer. Slip it into yours before you come back in!”
The room erupted in laughter. Meghan let go of my hand. “I’m coming with you. No gin.No gin.”
As she passed by, Jason slapped her on the butt. “Maybe just a touch of gin? When you’ve got your back turned? When you’re not looking?”
“And these two are going to raise a child together?” Rob said. “I hope it’s twins, Meggie, just so that they’ll end up fighting more than you and Jay.”
More laughter. I envied his ability to fit in anywhere with anyone, and for his easygoing nature. Rob’s kind of confidence had been bred into him—the confidence of men who were born to wear a suit, who could hit a ball as easily as they wrote an essay or aced an exam. He wasn’t concerned with being cool. No, that was the wrong way to put it. Rob had never gone through that awkward stage in high school. He played sports. He had the same group of friends he’d had since kindergarten. Books, movies, music, places, people—they didn’t define Rob the same way they did someone like me, or Garrett.
Annie handed me a glass. “I hope you can drink this.”
“Good grief,” I said to her as she sat down on the couch beside me. “I’m not pregnant too. I’m no Meghan. And I have no plans to be—like, none. I haven’t even really said yes yet, I’ve only accepted the ring and promised to think about it.”
“I’m surprised, my girl, at that ring,” Annie said. “I always thought we were two halves of an unmarriable whole. I didn’t think the whole ring around the finger gambit was for you.”
I made sure Rob was out of earshot and said, “Between you and me, I’m not—I’m not even sure I’ll keep it. But it’s Christmas, and I couldn’t disappoint him. You should have seen his mother’s face—she was so happy and excited. I didn’t want to ruin it. I meant to take the damn thing off before we got into the house, slip it into my pocket.”
“Don’t drag this one out, Kelly, it’s not going to end well.”
We were interrupted by mother shouting, “Presents!We’ve got two hours before the turkey. Jason! Jason, get back in here! Hurry, hurry, you’re handing everything out.”
“It’ll be fine, Annie,” I said, laying my head on her shoulder. “Thank you for caring. But I love Rob. If not him, then who?”
Annie smoothed the hair on my head. I felt like I was an eight-year-old who had just had her feelings hurt by a bully on the playground. She said, “Maybe there doesn’t need to be a who? Maybe there can just be a you.”
Across the room, Carl smiled at me in his soft, generous way. He looked like he was about to say something, but then he changed his mind. And then, in an instant, we were buried in wrapping paper, ribbons, and bows. My mother set up her “appy” station on the giant coffee table—steaming hot mussels, expensive cheese, brittle, delicious crackers, and a whole fruit tray. It was a meal before a meal.
My mother was truly in her element. The rest of us sat back and let it happen. Of course, Annie helped, and so did Carl, and we all offered to do more, but my mother mostly refused. There was no stopping her as she flitted from task to task. After the last of the presents were opened, she disappeared back into the kitchen to start on the vegetables.
I didn’t begrudge my mother’s happiness. When she had decided on Carl, he never stood a chance. In a sense, he had been passed by one powerful woman to the next, and he never wanted it any other way. My mother had never been alone. Her life was littered with dates and dances and summer romances in a way that mine never had been.
The summer she had met my father, she had returned from a year of teacher’s college. She had barely gotten in after high school, and she was struggling to prove to my grandfather that she could do it. In a fit of rebellion she went off one night with a boy she met at a dance—my father—and went too far, too fast. Pregnant with me, she married him in a dingy church basement in Alliston, where she grew up. She jokingly called Meghan and me her Irish twins because we were barely thirteen months apart.
Maybe the pressure of having two kids under the age of three got to him. Maybe he realized he had made a massive mistake and didn’t know how to fix it. Maybe he didn’t have the language to express himself. He left. He didn’t look back. Without paying what the court ordered, he left the country. Meghan and I got the odd postcard, but he always mixed up our birthdays. Couldn’t keep us straight, who was older, who was younger, and kept sending us pictures of his new family. Telling us over and over again to come over so we could meet our new sisters.
Divorced, angry, and alone, my mother had skipped from relationship to relationship, always hoping one would stick. The paramedic from Bolton. The factory manager from Newmarket. Toly. One night she came home to his overheated, barely furnished two-bedroom apartment and declared, “I need an accountant. Someone with a quiet life who can balance out all my energy. There are nice men at the office where I’m working now.”
“No!” Meghan shouted. “Don’t get any ideas. I can’t start another new school. Even though I fucking hate this one.”
“Stop swearing.”
“Stop it with the men!” my sister screamed.
And we’d never shouted so much at each other as we did that night. This, this blended family, this bonus happiness, it’s really good.
“Kelly!” my mother called from the kitchen, “come and help me with the potatoes.”
Annie yelled back, “We’re all on the way. Come on, women, it’s time gender divided this party.”
