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“What kind of attitude is that? He’s your husband, Bailey.”
“I’m well aware,” I grind out. “But that doesn’t make me responsible for his whereabouts at all times.”
“What’s going on?”
“Nothing.”
“Then prove it. Call him.”
I throw my hand up in frustration, not in the mood for one of Mom’s lectures. Especially not her one-sided one, where Quinn can do no wrong, and I’m, as usual, the bad one. “Gosh, Mom, if you’re so desperate to have him here, call him yourself.”
Annoyed with everything, my good mood from earlier destroyed, I march to the living room and throw myself down on the couch next to Gabriel. I’m aware that I’m acting like a child throwing a tantrum, but I don’t care. I’d rather watch some man hooking—I squint at the TV—a shrimp than be subjected to Mom’s interrogation.
We’re just about ready to sit down for dinner when Quinn walks through the door. Seeing how Mom’s eyes light up and how she rushes to hug him leaves a burning in my gut. Especially after the peck on the cheek and the interrogation I got. I shouldn’t be surprised. It’s always been like that, but it’s never bothered me before. Their close relationship made me happy, but now, I can’t deny that I’m jealous.
We take our places, and after Dad says grace, we tuck in. I try to concentrate on my food, but it’s hard when even the slightest movement has my leg brushing against Quinn’s.
“So, how is work going, Quinn?” Mom asks, and I have to suppress my eye-roll. His work has been consuming so much of his time that it’s become like a third person in our marriage, and it’s the last thing I want to hear about.
“Crazy busy,” he says, sipping his beer. “My workload is insane.”
“You poor thing,” she tuts. “Stress is very bad for your heart. Don’t forget to take time to relax and have some fun. You have to take care of yourself. ”
“Good luck with that,” I mumble around a mouthful of peas. I’ve always hated the damn things, and even though I’m almost thirty, I still get the pursed mouth and disapproving look if I try and skip them. It’s not worth the argument, so it’s the first thing I eat just to get it over with.
“What was that?” he says, side-eying me.
“Nothing. Absolutely nothing.”
“You should come fishing with me next week,” Dad says, his eyes lighting up. “There’s nothing better for relaxing.”
I snort because there are a few things I can think of off the top of my head. One in particular, but what do I know? It’s been so long that I’m practically a nun.
Across the table, Gabriel sniggers, and I’m just in time to see Amelia elbowing him in the side.
“I’ve been meaning to ask you,” Amelia says, “have you and Quinn spoken about that house?”
“What house?” Quinn asks at the same time I mutter, “No.”
“There’s a house in our street going on the market soon which I think would be perfect for you. I mentioned it to Bailey a few weeks ago. She didn’t tell you?” I fidget underthe what the helllook she’s giving me. This is exactly why I didn’t want to come tonight.
“No, she didn’t,” he says, shifting uncomfortably.
“Why ever not?” Mom accuses her eyes on me. “Didn’t you say you wanted to buy a house and start trying for a baby?”
“Yes, but you need to be able to relax to make that happen, so no.” Was that a tad bit snarky?
Gabriel coughs, trying to hide his grin behind his fist.
“Bailey, what’s gotten into you? You’ve been in a mood since you got here. I hope you’re not like that at home. It certainly doesn’t help with Quinn’s stress. Also, you’re not getting any younger, and the longer you wait, the harder it will be for you to conceive.”
“Mom, that’s uncalled for,” Amelia scolds.
I wait for Quinn to speak up, to defend me in some way, but he’s silent, looking down at his plate.
I put my knife and fork down, pushing away from the table.
“What are you doing?”
