Meg and Jo

by Virginia Kantra

  Lately a female tabby had taken to hanging around the barn, seeking shelter from the rain. There would be kittens in the spring, I thought. I’d posted a story about farm cats and bodega cats, including a shot of the tabby rolling flirtatiously in the straw, another of Weasley posed like a miniature lion. Eric had responded in the comments with a photo of the black cat eating from a plate in the alley behind Gusto. My cat. He was feeding my cat. Your friend misses you, he wrote.

  My heart stumbled.

  And my readers loved it. Not just cat owners and cat lovers, posting pictures of their felines, but an organic pet food company offering to buy ad space. A homesteader in Washington State and another in Virginia. A bodega owner in Flatbush. Farm-to-fork restaurants in Wilmington, in Raleigh and Asheville.

  Comments on the blog had fallen from the peak of speculation over Eric’s identity, but overall traffic was up. City dwellers responding to some fantasy of getting away from it all, maybe. Or voyeuristic interest in Eric’s and my relationship, hinted at in pictures and replies.

  I had a growing audience, it seemed. Or he did.

  I was thankful for the interest. And the income. But even the success of Hungry left me unsatisfied. I felt a longing, a root-deep yearning for . . . something else. Something of my very own.

  Tell your story.

  I touched my stomach lightly. Is it you? Are you part of my story?

  A slow, blind rising welled. Like a flood filling me up, like love or faith or certainty. I was having a baby. With or without a job, with or without Eric. There you are. Hello, baby. Hello.

  Meg came over to drop off the twins, dressed for her meeting with the All Seasons rep in what I thought of as her bank clothes, the bag from Amy doubling as a briefcase.

  “You look good,” I told her. “Happy.” Glowing, which is what they said about pregnant women. Not that I was glowing much after throwing up.

  “I am happy,” Meg said, loading the samples into the back of her big white Explorer. “You sure you’re okay out here all alone?”

  The girls, Amy and Beth, were both still gone. For once, I was the one left at home. There was no place I would rather be. I’d always been happy with my own company.

  But I missed Eric.

  I swallowed the ache in my throat. “I’m not alone.” The twins scampered around the kids’ paddock like a pair of baby goats, Daisy stamping through puddles in her glittery pink galoshes. “I have these guys. And Mom gets out of rehab next week.”

  Meg closed the hatch and turned. “We should all have dinner before Amy flies back to Paris. The way we used to for Dad when he got home. A dinner for Mom.”

  “Beth’s classes start the Tuesday after Martin Luther King Day. Maybe that weekend? Before she goes back to school.”

  “I wish she hadn’t gone to Nashville.”

  I watched DJ try to climb up the bottom of the toddler slide. “Colt Henderson invited her to record her song in his studio. She can’t turn down an opportunity like that.”

  “Or she can’t turn down Colt Henderson. I don’t trust him,” Meg said.

  “You’ve never met him.”

  “I don’t have to meet him to form an opinion about him.”

  “You’ve never met Eric,” I pointed out.

  She raised her eyebrows without speaking, a trick she got from Mom. And look where that got you.

  I flushed. “I should probably make that doctor’s appointment soon.”

  The look dissolved into concern. “You want me to come with you? I can hold your hand.”

  She was the world’s best sister.

  “I’ve decided to keep it. The baby,” I said.

  “Oh, honey.” Meg hugged me tight. “You’ll be a wonderful mom.”

  “You think?” I asked, almost shyly.

  “I know. Look at you with these two. Auntie Jo.” She pulled back, smiling. “Maybe you’re more like Mom than you thought.”

  “Right. Both of us knocked up.”

  Her mouth fell open. I snickered. She giggled. And then we were snorting and gasping with laughter, clutching each other for balance, collapsing against the car. The twins stopped their play to watch us.

  “I should go,” Meg said, straightening up.

  I nodded. “Good luck with your meeting today.”

  She flashed another smile. “Thanks.”

  “There are a couple restaurants who are interested in our cheese,” I told her. “You think you could meet with them?”

  “You should do it. You know what they’re looking for.”

  I didn’t see Michael Burdette from Squeal seeking my input, but I nodded anyway. It wasn’t fair to make Meg do all the work.

  “Or . . .” Meg hesitated.

  “Or?”

  “We could do it together,” Meg said.

  “Sisters’ Farm,” I said.

  “Sisters’ Farm.” Meg smiled. “Sounds good to me.”

  “Me, too.” Together sounded even better.

  * * *

  John says you’re keeping the baby,” Trey said when I answered the door that night.

  “Hello to you, too,” I joked.

  His expression didn’t change in the porch light. “Can I come in?”

  “Sure. Want some soup?” The flood of sympathy casseroles had dried up once my father moved out, but I’d left a big pot of minestrone simmering on the stove. The smell of Tuscan beans, thyme, and tomatoes filled the downstairs.

  “I’m not here for dinner.”

  I stepped back. “Come in anyway.” I led the way to the kitchen.

  “Have you told the father?” Trey asked.

  I lifted the lid off the soup. “Not yet.”

  “You need someone to take care of you,” Trey said. “You and the baby.”

  I stirred. “Not your job.”

  “It could be.” His tone was uncharacteristically grim. Resolute.

  I turned. His face was pale, his eyes very dark.

  He was serious, I realized with a curious twist of heart. He was . . . Trey. My buddy. But at some point, when I wasn’t paying attention, he had become something more, this quiet, determined man set on doing the right thing. “I can’t stay old Mr. Laurence’s grandson for the rest of my life.”

  He was right, and I was wrong. He had changed.

  And I had, too.

  Marrying Trey would be the perfect romance novel solution, where the pregnant heroine enters a marriage of convenience and finds true love with her best friend. I could be Elizabeth Bennet, living happily ever after at Pemberley. Trey was kind. He was rich. He would always take care of me.

  Only . . . Lizzy loved Darcy, right?

  “Trey.” I put down the spoon and sat, taking his hands across the kitchen table. His hands were long and elegant. No scars, except for a white puncture at the fleshy base of his thumb where he’d jabbed a fish hook once. No tattoos.

  I swallowed. “I appreciate the offer. I do. Really. But I don’t want to marry you.” I squeezed his hands. “And you don’t want to marry me.”

  Something flashed in his eyes. Relief? “It’s complicated.”

  “Well, yeah,” I said dryly. “I’m pregnant.”

  He didn’t smile. “I still want to help.”

  “You can. You will. You’ll be an amazing uncle.”

  He sighed and released me. “I’m better at playtime than diapers anyway.”

  “You’re good at a lot of things.” I got up to serve us soup. Somehow I knew that now he would stay. “You want to start a college fund, I won’t say no. My job prospects don’t look so good right now.”

  “What about that guy? The father.”

  “Eric.”

  “Yeah. He ought to pay.”

  “You mean, like child support.”

  “That, too.”


  “Ha. I’m glad you can joke about it.”

  “Who says I’m joking?” Startled, I turned, soup dripping from my ladle. Trey was smiling crookedly, the old Trey smile, but his eyes were deadly serious. “You have to tell him,” he said quietly.

  “I know. I will. I want to. It’s just . . .”

  “Complicated,” he finished for me.

  “Yeah.”

  “If you’re worried about how he’ll react—”

  “No,” I said quickly. Not in any way I could discuss with Trey. “I trust him to do the right thing.” Whatever the right thing was. “It’s just . . . It’s not the sort of news you break over the phone.”

  “So you’re going to see him.”

  Come see me, I had written on New Year’s Eve. NC is beautiful in the spring.

  I’ll be there, Eric had texted back. Before he knew—before I knew—I was pregnant. Could my news wait until March?

  “I thought I’d ask him here,” I said.

  Trey grinned, a sharp, feral grin. “Good.”

  “You have to be nice,” I warned.

  “No, I don’t. Not if he’s taking you away from us.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. We’re having a welcome-home dinner for Mom,” I said, changing the subject. “Next Sunday. You’re invited.”

  “Great.”

  “And your grandfather, too.”

  “If you’re feeding him, he’ll come. Thanks, Jo,” Trey said quietly. His dark eyes met mine. “Still friends, then?”

  “Always.” I leaned my head against his shoulder. “You will always be in my life,” I promised.

  I only wished I could say the same about Eric. We were expecting a baby together. Well, I was expecting. Eric didn’t have a clue what was about to hit him. I could take care of myself. And our child, too. But I had to tell him.

  Soon.

  CHAPTER 28

  Endings and Beginnings

  Like birds returning to the nest, my sisters had come home.

  First Amy, her suitcase bursting with fabric samples and knockoff scarves from New York. Then Beth from Nashville, toting her guitar. And finally Meg, bustling in the back door, bringing the twins and two pies.

  “Lot of fuss,” our mother said, taking them from her. “Not that I don’t appreciate it.”

  “No fuss,” Meg said. “They’re from Connie’s.”

  I looked at the perfectly finished crusts. “Store-bought? Good for you.”

  Meg smiled. Shrugged. There was an ease, a confidence, in her that wasn’t there before. As if she’d found her balance with work, with John, with everything.

  “I was working last night. No reason to be a hero, John says.”

  I grinned back at her. “Or a martyr.”

  The kitchen filled with women’s voices. I sat at the table with DJ on my lap, breathing in his little-boy smell and the golden scent of onions sautéing in butter.

  “It’s so wonderful to all be together!” Beth said.

  Not quite all. Daddy wasn’t here.

  The words lingered unspoken on the air.

  “Actually.” Our mother cleared her throat. “I’m expecting a few more for dinner.”

  “John will be here as soon as he gets off work,” Meg said. “After he takes the dog out. Four o’clock, he said.”

  My phone chirped from my pocket. “That’s what I told Trey,” I said.

  “Your father will be here at five,” Mom said. “He’s coming with Aunt Phee.”

  Amy looked up from the centerpiece she was constructing of milkweed pods and magnolia leaves. “You invited Dad?”

  “This is a family dinner,” our mother said evenly. “He is still part of this family, girls.”

  Beth slipped her arm around our mother’s waist. “Do you miss him very much?”

  “I’ve been missing your father most of my life,” she said dryly. “Could be he’s missing me, too. At least now when I call him, he shows up.”

  Another chirp from my phone.

  “Should you get that?” Meg asked.

  “It’s just a blog comment.” I shifted my weight to one hip, holding on to DJ, reaching for my pocket.

  “I liked that post you did about the cats,” Beth said.

  “Everybody liked that one,” Amy said. “But your branding is wrong. You need a new logo.”

  “If you want to redesign something, look at the farm website,” our mother said.

  I stared at my phone screen. My heart ricocheted to my throat. Not a comment. Not a text. A phone call.

  “Who is it?” Beth asked.

  Amy craned to see. “Eric. Oh my God, is that him?”

  “Answer it,” Meg said.

  “Hello?” I croaked.

  “I talk, Auntie Jo!” Daisy demanded.

  Meg hushed her.

  “Jo.” His voice; oh, his deep, remembered voice.

  “Hi.”

  Daisy, denied the phone, broke into wails. Meg picked her up, murmuring soothing sounds.

  “You are well?” Eric asked politely.

  I’m pregnant.

  “I’m fine. That’s Daisy. My niece.” It seemed absurd to be making small talk after our online flirtation, the intimacy of his late-night comments. “How . . . How are you?”

  “I am here. In North Carolina. Bryan has a tournament this weekend. I did not call before because I did not know his schedule. If his team would advance. But I would like to see you before I go.” His deliberate sentences, his Old World courtesy, made him sound very formal. Or possibly . . . nervous?

  Warmth filled my chest. He wanted to see me!

  “He has a playoff game this afternoon,” Eric continued in that deep, delicious voice. “But when we are finished, perhaps we could visit you. If that would be okay.”

  My brain scrambled. “Here? Today?”

  “This is a problem?”

  Meg grabbed my arm. “He’s coming here?”

  “Who? Eric?” Amy asked.

  I flapped my hands at them to be quiet. “It’s just . . . There are people coming over.”

  “You have a party.”

  “It’s only family. A dinner for my mother.”

  “I’d like to meet her,” Eric said.

  “But your boys . . .” I objected weakly.

  “They have been asking about you since the airport. I want them to know you. I want to see you.”

  “Invite him,” my mother said.

  “Jo.” Eric’s voice was quiet. Serious. “‘Come,’ you said. If this is the wrong time . . . If you have changed your mind . . .”

  No running away. No pushing away. “No,” I said. “I want you.”

  “Then I will be there.”

  My heart swelled. “Stay for dinner,” I said recklessly. “You and the boys.”

  “Everybody’s dying to meet them,” Amy said, loudly enough to be overheard.

  Our mother gave her The Look.

  “Thank you,” Eric said. “We may be a little late, but we will come. After two days of fast food, we all are hungry for a good meal.”

  “Great. That’s . . . Great.”

  We said good-bye. I sat there, stunned.

  Meg smiled. “I should have brought another pie.”

  * * *

  Three hours until dinner. Then two. Then one. Beth cleaned. Amy set the table. I helped our mother in the kitchen while Meg got Daisy and DJ up from their nap.

  Beth gave a contented sigh. “This is nice. All of us working together.”

  Amy handed a spoon to DJ, who promptly stuck it in his mouth. “Like old times.”

  We were still us, I thought, looking around at my sisters. There was no one else who shared our history, who spoke our secret language, who could summon the past or drive me crazy with a single word. And
yet . . . “It’s the same,” I said. “But not the same.”

  Meg cuddled Daisy, all rosy with sleep. “It’s more.”

  “Because you girls are more,” our mother said. “I’m proud of you. Each one of you. Not just as my daughters, but because you’re all becoming wonderful women.”

  “It’s a new beginning,” Beth said, her eyes shining.

  Amy gave a little nod. “I’m launching my new brand this year.”

  “I have a new business,” Meg said.

  “And Jo has a new blog,” Beth said.

  “A new book,” I said. Saying it out loud like that made it all the more real.

  “Not to mention the new baby,” Meg said.

  “What? Jo!”

  “You’re pregnant?” Amy exclaimed, delighted. “You slut!”

  Oops.

  Meg gave me an apologetic look. “I thought you told them.”

  My sisters descended on me for hugs and explanations.

  “Nobody tells me anything,” Amy complained.

  “I’m not telling anyone yet,” I said. Only our mother. I bit my lip. And Meg and John. And Trey, who was sworn to secrecy. “Not until I see the doctor this week.”

  Beth squeezed my hand. “Does Eric know?”

  “I have to talk to him,” I said. “We’ll take it from there.”

  “Who cares about Eric?” Amy said. “You’ve got us.”

  “You’ve always got us,” Meg said.

  “Whatever happens,” Beth said.

  I hugged my sisters tight, choked with emotion. I’d always prided myself on living my own life, on making my own way alone. With or without Eric, I was finding my path forward. But I wasn’t alone. I had my sisters. And my mother. And my father, detached as he was. I had prickly Aunt Phee and loyal Trey and friends on both sides of the country. I had a story inside me struggling to get out. And seven months from now, I would have a baby. Imagine.

  A smile worked its way from deep inside. “I’m so lucky.”

  My mother met my eyes and smiled with perfect understanding. “We’re so lucky,” she said.