by Jillian Dodd
“Or met me.”
“I’m glad I met you. And I don’t know if I ever told you this, but my mom chose that name because it was my great grandma’s maiden name.”
“That makes it even better,” he says. “Monroe Arrington. What do you think?”
“It would work for a boy or a girl.” I kiss him. “I love it, Aiden. It’s perfect.”
It’s late and I’m sitting on the back porch drinking lemonade with Grandma, Grandpa, and Aiden. Knox is helping Dawson and Dallas put the kids to bed with a crazy bedtime story. Logan and Maggie left, since they have a busy day at the winery tomorrow.
“So, Hotshot,” Grandpa says to me. “We have some news. Me and Ma are homeless.”
“What?”
“We sold the ranch, dear,” Grandma clarifies.
“Better than, We bought the farm,” Grandpa says, slapping his leg with laughter.
“Grandpa, don't joke about dying. I hate that. And why did you sell the ranch? You love it there.”
“I’ve decided, after careful consideration,” he leans over and whispers to me, “and after Ma hit me over the head with a frying pan and knocked some sense into me—”
“Don't listen to him,” Grandma interjects.
“—that it was time. We've been spending a lot time in California, between the board meetings at Captive and coming here. We decided to put it up for sale and see what happened. We got a good offer, fast. We weren’t really expecting it to sell so quickly. When we go back home, we have to pack up forty years worth of crap.”
“I’ve already gone through the house and downsized it,” Grandma says, rolling her eyes.
“She got rid of everything that wasn't nailed down. I'm lucky she kept my chair and my bed.”
“And you,” Grandma says with a laugh. “Anyway, we kept what was important, and we’re going to buy some new things for our new house.”
“Where are you moving to?” I ask, shocked by all of this. I just can’t picture Grandpa in a condo somewhere.
Aiden squeezes my hand. “We have plenty of land here for them to build a house on, and they can stay in the guest house until it's done.”
Tears flood my eyes. I couldn’t be happier with the thought of my grandparents being around every day to see my baby grow up.
“Really?”
“She's crying, Ma,” Grandpa says. “Better not draw up the house plans yet.”
I get up and hug my grandma. “I’m crying because it makes me so incredibly happy.” I give Grandpa a hug next. “You and Aiden have already been talking about this, haven't you?”
“I needed to talk to him man-to-man,” Grandpa says seriously. “But, yes, we’ve picked out a spot. I just didn’t want to put the cart before the horse.”
“He's going to help Logan manage the vineyard,” Aiden tells me.
“That's great news.” I still can’t believe it.
“And it'll keep him outta my hair,” Grandma teases.
“Don't worry, were gonna put her to work doing something. Woman's gotta earn her keep,” Grandpa teases her back.
“Maggie asked if I would consider working a few days a week in the store. I’d need to learn more about wine but I'm thinking that might be fun. Getting out there and talking to people. Although, Aiden says he'd rather I make him ribs and bake pies.”
Aiden rubs his flat stomach. “Wouldn’t that be awesome?”
“So, I hear you're planning a quickie wedding,” Grandpa says, changing the subject as he takes another drink. “You knocked up?”
My heart stops beating. I can't lie to my grandpa, and Aiden's freaking grinning like a Cheshire cat.
“Wow,” Grandpa says. “It suddenly got so quiet you could hear a cricket fart.”
“I am,” I say.
“You’re what?” Grandpa asks.
“You're pregnant!?” Grandma yells out.
“Shhh! We don't want anyone to know. We haven't told anyone yet.”
“Jeez, I was just joking,” Grandpa admits. “Although, now I understand.”
“Understand what?”
“Why old Fox over there,” he says, pointing toward Aiden, “can't wipe the smile off his face. I was afraid he was going gay on us.”
“Grandpa!” I chastise. “People don't go gay—”
“I don't mean gay as in homosexual. Gay used to mean happy before all the rainbow equality stuff. He was a gay old lad, meant he was really chipper. Unusually happy. And, in my experience, a man who is too happy usually’s got something up his sleeve. You gotta watch out for gay—as in happy—people. And Aiden's been smiling so much, I half expected him to break out in song.”
“Well, now you know why I'm over the moon,” Aiden says, still grinning.
“And please don't tell anyone,” I add.
“Your mother is going to be happier than a tick on a fat dog.”
“Why haven't you told your family?” Grandma asks.
“I’m only about seven weeks, and Aiden's sister had an early miscarriage. We’re waiting until I’m twelve weeks and have had an ultrasound to tell everyone.”
“You won't be able to wait that long,” Grandma replies, shaking her head at me.
“Why not?”
“You’re skinny. You'll start showing soon.”
“No, I won’t! You don't start showing until you're, like, three months. And you don’t have to wear maternity clothes until five months.”
Grandma laughs. A loud, belly laugh. “You been reading those pregnancy books already?”
“Uh, maybe.”
“When I was pregnant with your daddy, I noticed my stomach at eight weeks. Couldn't button my skirt anymore.”
“Seriously?”
“Yes, and based on how much you ate at dinner tonight, I reckon you'll be the same.”
“You have been eating a lot,” Aiden confirms.
“I can’t help it that I’m hungry all the time. And nauseous.”
“Morning sickness, dear?”
“A little. I haven't thrown up too many times though. Mostly, I just gag.”
“You need to eat a gingersnap every morning when you first wake up. Keep them by your bed. And if you can have a cup of lemon tea with it, all the better.”
“I’ve looked everywhere online for a cure for morning sickness. I haven't heard of that,” Aiden says.
“It’s something grandmothers just know,” Grandma says to Aiden, matter-of-factly. Then she turns to me. “I'll bake you a mess of gingersnaps tomorrow. And, you should probably cut out the alcohol.”
“I didn't put alcohol in her drink,” Aiden says quickly.
“So, that's why you were so gung-ho on making them.”
Dawson, Dallas, and Knox join us on the back porch.
“They're all out,” Dallas says.
“Fell asleep during my stirring rendition of The Three Little Pigs,” Knox adds, looking slightly offended.
“Fresh air makes little ones sleep,” Grandma states. “They've had a long day, not to mention, Dawson, yours had a three hour time change. Aiden, would you get the boys some lemonade?”
“No offense, Grandma,” Knox says, “But I had something a little stronger in mind.”
“Oh, it's something stronger. It’ll put you right to sleep too, young man.”
Grandpa stands and grabs Grandma’s hand. “Ma and I are gonna hit the hay. Let you youngins have some fun.”
Aiden and I walk them in the house and give them hugs goodnight.
“Congratulations,” my grandpa whispers to me. Then he hits Aiden on the shoulder and says, “You old dog, you,” and walks off.
“While you make their drinks, I'm gonna look for something to snack on,” I tell Aiden.
He pins me against the counter, putting his hand across my belly. “Do you think we should tell our families sooner?”
“I'm dying to, but I don’t know what to do.”
“My parents are watching my sister's kids this weekend. What if we got everyone together t
his coming week for dinner? What's your schedule looking like? Back to early morning call times?”
“Yes, we’re finishing up all the indoor scenes. Sex scenes. The emotional stuff.”
“Probably a good thing you're doing them now, before you start showing,” he says, his hand still across my stomach. “I love you and our baby.”
“We love you too.”
Keatyn & Aiden’s home - Asher Vineyards, Sonoma County
DAWSON
Keatyn and Aiden bring some snacks out to the porch along with our drinks.
One sip tells me that this is seriously spiked lemonade.
“Oh, this is gooood,” Knox drawls.
“Gotta love good ol’ Southern hospitality,” Dallas agrees, taking a big sip.
“So, Dawson,” Aiden says, “I hear you and Vanessa have been hooking up.”
“Oh, Van-es-sa. Why have I not hit that yet?” Knox asks.
I want to pick Knox up and pound him against the wall.
I glare at him instead.
He holds his hands up. “Jeez. If looks could kill, I’d be dead. Do you like her or are you just hooking up?”
“Dawson and Vanessa know each other from a long time ago,” Keatyn interjects. “They will be working closely together.”
“Really closely,” Aiden teases.
Keatyn smiles at Aiden, but says to me, “Ignore him. Did the girls decide to sleep in the loft room?”
“Are you kidding? They’re in heaven. It’s like a big camp slumber party with all those bunk beds and sleeping bags. And Harlow, being only seven, hasn’t been allowed to go on sleepovers yet, so she’s thrilled.”
“Ava and Fallon seemed to hit it off,” Dallas says about our oldest daughters.
“They did. It’s nice.”
“Next time they come out, we’ll have to let them tour the kid’s school.”
“I’m sure they would like that. I really appreciate this.” I look around. “Everyone. It means a lot to me.”
“You’ve had a rough couple of years,” Aiden states.
“And we’re glad to hear you’re back in the saddle again,” Dallas drawls. “Camden may or may not have called us and told us you needed to get laid.”
“I don’t really think that’s any of your business,” Keatyn says, chiding them. But then she turns to me. “I don’t care about the sex. How are you feeling about all of this? The job? The house? The girls? About making it permanent? About Vanessa?”
Aiden starts laughing. “In a round about way, she’s asking the same question I did.”
“Fine,” she huffs. “Do you like her?”
“I’ve only known her for a few days but, yes, I do.” And I miss her. “I’m beat. I think I’m going to bed. I’m sure the kids will run us ragged tomorrow.”
Everyone says their goodnights and I go into my room and call her.
“Hey, Vanessa.”
“Hey, yourself,” she says. “All tucked in out in the wilderness?”
“I am. As a matter of fact, I’m lying in a big four-poster bed all alone.”
“I’m taking a bath,” she says, my mind immediately conjuring up naked images of her.
“That’s sexy,” I say. “Are you naked?”
“Uh, yeah?”
I laugh at myself. “I’m sorry. That was about the stupidest thing I’ve ever said. I’m so out of practice when it comes to flirting.”
“Are you trying to flirt with me, Dawson?”
“I am. I miss you, actually.”
“I miss you too. If I didn’t have to help my dad this weekend, I’d be lying in bed with you, instead of lying in the bathtub thinking about you.”
“You’re thinking about me?” I ask, feeling both shocked and happy to hear so.
“I’m thinking how I may never have sex without a fur coat again.”
“Does that mean I succeeding in making you love it?”
“You did. Just thinking about it gets me all hot and bothered.”
“When can I see you again?”
“When will you be back?”
“Sunday night.”
“Hmmm,” she says. “Okay, well, I could probably pencil you in for Thursday of next week.”
“Oh, uh, okay,” I say, trying not to sound as dejected as I feel.
“I’m teasing you, Dawson. Why don’t you come to my house when you get back. I’ll text you the address.”
“I think I should take you out on a date.”
“I’ll have my chef make us dinner here, although it’s highly doubtful I’ll let you leave my bed.”
Saturday, October 4th
Vanessa’s dad’s house - Beverly Hills
VANESSA
My dad is downsizing. Moving from the big house I grew up in to a condo near his office. I can see why he wants to move. The upkeep on a house this size and age has been a pain for him and all he really wants to do is work and golf. Mostly, golf.
I’m helping him declutter the house to get it ready to go on the market. Apparently, a lot of the stuff he has is stuff from my youth. High school yearbooks. Prom favors. Clothes I didn’t think I could live without but have been without for the past ten years. He probably has my old stuffed animals. I’d bet he even has some of my mom’s stuff too.
My mom passed away when I was in kindergarten, so I don’t really remember her much. Since then, my dad’s always treated me like a grown up, teaching me to be self- sufficient and confident. We had a live-in housekeeper who cooked for us and picked me up from school, but he was home for dinner and to tuck me into bed almost every night.
Even though I don’t really want to waste a beautiful Saturday mucking through the attic, I want to help him.
When I show up at the door, I’m shocked that he’s already accomplished a lot.
“All I have left is this pile of your stuff.” He points toward the empty dining room.
“That’s it? What did you do with everything else?”
“I donated a lot. And I have a few things I’ve been meaning to give you.”
“Like what?”
He holds out a burled wood jewelry box. “This was your mother’s jewelry. I was going to give it to you when you got older, but then Bam bought you such amazing jewelry . . .”
I slowly open the box. Dad takes a ring out and holds it in front of me. This was her engagement ring. Just a chip, really, but we didn’t have much money back then. I always told her I’d buy her a bigger one someday.” I hold up a locket. It’s oval and scrolled, the silver tarnished. “That was her grandmother’s. There’s a picture of you inside from when you were a baby.”
I open it up and see my mother’s face next to my chubby baby one.
“You look a lot like her, Vanessa. She was beautiful.”
“You always said that all I got from you was your brains.”
Dad laughs. “Your mother was a lot prettier than I was, but she was smart as a whip too.”
I pick through other small jewelry items. A class ring. A sorority pin. A small diamond pendant. A pretty ruby ringed in diamonds.
“Thanks, Dad,” I say, feeling overwhelmed.
“And, now for the boxes,” he says, pointing. “I have to run and drop off this paperwork, but I’ll be right back. Have fun!”
I quickly go through the boxes of clothes, laughing at how fashion has changed so much in a decade. So far, there isn’t anything I want to keep.
I open a box full of bikinis and shorts. I hold up a pair of cut-offs that I only wore to the beach with Keatyn. I wouldn’t have been caught wearing something so unrefined at school. I laugh at myself. I thought I was so cool. I slip my linen capris off and slide the shorts on. They are ratty, a little ripped, and fringed. I don’t know why I decide to keep them, but I take them off and set them next to the jewelry box. Next, I go through boxes of old stuffed animals, childhood gymnastics and piano recital ribbons, and am planning on getting rid of it all.
Buried in the bottom of a box of stuffed animals, I find a pl
ain, wooden box. One I don’t recognize.
I open it and read a letter on the top.
My dearest Vanessa-
This letter is for when you get married.
I pull the rest of the papers out and open them, quickly realizing there are letters to me from my mother for all the big events in a girl’s life. For when you get your period. For when you have your first date. For when you lose your virginity. For when you graduate. For when you fall in love. For when you get married.
The last letter has my dad’s name on the front. Inside it says: I’m sorry. Please give these to her.
I read through them all, mesmerized by my mother’s words. The first letters are sweet and have pretty good advice. Others seem very old-fashioned, particularly the one about protecting my virtue. Others seem, I can’t put my finger on it but, off. The handwriting is harder to read and the words are jumbled.
But, wait. My mom died in an accident.
I look up and see my dad standing above me.
“I didn’t give you those as she requested.”
“Why?”
“Your mother’s death was officially ruled an accidental overdose. She mixed antidepressants with alcohol.”
“But . . .”
He holds his hand up. “I know. Why the letters? I thought the same thing when I found this box in your bedside table a few weeks after she died.”
“So, it wasn’t an accident?”
“I don’t think so. I never told anyone. I didn’t want them to think differently of her. Particularly, her family.”
“That must have been hard on you. Do you have any idea why she did it?” I ask, knowing there was a time in my life when even I didn’t want my life to go on.
“She suffered from depression and was on medication. I thought she was doing well. We’d even considered having another baby. The note was a complete surprise.” He sits down next to me, tears shining in his eyes. “Vanessa, was I a good father?”
“Yes, Dad,” I say, hugging him, tears filling my own eyes.
“I worked a lot. I regret that.”
“You taught me to have a good work ethic and you were always there when I needed you.”
