Before I can respond, he turns his back to me. He doesn’t want to talk about it.
CHAPTER 13
The last thing I expect when the doorbell rings is to see two blonde heads on either side of our front door—Mom and Amanda beaming at me through the sidelights. I yell for backup. “Jeremy, come quick.”
“Surprise,” they chorus when I open the door. They enter just as Jeremy skids to a halt in the entryway.
“Mum. Marie.” He hugs them both. “What are you doing here?”
That’s what I want to know.
“We couldn’t stand it any longer,” Mom says.
“We wanted to be sure we were here for the birth,” Amanda adds.
Jeremy laughs. I plaster on a smile. Geez. The baby’s not even due for three frigging weeks.
“But we promise not to be pests,” Mom says. “We’ve planned some day trips.”
“Marie is taking me sight-seeing,” Amanda says. “We’re going to have a blast.”
Jeremy sputters a laugh but tries to disguise it with a cough.
A blast? What has my mother done to Jeremy’s mother?
“Sounds awesome,” I say, and then it dawns on me we’re still standing in the foyer. “Sorry, come on in.”
As the moms settle on the sofa, Jeremy asks, “Can I get you something to drink?”
“No, thank you,” they chorus.
“We’ve just come from lunch,” Mom says.
“We had wine,” Amanda adds.
“Sit, sit,” Mom says to me and Jeremy. After we obey, she pulls a wrapped gift from the tote she set at their feet. Amanda reaches in and pulls out a matching one.
“Mom …”
“Relax, sweetie. These aren’t more gifts for the baby.”
“Well,” Amanda says, “not directly.”
Mom nods. “But we hope you’ll share these with him someday.”
They hold out the gifts, one toward Jeremy and the other toward me.
Inside my box is a book. The cover is deep rose—leather, no doubt—and the words Your First Year: as told by your Mother are stamped in gold. The pages are blank. It’s a journal. I turn to Jeremy.
He looks up from his journal, which is dark blue, and meets my gaze. He shakes his head. “I had nothing to do with this.”
“Is something wrong?” Amanda says.
“We know you keep journals,” Mom says cautiously, “so we thought—”
“They’re perfect,” I say. “I love them. Thank you.”
Amanda looks from me to Jeremy. “Then why—”
“Chelsea thought you may have given us these only because of the gift she gave me on our anniversary.”
“Which was?” Mom asks, looking at me.
“I kept a journal of our first year of marriage.”
“Oh dear,” Amanda says, and then her eyes widen. “I’m sorry. I’m sure yours was a lovely gift.”
Jeremy’s right brow is arched high. “It’s a treasure. But why did you sound alarmed?”
Amanda waves a dismissive hand.
“No, no, Amanda. You can’t leave us hanging.”
“Chelsea,” snaps my disapproving mother.
Amanda lays a hand on Mom’s wrist. “It’s all right, Marie. I opened this bag; I might as well let the cat out. I’m sure you and Jeremy had a wonderful first year,” she says to me, “but that’s not true for all couples.” She glances at Jeremy. “And don’t blame your father.”
He holds up his hands. “I didn’t say a word.”
Amanda sighs. “It’s just that … there were personal challenges I didn’t expect.”
Jeremy clears his throat and stands. “If these challenges were … intimate, I’ll leave the room before you go on, thank you very much.”
“Oh, sit down, Jemmy.” She shakes her head in a way that substitutes a polite gesture for rolling her eyes. “I’m talking about clashes of … personal goals.”
“What did you clash over?” I ask her.
She turns back toward me but then sits quietly for a moment as though collecting her thoughts. “I don’t want this to sound as though I’m disparaging Gordon. The problem was miscommunication—or rather, our lack of communication.” She looks down at her hands for a moment, then shakes her head. “No. In for a penny, in for a pound.” She looks up, smiling ruefully. “You know the saying love is blind? Well, it can also be deaf. Gordon communicated his goals quite well. I just refused to believe that I couldn’t change his mind. I was in love and thrilled to finally be married.” She turns to Mom. “I don’t know about you, Marie, but I wasn’t brave enough to embrace the women’s movement wholeheartedly. In my circle, if a woman wasn’t married straight out of university, we feared she was doomed to spinsterhood.”
Mom smiles and nods. But I know she’s just being polite. Even though she married at twenty, she’d gone to Washington the year before to be part of the March for the Equal Rights Amendment.
“Right. So I was three years out of uni and a bit desperate when I met Gordon—not that he didn’t completely sweep me off my feet. One of the things I admired about him was that he had his future mapped out, knew exactly what he needed to do to reach his goals—and when. I had my own goals, of course, my own life map.
Jeremy scoffs. “Not much doubt whose goals took precedence.”
Amanda smiles at him. “You’re wrong if you think I never get my way.”
“Of course you do,” I say, and Jeremy shoots me a puzzled look. “Oh come on, surely you know you’ve benefited from your mother’s running interference for you many times. Right, Amanda?”
“Indeed.” She turns to Jeremy. “For one thing, you’d be three years younger.”
“Ha!” I slap my thighs. So waiting five years to start a family was Gordon’s goal for you too?”
“It was,” Amanda says. “It was, however, not my goal,”—she motions toward Jeremy—“obviously. My point is that our first year was a fairly constant battle of wills to the point where I sometimes doubted we’d make it to our first anniversary. Two headstrong people have a lot to learn before they can become a successful team. You have to learn to respect each other. Work together. And trust.” She reaches out to pat Jeremy’s knee. “And, yes, it was easier for me to learn those lessons than it’s been for your father. But he’s come a long way.”
I glance at Jeremy just as he looks at me. He smiles, but I know he’s thinking the same thing I am—that I’m Gordon in our relationship.
True to their word, Mom and Amanda don’t hover. They check in with us every day, but we only see them twice more in the first week. But they make sure they’re available to drive to San Diego with us for a book promo opportunity the second Saturday of February. I (as Penny James, of course) was invited to participate in a bookstore appearance with five other romance authors—the star of the group, Katie Harmon, is the author of books that hit the New York Times bestseller’s list regularly. So this is major for me. I’m not sure how I was lucky enough to be chosen, but I’m totally honored.
Jeremy was worried that I’d go into labor while we’re there, even though Barbara okayed the two-hour trip after my last exam. “But what if her labor does start?” he said.
“Then you’ll be able to get home hours before it’s time to go to the birthing center.”
“But Gabi’s first labor passed incredibly fast.”
Barbara patted his shoulder. “Relax, Dad. From Gabi’s bone structure and family history, we suspected her labor might go quickly. Chelsea is not Gabi. There are no signs indicating either a premature birth or a four-hour labor. You have three weeks to go—at least.”
Still, he’s nervous as we head toward San Diego. Not me. I’ve resigned myself to being pregnant forever. Actually, my emotions are on a constant swing between anticipation and dread. One minute I can’t wait for the baby to be born and the next I’m terrified of being responsible for his life. Despite all the reading he’s done on childcare, Jeremy seems to think once we get past the birth experie
nce, it will all be sunshine and roses—which is particularly laughable because Jeremy thinks he’s the realistic one in this marriage.
We’re nearing the bookstore when Mom says, “Don’t take this the wrong way, sweetie, but I’m excited to see Katie Harmon.”
“I am too, Mom. I love her books, and she’s so funny online.”
“Isn’t she though?” Amanda says.
Jeremy glances at her in the rearview mirror. “You know who she is, Mum?”
“Yes, dear. I read too.”
“Well, yes, but …”
Mom and Amanda laugh, and then Mom says, “Even the Queen reads novels, Jeremy.”
“But not romance novels.”
“Poor Prince Philip,” Amanda says as she and Mom giggle.
Jeremy throws a bewildered glance my way. I can tell he’s wondering if he knows either of his parents at all anymore. In my view, Mom has had a positive effect on Amanda, so he’d better not be thinking the opposite.
My confidence wavers as we pull into the parking lot at the bookstore. I’m so out of my league. I clutch Jeremy’s arm. “Do you think they invited me by mistake?”
“Of course not,” he says at the same time Mom says, “Don’t be silly.”
Inside, we speak to the manager who directs Mom, Amanda, and Jeremy to the area set up for the book signing. I glance at the book table in that area and blink in amazement at the section displaying copies of my latest book. The manager takes me to an employees-only room at the back of the store where I’m to wait. She tells me to help myself to the refreshments as she opens the door to the room and then disappears. Inside the room, three of the other authors are already chatting. I freeze until someone nudges me from behind. I turn and come face to face with Katie Harmon.
“Bathroom break,” she says. “I have to pee like crazy when I get nervous. Don’t forget to go before we go out there.” She points to my big belly. “Though I’m sure your little one reminds you of that often enough, right?”
I nod. And close my gaping mouth.
“I’m Katie, by the way.”
“I know. You’re my idol.”
She laughs and gives me a hug. (Ohmygod.) “And you’re Penny.”
“I’m Chelsea actually. I mean, that’s my real name. But I’m not supposed to be Chelsea here, am I? Is Katie your real name or pen name? I don’t know what I’m doing here? I might have been invited by mistake. I mean, you’re a star and I’m just a—”
“Very good writer,” she says.
“How do you know that? I mean, thank you. Of course. But how would you know how I write? Or is that something you’re just supposed to say to other authors? I don’t know what the rules are for things like this. I mean, I’ve done signings by myself at book clubs and a small local bookstore, but nothing like this. I’m totally out of my element, so please tell me if I’m messing up. I mean, when I’m nervous I tend to run my mouth, and … I should stop talking now, right?”
She laughs again. “You should absolutely not stop talking,” she says. “But taking a breath might be good.” She turns me toward the other women and puts an arm around my waist. “Hey, ladies, welcome Penny aka Chelsea.”
They do. And then Katie says to me, “You weren’t invited by mistake. And I know you’re a good writer because I’ve read your last two books.” My mouth drops open again. Smiling, she closes it with a finger under my chin. “Mary’s reading your new one right now.”
Mary pulls a copy from her purse and holds it up. “And I’m loving it.”
I relax a little. They ask about the baby, and soon we’re all chatting like old friends. I want to remember every word so I can share it all with Jeremy and Mom and Amanda.
By the time we’re ushered out to the presentation area, I’m pretty calm. Since I’m the least known author, I’m first up to introduce myself, which I do without making another surprise announcement to freak out Jeremy like I did during my first public appearance as Penny James. And then I read my excerpt, which I do without stumbling. After that, I relax and enjoy the day. To my surprise, all the available copies of my new book sell and a few more are on special order. That’s small numbers compared to what the other authors sell, but it’s great for me.
And suddenly, it’s all over and I have to say goodbye to my new friends … well, one of the other authors was a little standoffish, but Katie’s warmth more than made up for that.
“Can you believe I sold all those books?” I say as we’re walking to the car.
“Next time we’ll know to supply more,” Jeremy says.
“I doubt I’ll ever be a part of something like that again.”
“Of course you will, sweetie,” Mom says. “This was great exposure. You’ll see. And not to slight your little speech and reading, but Jeremy also helped those sales.”
I glance at Jeremy, who dismisses her statement with a grimace and shake of his head.
“Some of the women thought he was a cover model,” Amanda says. “And they were impressed when he told them he was your husband.”
I kiss his cheek as he opens the car door for me. “Hey, if we have you pose with your tennis racket for my next book, we could sell millions.”
“Funny,” he says. And I just smile because I’m making a mental note to schedule that photo shoot.
We’re discussing whether we should have an early dinner in San Diego or wait until we get back home when I remember that I’d muted my phone. I take it from my purse and discover that I have a text message from Gabi.
Heading to the birthing center.
“Oh my God, Gabi’s in labor.”
“No, she’s not,” Jeremy says.
“Yes, she texted me that she’s on the way—”
“Check the time stamp.”
“Almost three hours ago.”
“We didn’t want to tell you and spoil your excitement,” Mom says.
“Are the babies already born?”
Jeremy nods.
“Damn. I wanted to be there. Is everything all right?”
Mom pats my shoulder. “They’re all fine, sweetie.”
“Matt says the babies might not even need to be in NICU,” Jeremy adds.
“Awesome.” I’m happy for Gabi and Matt, of course, and I knew it was a very long shot that I would deliver before her, but now it’s almost definite that she won’t be able to be with me when I give birth, and that makes me sad. It’s all on Jeremy now.
As if he’s reading my mind, he winks at me and squeezes my hand.
What a day.
I’m like a volcano long overdue to erupt. From the way Mom and Amanda and Jeremy keep looking at me, they think the same—and my due date is still a week away. The soon-to-be grandmothers have exhausted all of the day trips they planned, but they’re afraid to go on any overnight trips and take a chance of missing the birth. So they’re hanging around like … well, not like vultures, but something. Tension is taking a toll.
Jeremy’s escaped by going into the office to work, but I’m too antsy to write. I’m trapped here in the living room with Mom and Amanda who are practically tapping their toes in anticipation that my water will break. And yes, I am irritable as hell. I feel like an over-filled water balloon. I think even my nose is retaining water. And yes, I’m supposed to be watching salt intake, but I’m craving chips and fries and pizza and everything else I shouldn’t be eating. I’m also sleep deprived because, seriously, how are you supposed to get comfortable in bed with a fifty-pound weight on top of you? At least that’s how it feels. And this is not the time to lose sleep because we all know I’ll do plenty of that after the baby is born.
“If you ask me, pregnancy is nine months of torture.”
Mom’s head snaps up from her magazine. “Chelsea, how can you say such a thing?”
“It’s been a long time for you, Mom. You’ve forgotten what it feels like. Morning sickness, weight gain, nosebleeds, headaches, heartburn, stretch marks—what’s not to love?”
“It will be over
soon, sweetie.”
“You will forget,” Amanda says. “When you look back, even at your labor and delivery, you’ll feel differently.”
“That will be a miracle,” I say as I’m struggling to my feet. “I’m tired of sitting. I think I’ll mop the kitchen.” Mom and Amanda smile at each other. “What?”
“Could be that burst of energy,” Mom says.
“The one some women get a few days before birth,” Amanda adds.
“Or maybe I just want clean floors.” Mom and Amanda exchange brow-raised looks. I roll my eyes and head to the garage for the cleaning supplies. Maybe, instead, I’ll just get in the car and drive to a spa to hideout until I go into labor. A spa where no one talks to you—or even looks at you. “And I’ll leave my phone behind,” I mutter.
“What’s that, sweetie?”
I look behind me. Mom and Amanda have followed me. Of course. Mom takes the floor cleaner from me.
“What can I do to help?” Amanda asks.
Mom hands her the broom. “Sweep.”
I wander off to the office. Jeremy looks up when I enter. “The moms are cleaning.”
“We did that yesterday.”
“Not well enough.”
He smiles in sympathy. “Too bad Dad and Uncle aren’t here to distract them.”
I groan and push the baby down from my ribs. “He’s running out of room.”
Jeremy leans close and clasps my belly. “Hey, you, there’s a spacious world waiting for you. Come on out.”
“Fat chance that will work.”
Jeremy pulls me onto his lap. As he kisses me, he runs a thumb over one of my nipples. Then he nuzzles my ear and says, “I know a way we could try to hasten labor.”
“Oh, you do?”
“Mm-hmm.” He reaches under my dress and slides a hand up my bare thigh. “What do you think, wife?”
“I think we should lock the door, husband.”
♥ ♥ ♥
Ten days later, I wake to find it started raining sometime during the night. We need the rain here in SoCal, but the dreariness does nothing to help dispel the funk I woke up in. I stumble to the kitchen in my pj’s, reminding myself not to take my mood out on Jeremy.
Open & Honest (Sometimes) (A High Tea & Flip-Flops Novel Book 3) Page 18
