The Anderson Brothers Complete Series

by Kristin Coley

  “He will. We’ll give him time to calm down. We’ll make him understand,” she said, encouragingly. I felt her shifting and I saw she was trying to turn and face me—a task made difficult by her burgeoning belly.

  My lips started twitching, as she struggled to turn, but I wisely didn’t allow the smile that was trying to break free. I used my free arm and pulled her over to face me. She grunted and said, “Thank you.”

  “Anytime.” I answered, amusement pushing the pain aside. Being around Hannah was enough to lighten my heart and make me believe in the impossible.

  Her stomach pressed against mine, as we lay there quietly. The silence was oddly comfortable. We couldn’t fix each other’s hurt, especially not the hurt our own parents inflicted on us. But being together brought its own healing, because we’d both endured this pain.

  Suddenly, I felt the baby kick me in the stomach, the feeling startling a laugh out of me. I guess the little alien wanted to remind me of her presence. I reached down and ran my hand along the spot where I felt her kick, and she nudged me again. I leaned down and placed a kiss on Hannah’s stomach, whispering, “I promise to be the best father I can and never deny you.” Hannah stroked my head, as she told me, “That’s a good promise.”

  Hannah

  Chapter Twelve

  The next few weeks flew by, and before I knew it Thanksgiving was here. Ford hadn’t made peace with his parents yet. A week after Ford told me what his father had said; I received a call from another lawyer at his firm. He said he would be assisting me with the adoption process. I politely told him I’d changed my mind and wouldn’t need his help. He seemed surprised, as I hung up on him.

  His parents continued to refuse Ford’s calls. Even his mom wouldn’t speak to him, which surprised me. I called her myself to see if I could bridge the gulf widening between them.

  “Mrs. Anderson, its Hannah. I was hoping we could talk about Ford,” I started, hopeful since she’d answered the phone.

  “Hannah, we have nothing to discuss,” she replied, coolly.

  “But, Ford wants you to understand his choice,” I attempted again, before she interrupted me.

  “His father and I do not agree with the direction Ford is taking with his life, and that includes you. He’s making a mistake throwing away his chance to be a lawyer, and we will not stand by and watch him ruin his life. I’d ask that you don’t call here again.” I heard silence on the other end of the line indicating she’d ended the call.

  I set the phone down carefully. I hadn’t missed the part about me. After that, we didn’t try calling any longer. Eventually, they might come around, but they’d have to make that decision on their own.

  Colt didn’t have a similar reaction to hearing about Ford’s decision to abandon law. In fact, he was ecstatic about it. It bonded them in a way, a sort of us against them. Colt assured Ford that their parents would come around eventually and in the meantime to enjoy doing what he loved. Granted Colt didn’t know the entire sordid story and we weren’t telling him, but the advice was sound.

  I think Ford just enjoyed talking to Colt. They discussed football and girls, Ford dodging any questions thrown at him about his own love life. He opened up to Colt about the furniture he was making and completely impressed Colt with his skills.

  Martha and Joe were sympathetic about the rift between Ford and his parents. I don’t think they understood why his parents would reject him for following his dreams, but they never said a bad word about them in front of us. They asked us to join them for Thanksgiving dinner, but they were going to one of their kid’s house, and we didn’t want to intrude.

  Ford asked me if I wanted to go out for Thanksgiving, but I told him no. I wanted to make our Thanksgiving dinner myself. We had so many things to be thankful for this year, and I wanted to celebrate them. A part of me felt we were building traditions that would carry through our life together.

  I explained it to Olivia, and she nodded her head, “Girl, I’m glad you feel that way. I don’t understand it, but I respect your feelings.”

  I nodded at her answer. It was better than I expected coming from Olivia. She had her own family demons.

  “So am I invited to Thanksgiving dinner?” she asked, kind of abruptly, looking intently at her manicure.

  I was surprised by the question. Usually, she spent the holiday on an island somewhere. “Of course you are. I thought you’d be in Cabo San Lucas, or somewhere like that.”

  “Daddy can’t make it. He’s got business meetings lined up in Edinburgh, and I’m not going there. It’s cold!” she exclaimed, with a slight eye roll.

  I laughed at her and said, “So you don’t want to meet a Scottish Highlander?”

  “Girl, Outlander was close enough for me,” she said, with finality.

  So I was flipping through cookbooks, trying to find recipes for Thanksgiving dinner between answering calls. School was out for the week, for which I was abjectly grateful, but I’d picked up hours at the leasing office.

  Ford wouldn’t allow me to contribute to the household bills. He insisted I keep the money I earned for college. I understood his thoughts on it, but it still made me uncomfortable. I knew I wouldn’t be able to work for several weeks after the baby came, and we would be relying solely on Ford’s income. I felt the need to contribute. We’d gotten into an argument about it a few days before.

  “Ford, I want to help with the bills. I can’t just live here and not contribute,” I shouted at him, frustrated over his unwillingness to listen to my point of view.

  “I make enough to support us. We don’t need your income. You need to be saving it for college. That has always been the plan,” he argued, upset.

  “No. I got the job to pay for my insurance and gas. Anything left over went to my college fund. You don’t even want me to pay that now!” I told him, exasperated.

  I’d finally called my grandparent’s and explained the situation to them. They were more than sympathetic and wanted me to move to Maine and live with them. I refused, because my life was here with Ford. They had always paid for my cell phone bill, another item my parents had considered unnecessary, and wanted to continue paying it.

  That was the reason I’d called them in the first place. Ford had switched to his own plan, after his parents cut him off, and he wanted to add me. The argument started when I’d agreed to let them continue paying it.

  “They don’t need to be paying your phone bill. We can afford it. And what do they mean they want you to live with them?” he demanded, when I explained after hanging up with them.

  “You said we can afford it, but you’re the one paying the bills,” I snapped at him, aggravated. “They offered me a place to stay, that’s all,” I said, brushing it off.

  “Why would they do that after you told them you were living with me?” he pushed, upset.

  “They’re my grandparents, and a whole lot better than my parents. I think they wanted to make sure I had another option,” I said, frustrated by his insistence.

  “Do you want to live with them?” he asked, quieter.

  “No. I just told them no. My life is with you,” I told him, rubbing my temples.

  “But you were forced to stay with me,” he responded, walking around the room.

  “No, I wasn’t. I could have called them anytime in the past few months. I could have stayed with Olivia. She would have made room. I chose to stay with you. Do you regret my decision?” I asked him, wondering.

  “No! Of course not. I’ve never regretted you being here,” he said, stilling. “I want you here.”

  “Then why are we arguing about this?” I asked him, lost.

  “I’m an idiot,” he admitted, slumping down into a chair.

  “Well the first step was admitting it,” I told him, getting a reluctant smile in return.

  “It’s my pride. I want to be able to take care of you. I know you’re tired with school and the pregnancy and then throwing work on top of that. You shouldn’t have to. I can suppo
rt us and I want to support us. And then to hear your grandparents offer you another home; it scared the shit out of me,” he said, frowning. I started to understand why he was upset, but I needed him to understand my feelings on it.

  “I’m not going anywhere. Maybe I should, but that’s beside the point, because I’m not. So get that out of your head. And I know you can support us. I don’t question that, but I feel helpless relying on you for everything. I’ve changed your entire life, and I’m not saying it’s not exactly what you want, but I still felt responsible. I need to work the same way I need to go to school. It’s for my sense of self,” I explained to him, trying to get through.

  “I get it. We’re both trying to do the same thing, but in our own way. I admit I didn’t react well to the thought of you leaving, even if I didn’t think you would, and I’m sorry. Part of why I want you to save the money you make is so that you have it. I don’t ever want you to feel like you have to stay with me, because you need to. But I also want to support you. The end result is the same though. I want to take care of you.”

  “And I get that, but we have to find a compromise,” I told him gently.

  “I don’t want to compromise, though,” Ford whined, making me laugh. “Any compromise means you won’t be saving the money you earn.”

  “Yes, that is true. But it will make me feel better. I need to have some control over our finances. Fighting over money is one of the biggest issues between couples. We need to resolve right now to not let it be one of ours. We have enough stuff going on,” I said, walking over to him. I plopped down on the coffee table in front of him. I didn’t want us to be separated, while we talked.

  He reached over and took my hands. “It’s not going to be an issue with us,” he promised.

  We made a plan to go over the finances once a month, decided on a budget and spending money, and he agreed that I should continue to pay for my car insurance and gas. I accepted that I couldn’t contribute equally to our income, and that was okay.

  As Ford told me, “We support each other in sickness and health, richness and poorness. Would you feel differently if you made more than me? If I lost my job and couldn’t work?” Looking at it from that perspective, I realized it didn’t matter, so long as we were together supporting one another.

  I finally settled on the recipes I wanted to try for Thanksgiving, and Olivia looked over them, giving her approval. I flashed her a smile saying, “I’m so glad you approve.”

  “FYI, I’m not bringing food to your house for Thanksgiving. You should know I don’t cook. But I will be bringing a hostess gift, so be ready,” Olivia replied, airily, checking her makeup in the mirror on her desk.

  I wouldn’t call her vain, but she was immaculate with her appearance. Her dark hair was in a French twist, her lipstick perfectly applied, and she was wearing a sheath dress by a designer whose name I couldn’t even afford to pronounce.

  “You don’t have to do that, Olivia. We’re happy you’re coming,” I assured her, truly glad she would be joining us on our first Thanksgiving. Olivia had proven herself to be a true friend, never backing down, or avoiding me when things were awkward. She’d stayed and supported every decision I’d made.

  “I know I don’t have to. I want to, and it’s a gift for both of us,” she answered me, looking over at me smiling. I raised my eyebrows at that, and admitted I was intrigued.

  Olivia was a generous friend. It wasn’t unusual for her to buy me lunch or show up with some maternity outfit she thought was cute. She had no issue spending her father’s money, but she never flaunted it. I couldn’t wait to see what this gift would be.

  I decided to be organized and make things ahead, so I’d only have to heat them up on the big day. I started with sweet potato casserole. The recipe said I could make it, freeze it, and then cook it the day of.

  It went well, so the next day I prepped the cornbread dressing. I made the cornbread, broke it up, chopped the veggies, and threw everything into a casserole dish. I took the turkey breast out to defrost, submerging it in the sink to thaw faster. Then I made pecan pie.

  Thanksgiving arrived and Ford made a big breakfast of waffles and sausage. We’d planned for a late lunch, since Olivia was coming. I knew she wouldn’t get up before eleven on her day off.

  After breakfast, I started seasoning the turkey and figuring out what needed to be in the oven. It was harder than I thought. It seemed like everything needed to be in there at the same time. I could see the advantage of having double ovens for days like this.

  When the doorbell rang at 1:45 p.m., I was crying, sitting at the bar, with Ford holding a cold wet cloth to my arm. Ford shouted for Olivia to come in, and she strolled in, dressed to the nines. As I saw her perfection, I burst into tears again.

  “Do I even want to know?” she asked, coming in and setting a gift bag on the counter.

  “Hannah burned herself getting the turkey out of the oven,” Ford explained, tugging his hankie out of his pocket and handing it to me. I wiped my face, hiccupping, and saying, “Tell her all of it.”

  Olivia’s eyes widened, as Ford bit his lip and said, “She dropped the turkey on the floor when she burned herself.”

  “And I burned the sweet potatoes. And the cornbread dressing is mushy.” I wailed, in the interest of full disclosure.

  “Okaaaay,” Olivia drawled. She pointed at me and said, “You, go shower and put on one of the adorable maternity outfits I got you. You have food in your hair. Where’s the turkey?” She asked, looking around.

  “In the sink,” Ford and I answered, in unison.

  “That’ll work. Rinse him off and pop him back in the oven for a minute.” She nodded and then looked back at me. “Why are you still in here?”

  I hopped up and waddled to the bathroom. I knew she was not kidding around.

  When I came back, the table was set, and the food was laid out. It was beautiful. Somewhere in the twenty minutes I was gone, she’d created a centerpiece for the table and folded napkins into turkey shapes. The turkey was sliced, and everything was served on pretty dishes I didn’t know we had.

  Tears started welling in my eyes and Olivia pointed at me saying, “Don’t even start.” I sniffed them back and sat down.

  “Olivia, how did you get this all done?” I asked, amazed.

  “I had help,” she told me, smiling at Ford.

  “You mean a slave,” Ford grumbled, looking at me. “She’s a taskmaster.”

  “We didn’t have time to dilly dally around,” Olivia declared, with a huff.

  “I didn’t think you could cook?” I asked her, hesitantly.

  “Oh, I can cook. When I’d get bored I’d go hang out in the kitchen with the cook. She didn’t believe in idle hands so I had to help if I was in there,” Olivia told us, a fond smile on her face. “I learned a lot from her.” She pointed a knife at me, “I choose not to cook, so consider yourself special.”

  “I do. Thank you,” I told her hurriedly. I glanced over at Ford and saw him hiding a smile.

  “Maybe we should say what we’re thankful for?” Ford offered.

  “I’ll go first,” I said softly. “I’m thankful for friends that stand by you and rescue Thanksgiving dinner.” There was a low chuckle at the table. “For Ford, who has stood by me every step of the way. For this baby, who is an unexpected blessing.”

  Ford cleared his throat. “I’m thankful for the people at this table. For Olivia, because you’ve never wavered from Hannah’s side. For the baby, that changed our lives only for the better. For Joe and Martha, two beautiful people that have helped us tremendously. And Hannah, for showing me what true strength is.”

  “Well, after those beautiful speeches, I’m thankful I’m not in Scotland freezing my ass off,” Olivia added, raising her glass. We started laughing and raised our glasses in salute, “Let’s eat.”

  We dove into the turkey that had been rinsed off and warmed back up, burnt sweet potatoes, and somehow Olivia had rescued my mushy dressing. It was
a delicious meal, made more so by its imperfections. Olivia refused to divulge how she saved my stuffing, but told me I’d done a good job.

  We ate till we were stuffed, laughing over each other’s stories of prior Thanksgivings. Ford had us rolling telling stories of Colt. Looking around the table, I caught my breath, realizing this was the best Thanksgiving I’d ever had. Everything felt right in that moment. This was how I wanted to raise my child—surrounded by family and friends that love and laugh.

  “Hang on, y’all,” Olivia shouted, getting up from the table. “You haven’t opened our gift yet.”

  “Our gift?” Ford mouthed to me, and I gave him a slight shrug. I still didn’t know what she meant either.

  Olivia plopped the little gift bag in front of me. It was a perfect Thanksgiving bag with a cornucopia on the front of it. I pushed the tissue paper aside and found an envelope with a gift card inside. Olivia was smirking, as I opened the envelope and saw the amount.