“We’re going to get through this,” I said, my voice suddenly firm. She needed to know that she wasn’t alone, that I would be here through this, whatever she needed.
“They’ll kill me, Lizzie,” she whispered, and I knew she meant her parents. For a lot of families, a twenty-four-year-old having a baby wouldn’t be a huge deal, married or not. But our family wasn’t like most others. To say our parents were old fashioned was the understatement of the year. I had left to go to London with my boyfriend—not even living in the same apartment with him—and my dad had refused to speak to me for months. Sofie wasn’t over-reacting with her fear of their response.
“They will not kill you,” I said, with more conviction than I felt. She raised her eyebrows at me. “I mean, okay, so they’re going to freak out. That’s a given.” She laughed a little, and I felt a rush of relief. At least she wasn’t sobbing anymore. “But seriously, Sof, what’s the worst that they can do?” I shook my head. “Yell for a while? We’re used to that, being the terrible rebels that we are.”
My second attempt at being lighthearted didn’t even elicit a smile. “They’ll kick me out, Lizzie. I bet they won’t even speak to me.”
I swallowed, wanting to tell her that she was being silly, that they wouldn’t possibly kick her out or cut off communication. Then I remembered spending the previous Christmas with Thomas’s family, because my dad and sister weren’t speaking to me. Damn it.
“Maybe they’ll surprise us,” I suggested, willing myself to believe it. “They have come a long way over the last few years.”
Her expression was so completely skeptical that I had to laugh. “I mean it, Sof. Look at me—a year ago, they were all freaking out because I wanted to study abroad. Now I’m living with my boyfriend, and they aren’t batting an eye.”
Sofie laughed before hiccupping. “Yeah, except my mom still sighs and shakes her head every time your name comes up.”
I scowled at her, all too familiar with the Aunt Maria sigh and headshake combo. “She may do that,” I pointed out. “But she still helped throw me an engagement party, didn’t she?” I smiled at my oldest friend. “It might not be everything, Sof, but it’s progress.”
She nodded, staring at the table. I felt my heart clench—she must be so scared. “Do you want me to come with you? When you tell them?”
“No. I think I just want to get it over with.”
“You call me as soon as you tell them, okay? No matter what they say.”
She nodded again, her eyes still on the table.
“I’m sorry, Lizzie,” she finally muttered.
I blinked in surprise. “Sorry? For what? You think I care if you got knocked up?”
She threw her shriveled straw wrapper at me, sticking out her tongue. “No, brat. I meant I was sorry about dropping this on everyone when you have the wedding coming up. The last thing you probably wanted was a new family scandal, right when everything was finally going back to normal for you.”
“Are you kidding? I’m grateful—now they’ll all forget about the fact that I’m living in sin with my godless Hollywood gringo boyfriend and obsess about how terrible you are for a while.”
“You joke,” she murmured, smiling sadly. “But it’s actually true.”
“Screw them, Sof,” I said, much more vehemently than I had planned. “I’m serious. If they can’t be supportive of you, then screw them.”
“Thanks, Lizzie.”
“Have you…do you want to talk about the…eh…plans?”
She groaned. “Stop worrying about saying the wrong thing, Lizzie, please. I need you to be normal with me, okay?”
I nodded. “Okay. I won’t tiptoe around anything.” I met her eyes. “Do you want to keep it? Because if you don’t, I’d, you know, be supportive of that.”
“I’ve thought about it,” she said, looking away. “Believe me. But mostly because then I wouldn’t have to tell my parents.” She smiled into the distance. “I think that’s a pretty crappy reason not to have a baby. Because I’m twenty-four and still scared of my mom and dad.”
“But you also shouldn’t have the baby just to prove that you aren’t scared,” I pointed out. “You should only have the baby if you want to, Sofie.”
Her hand came up to her stomach, absentmindedly, as if she wasn’t aware she was doing it. “I do want it,” she said softly. “I’m scared out of my mind, but I can’t imagine not having it.” She rolled her eyes at me. “See, my mom should be proud. At least some of her constant preaching stuck—turns out I’m pro-life. Who would have thought?”
I snorted. “Yeah. Too bad their preaching about abstinence didn’t stick.”
For the first time since we’d sat down, she let out a real, full-throated laugh, and I felt a rush of relief. She might be scared witless, but if she could still laugh like that, I knew she was going to be okay.
***
I told Thomas about Sofie’s secret the moment he walked in the door from rehearsal.
“Wait, Sofie is what?” he asked, looking confused from the doorway, through which I hadn’t even let him pass before spilling the news.
I grabbed his hand, pulling him into the kitchen. “Sofie is pregnant,” I hissed. “And I couldn’t tell anyone until you got home, so you need to get in here so I can get this all off my chest.”
“Holy shit,” he muttered, looking dazed. He pulled his messenger bag from his shoulder and sank into a chair at the kitchen table. “Seriously?”
I sat across from him, nodding vigorously. “Yes. She told me today. Apparently it’s that guy I was teasing her about dating, the one from work.” I made a face. “Tim something.”
“Does he know?”
I shook my head. “She didn’t even know for sure until today. She took the test—multiple times—this morning, but she’s suspected for weeks.
“Has she told anyone else?”
I shook my head. “Just me. She says she didn’t want to say anything before the engagement party. She thought it might divert attention from us. She’s under the impression the family might freak out when they find out she’s pregnant with no intentions of marrying the father.”
He made a scathing noise in the back of his throat. “Might freak out?”
I nodded vigorously. “Right?”
“God, what are her parents going to say?”
“Pretty much what I was afraid my parents would say last year.”
Thomas met my gaze, his expression turning from shocked to sad. It had been one of our worst fights, those moments after the test showed I wasn’t pregnant. Thomas had been excited by the prospect of a baby and furious when I listed my parents’ reaction as the biggest reason I was relieved not to be pregnant.
“The difference,” I said softly, not really wanting to think about that night, “is that I had you, no matter what. Sofie is only casually dating this guy. She doesn’t think he’s going to be there for her.”
“Maybe he’ll surprise her,” Thomas suggested.
But I shook my head, thinking about her words at the coffee shop. He doesn’t love me. And I don’t love him. “She’s alone, Thomas. And she’s terrified.”
“She’s not alone,” he said firmly. “She has us. No matter what she needs—a place to stay, someone to help her pick out baby stuff, money for diapers—we’ll help her, Lizzie.”
I felt a rush of love for him, knowing how sincerely he meant it. Of all of my family, I think it was Sofie that he had come to love most, to think of as a member of his own family. I slipped out of my seat and went to sit in his lap, my favorite place to cuddle after a day a part. “Thank you for saying that.”
“I meant it.”
“I know.” I kissed the tip of his nose. “And that’s why I love you.”
Thomas raised an eyebrow at me. “And I thought it was because of my rugged good looks.”
I giggled, poking him in the stomach. “That, too.”
Thomas pulled me closer into his chest, and I nestled my head under
his chin. “So I guess there’s no point in asking how your day was, huh? You’ve probably been obsessing about this since she told you.”
“I can’t help it. She said she wanted to tell them as soon as possible, get it over with. What if she’s telling them right now?”
“Then she’ll probably be calling you any minute.”
My eyes flicked to my phone on the counter of their own volition and Thomas laughed. “You can’t make it ring by sheer force of will, Lizzie.”
“I wish she would have let me go with her,” I said. “I offered, but she said no. She’s scared and she hates being scared, so she’s trying to cover by not accepting help. She’s always like this.”
“Can’t say that reminds me of anyone,” he muttered, his voice dry.
We sat in silence for a few moments. It was nice to snuggle up to Thomas, particularly when I hadn’t seen him for several hours, but I couldn’t turn off my brain. I knew a family freak out of epic proportions was on its way, and there was nothing I could do to slow or stop it.
And there was a little part of me—a nasty, selfish little part—that was a little resentful of Sofie’s news. It already seemed nearly impossible, telling my family that I didn’t want to get married here in Michigan. But how on earth could I do it now, when everyone was about to be all worked up and upset over Sofie’s bombshell?
“You’re thinking about the wedding, aren’t you?” Thomas asked, and I shook my head at his ability to read my moods so well.
“It’s going to be even harder to tell them about getting married in London, now,” I said, feeling guilty even as I said it. It was just a wedding. Considering the life change Sofie was about to undergo, my little problems were silly.
“Do you want to tell them?” he asked, looking down at me.
I shrugged. “I don’t know. I always imagined our wedding would be in London. But before I met you, I figured I’d be married here, just the way they’re planning now.” I paused. “It wouldn’t be terrible, you know. Having the wedding here.”
“I know it wouldn’t. Look, Lizzie, all I care about is getting to call you my wife. How we get to that point isn’t so important to me.” He placed a finger under my chin, making me look up at him so he could meet my eyes. “What’s important to me is you—you getting the wedding you want. Wherever that is. Here, London, Vegas.”
“Didn’t you veto Vegas? I thought you wanted to see me in a big white dress.”
He gave me a wicked grin. “If it’s anything like the quince dress, you’re damn straight I want to see it.” His face turned serious. “I mean it, Lizzie. If you want to get married in London, I want that, too. Even if that means having a scary conversation with your family.”
I sighed. “You’d think I’d be over it by now—being scared of them, I mean. What with all of the defiance you’ve been encouraging in me since we met.”
“That’s me,” he said, matter-of-factly. “A terrible influence of drugs and sex.”
I laughed at the image, knowing he was moments away from changing into a worn cardigan and slippers—his “at home” clothes, as he called them—and settling down with a book or newspaper. He may be an internationally famous movie star, but Thomas was much more curmudgeonly old man than mysterious danger man.
“Think about it, okay?” he pressed. “It will only get harder to tell them the more planning that they do.”
He had a good point there. “Let’s just give it a while to see how they take Sofie’s news.” I straightened up in his lap. “Who knows, maybe everyone will just be really excited for her.”
I could tell he didn’t believe me for a second, but still he smiled and agreed. “Maybe.”
Yeah, I thought to myself. And maybe Maria will give up teaching and motherhood for a life in the circus.
“Poor Sofie,” I muttered, cuddling into Thomas once again. I’d been on the receiving end of family disapproval enough over the last few years to know that she had a rough road ahead of her. I couldn’t protect her from it, but I could be there for her. And not just in private either—Sofie had always stood up to our parents for me, no matter how disappointed they were in my choices. I would do the same for her, no matter what. Even if it did put me on my parents’ bad side.
Wedding or not.
Chapter Seven
Sofie didn’t call that night, or the next morning. When I finally got sick of waiting and called her cell, she didn’t answer.
It wasn’t until two days later that I finally heard from her. “I’ve decided to wait,” she said firmly before I even had a chance to say hello.
“Wait? To tell them, you mean?”
“Yes. I have a doctor’s appointment in three weeks. I’ll tell them after that.”
She was going to wait three weeks? “Sofie—”
“Look, what if I’m wrong?” I couldn’t help but notice the hopeful note in her voice. “People get false positives all the time, right? It’d be pretty dumb to tell them and get them all worked up for nothing.”
“Oh, Sof.” I didn’t know how to tell her that I thought she was more than likely being delusional. I could understand her wanting to be in denial. It was a natural reaction to her circumstance. But waiting to deal with it wasn’t going to make it any easier.
“Look,” she said, her voice suddenly weary. “I know I sound like I’m full of it. I just…I can’t deal with it yet. If that makes me a coward, so be it.”
“You’re not a coward. This is a scary situation. I just don’t want you to think it’s something you can keep putting off.”
She sighed. “I know. I just…I just need a little more time.”
“Are you sure you don’t want me to come over when you tell them?”
“I can do it, Lizzie.” She sounded a little annoyed, so I decided to drop it. She knew I was there for her when she was ready to talk about it.
The next day was a Wednesday, which meant spending the day with my mom. My dad had taken quite a leave of absence from work after her aneurysm to help with her recovery, but there was only so much time off that he could afford. We’d been able to arrange many of her therapy sessions for early evening, allowing him to take her. Wednesdays, however, were her long day. Every week, I would accompany her to both speech and physical therapy. Afterward, I would usually try to take her shopping or out to lunch so she wouldn’t get stir crazy. She couldn’t drive any more and, spending so much of her time stuck at home or in therapy, I thought it was important to give her a change of scenery and something else to focus on.
That Wednesday, however, she seemed tired and asked to go straight home. I stopped off at a local deli to get us both sandwiches, not in the mood to cook. Over lunch, she told me about how her seclusion might change soon. “They think I might be able to drive by the end of the month,” she said, obviously excited about the prospect.
“That’s great, Mom.”
There was a part of me that was nervous at the prospect. Though she spent time alone at the house, the idea of her being out and about—and alone—made me anxious. What if she had another aneurysm, or her muscle memory failed her? What if she had a car accident? It wasn’t fair to her, I knew, but so long as she wasn’t alone I didn’t have to worry about her.
“It would be perfect timing,” she went on, “with the wedding coming up and all. It would be easier to have a car for all the errands I’m sure will pop up as we get further in.”
I felt my stomach dip. Here was my chance, then. I could tell her about London without any interference from my sisters or my dad. She would understand, wouldn’t she? I couldn’t imagine that she’d be mad at me—disappointed, maybe, but not mad.
“Oh, that reminds me, I have something for you.”
Before I could offer to go myself, she pulled herself to her feet and made her way to the staircase. “Mom, let me go.”
“Why don’t you come with me,” she countered. So I joined her on the stairs, resisting the urge to take her arm. She leaned heavily on the bannister,
tired from her therapy, but her steps were strong and sure.
In her bedroom, she picked up a box from the top of her dresser and brought it to the bed. “What’s that?” It looked like an oversized clothing box, the kind of thing you’d get when you bought a gift at the department store.
“It’s for you, if you want it.” She pulled the lid from the box revealing a mass of gauzy white tulle and lace.
“What is it?” I breathed, reaching out a finger to touch the soft, silky tulle.
She reached in and pulled the fabric out, shaking it slightly so that it spread out over her lap. I realized what it was as soon as she began to speak. “This, Lizzie, was my mother’s veil. I wore this at my wedding. And I’d like you to wear it at yours.”
I was speechless. I’d seen pictures of the veil before, in old wedding albums. I knew that if I held it up to my head it would easily reach the floor. The silky, impossibly fine tulle was lined along the edges with lace so delicately crafted I was almost afraid to touch it.
“This is a traditional mantilla,” she said, holding it up a little so I could better see the lace. “It might be a bit old fashioned, but it’s still in very good shape.”
“It’s gorgeous,” I breathed, wondering how on earth it had managed to stay un-yellowed after all these years. “I didn’t know you still had it.”
“I wouldn’t have given something like this up.”
“Yeah, but the girls didn’t wear it. I figured it was discolored or something.” I thought back to Maria’s and Laura’s weddings. They’d both bought new veils to match their dresses.
“They didn’t think it went well with the style of their gowns,” my mom explained. “It’s too old fashioned. And the color is more of an ivory than a bright white, like their dresses were.”
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