by Karen Booth
Claire stabbed at her salad, loading the fork and then setting it down on the plate. “She knew we were having fish tonight. It’s one of her favorites. And you can’t just grill a fish and let it sit around until somebody decides to show up for dinner.”
“She did send you a text to tell you that Bryce would be late bringing her home,” I said.
“Ten minutes before she was supposed to be here. She had to know we were in the middle of cooking.”
“Not every teenager thinks like that,” I said. “I doubt I did at her age.”
“Regardless, she’s late.” She closed her eyes and took a deep breath through her nose. “It’s okay. This is not a big deal.” When she opened her eyes, she looked unconvinced.
On cue, strains of Sam and Bryce’s laughter filtered into the kitchen.
“Hello, everyone,” Bryce said, trailing through the side door behind Sam.
Sam dropped her backpack on the floor next to the door. “Sorry I’m late. We decided to stop and get a coffee. Is it cool if Bryce has dinner with us?”
I could swear Richard held his breath while we waited for Claire to answer. I know I did.
“Of course,” Claire said, in a sweet voice with a very sarcastic edge. A loud scrape peeled out when she pushed her chair from the table. She abruptly turned and stalked to the kitchen cabinet, pulling out a plate and closing the door with a thud. Silverware clanged as she dug through the drawer.
Richard scooted his chair toward me, making room for Bryce between himself and Sam. I had the sense to snatch an extra placemat from the kitchen counter.
Sam and Bryce took their seats. A new, more ominous silence loomed. I passed the fish to the other end of the table and Richard followed suit with the rice and salad.
Sam stole a bite of the fish from the platter with her fingers. “Wow, Chris, this is really good.”
“Thank you. Your mother deserves the credit though. She did all of the preparation. I merely cooked it.”
“Mom, I’m sorry we’re late. It won’t happen again.”
“How do I know that? Ever since school has started, this sort of thing is happening with greater frequency.”
What Claire really meant to say was that it had been happening ever since Sam and Bryce had started going out over the summer.
“I said I was sorry. I’ll try harder.”
“It’s my fault, Ms. Abby,” Bryce said. “I had to do a few things for my dad before we left my house. You can blame it all on me.”
Claire pressed her lips into a thin line. “Thank you. I appreciate that, but I’m not trying to blame anybody. Sam, honey, I only wish this wasn’t happening so often. There’s a lot going on right now and I want us to have this time together as a family.”
Chapter Fourteen
However long a wink was, I knew for sure that I hadn’t slept one. Instead, I tossed and turned, re-hashing my argument with Sam at dinner, serenaded by occasional bouts of Chris’s snoring.
He was back at it at seven, prying me from the fitful sleep I’d managed to slip into. I stared at the clock until it reached 7:10 and I knew Sam would be up. I couldn’t let her go to school without talking to her.
I stood outside her room for a moment before I knocked. The shadow of the hand-painted sign that had said, “Samantha’s Room” in pink and purple was still there on the white wood door, even though it’d been more than a year since she’d begged me to take it down. Stay positive.
I rapped my knuckles quietly and opened the door. “Hey. Can we talk?”
She was wrestling on a t-shirt. “Is this about dinner last night? I said I was sorry.”
I sat at the end of her bed, patting the empty space next to me. “Wanna sit?”
“I’m good.” She put on earrings then fished a pair of knee-high socks from her dresser.
It felt like I’d been cut off at the knees when she kept her distance. “Okay. I’m sorry I got upset at dinner. It’s just that you’re spending a lot less time at home and when you are here, either Bryce is here too or you’re busy doing homework, which is great, but I feel like I never see you anymore.”
She studied me, clearly thinking. “I don’t know what you want from me. I’m killing myself at school right now and I like spending time with Bryce. He makes me laugh. It feels like that’s my only downtime.” Her head dropped and she picked at her fingernail. “You and Chris are off doing your own stuff all the time. Sorry, but I don’t feel like hanging out with Grandpa.”
“Do you really feel like that? About me and Chris?”
She folded her arms across her chest, saying volumes with body language. “It’s true, isn’t it? You’re either up in New York or you’re writing or talking about the new house. Chris is always at the studio with Grandpa. I just feel like everything that’s going on doesn’t involve me.”
At least she hadn’t brought this up at dinner. My dad wouldn’t have hesitated to chime in and cloud the issue. “Maybe you’d feel more like you’re a part of it if you did more with us. If you were here more.”
“Mom, think about it. You and Chris are starting a whole new life together. That’s just about you two. You’re getting married. You’re buying a new house.”
“A new house that you will live in. A new house that has an awesome bedroom for you and will have a pool eventually.”
“And that’ll be cool, but I’ll live there for a few months and then I’ll leave for college. This house has been the only home I’ve ever had.” She sat in her office chair and pulled her leg up, planting her foot on the edge of the seat, wrapping her arms around her knee. “It’s sad for me to leave that behind and you never even asked how I felt about it.”
I sighed. I hadn’t taken the time to consult with her. “I’m sorry. I thought you’d be excited to have a bigger house.”
“I am. But before Chris came along, you used to ask my opinion. Now you don’t do that anymore.”
This was the price of single parenthood, a price among many. It’d been me and Sam for seventeen years and out of my need for a sounding board, I’d involved her in as much as I could, from as early an age as possible. It’d never occurred to me that finally finding the right man meant Sam felt as though she was being elbowed out of the picture.
The door opened a sliver and Chris poked his head into the room. “Sorry, ladies, just me.” He looked so adorable with the pillow crease across his cheek, but his timing left something to be desired.
“What’s up?” I asked.
He leaned into the doorframe. “Remember, we were going to take care of that thing this morning. You know. In the bathroom.”
Sam looked as confused as I felt.
The bathroom? Oh, shit. The pregnancy test. “Two minutes? Is that okay? We’re just finishing up.”
“Yes. Of course. I’ll get coffee on.” He closed the door behind him.
“Fixing something in the bathroom? Is that some code for sex that I don’t know about?”
“What?” I squinted at her. “No. It’s the faucet. It’s leaking and we were going to try and fix it.”
“Isn’t that Grandpa’s job?”
“Chris wants to be the man of the house, honey. It’s important to him.” New subject. “Look, I’m sorry, honey. I really am. You’re right about a lot of this. I need to try harder to make sure that you feel included.”
She scooped up her Converse high-tops from their perch atop a pile of laundry. “Mom. It’s okay. I know you’re trying.” Her blue eyes twinkled. “I just felt like I had to say some of that. Because I do feel left out sometimes. Not all the time.”
How many more of these talks would Sam and I ever have? Not many in this house. A mainstay of our life together would soon be gone, which left an indescribable emptiness inside me. “Part of the reason I got so ticked off last night is because I’d planned to ask if you’ll be my maid of honor.”
“Grandpa told me it was going to be Aunt Julie.”
“He did? Seriously? When did he say that?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. A few weeks ago. After you got back from New York. That’s kind of why I was feeling left out. I figured that if you already knew she was going to be your maid of honor, then you would’ve asked me if you wanted me in the wedding at all.”
“Oh, honey. That’s so not true.” I shook my head. “Remind me to strangle your grandfather.”
“Won’t Aunt Julie get mad?”
“About which part? Your grandfather not being around anymore or the maid of honor bit?”
She laughed. “Both. Either.”
“I don’t really care what your Aunt Julie wants. I want you to be my maid of honor.”
She smiled. “Do I get to pick out my own dress? I promise to pick something unusual, but not so unusual that I outshine the bride.”
Outshine the bride? “Oh, crap. I need to start thinking about a dress, don’t I?”
“Uh, hello? Yes. Now.”
“You’re coming with me. There’s no way I’m doing this on my own. Plus, it’s the maid of honor’s job.” I kissed her on the forehead. “Now hurry up. You don’t want to be late for school.”
I left Sam and hurried back to my bedroom, where Chris was waiting with the pregnancy test, box open. “Sam said yes to being maid of honor.”
“That’s fabulous news. I’m so glad.” He pulled the wrapped text stick from the box. “Ready? I brought the timer up from the kitchen so we don’t have to rely on my watch.”
“I’m a little worried this might not work. I got up and peed at five when I couldn’t sleep.”
He shooed me into the bathroom. “No worries. We’ll try it and see what happens.”
I pulled down my pajama pants and sat on the toilet. Chris tore open the foil pouch and removed the test stick, but it might have been the most ungraceful thing I’d ever seen him do and Chris was not clumsy, however big he was. He popped off the protective cap and it fell to the tile.
“You okay, honey?” I took the test from him and tried to relax.
He nodded—short, fast, choppy nods. “Yeah. I’m great. Just seems like the chances of you being late two months in a row are slim. I’m feeling good about it.”
I was too, but again, I’d chosen not to share that with him. If he thought he was on pins and needles every month, I might have been worse. Every twinge in my pelvic region reminded me of what we were waiting for. I’d endured day after day of wondering if my breasts were sore when I put on my bra. Same routine every night when getting ready for bed. Several afternoon bouts of drowsiness had left me convinced last month, only to be disappointed. I’d tried to save him from that. I’d been waiting six months. He’d been waiting much longer.
“I might be late because my cycle is wonky.”
“Whatever the reason, here we are.” He watched me, intently, and I watched him back. “Aren’t you supposed to pee? I don’t hear anything.”
I closed my eyes. “You’re making me nervous. I can’t get it to go.” My body tensed with every word, even when I was screaming at it in my head. Just. Relax. Right. Shut up. You relax.
“Just relax.”
“Gee, thanks. That’s really helpful. Go do something for a minute and come back.”
He gave me a look that said he hated missing even a second of this. “I’ll be right outside the door if you need anything.”
“You’re sweet. Now go away.”
I took a deep breath. It felt as if the pressure was even more immense than it had been a minute ago. Seriously, Claire. Relax. I took another deep breath and finally let go. It was the most relieved I’d ever been to pee and that included many last-minute dashes to the bathroom when I’d been pregnant with Sam.
“The coast is clear—” I said, as he materialized in the doorway. “Oh. You’re here.”
He pointed over his shoulder. “I was only hiding around the corner.”
I shook my head and pulled up my pajama pants. Chris tapped away at the digital kitchen timer then waited with a towel while I washed my hands. He pulled me into a hug when I finished.
“Now we wait.” I pressed myself against him. His smell was so wonderfully heady in the morning, when there was only the slightest trace of his cologne.
“How does five minutes end up seeming so impossibly long?”
“I know. It’s ridiculous.”
“We could slow dance to pass the time.” He began shifting his weight from foot to foot and I followed. Taking his time, he turned us in a circle.
“Perfect.” I ran my hand up and down his back, familiar and enticing contours through the worn cotton of his t-shirt. If I’m not already pregnant, I will be after this dance. “Why don’t we dance in the bathroom more often?”
“No idea.” He teased my hair back over my shoulder and hummed a tune in my ear, sending all kinds of warm tingles along my spine. “It’s probably the tight quarters.”
My fingers wove into his hair, which was now back to the length I loved—sloppy and messy and perfect for hands. “We can dance all we want in our new bathroom.”
“Mmm. That’s not all we can do.” His stubble scratched at my jaw when he placed kiss after kiss on my neck. “No more squeezing into a tiny bath to take a shower together.” He stopped and reared back his head. “That reminds me. The contractor is meeting us at the house at noon.”
My shoulders dropped. “Chris. You’re ruining the moment.”
He furrowed his brow. “Sorry, love. I just had it on my mind.”
The kitchen timer sounded behind me. Beep. Beep. Beep. My heart was off to the races, pounding frantically in my ears. “Here we go.”
“Same routine as last time? Close our eyes, count to three?”
“I don’t know. Is it bad luck if we do the same thing again?”
“No. I call it tradition.”
“Okay, yes. Tradition.” My eyelids fluttered shut as we squeezed each other’s hands. “One…two…three. Open.”
A gasp left my mouth. “It’s—”
“Positive.”
Two blue lines. “I’m pregnant.” My body lightened, worries vanished, lost to that moment.
“You’re pregnant.” The smile on his face was half jubilance, half dumbstruck.
“We’re pregnant.”
He picked up the stick and swept his hair from his forehead, regarding the piece of plastic as if it was the solid gold key to a lost city. “We did it. We’re actually pregnant.”
“I know.” My voice wobbled. I bounced on my toes. “I can’t believe it.”
“No more waiting.”
“No more waiting.” I nodded like a little kid who’d been offered a second scoop of ice cream. “No more taking tests.”
“No more scheduling sex. We still get to have lots of sex, right?”
“Until I’m the size of a barn, yes. Then it might become more sporadic. It just depends.”
He kneeled on the bathroom floor, just as he had when he’d proposed, lifted up my tank top, pressing a tender kiss to my belly. “Hello in there.” His other hand slid around to the small of my back. All I could see was the top of his head—I would’ve paid good money to see the look on his face as he spoke his first words to our baby. “We are so happy you’re here. Now, be good. No giving your mum a hard time.”
Mum. I’m going to be a mum. Again. “I wish we could tell Sam. I really want to tell her.”
“Isn’t it bad luck?”
There was a thundering knock at the bedroom door. “Mom? Can I come in?”
I pushed down my tank top and bounded into our room. “Yeah, honey. What’s up?”
She poked her head in. “If you guys are done with your plumbing project, I need a ride to school. I missed the bus.”
Chapter Fifteen
“When can we move in?” Sam climbed out of the Volvo in front of our new-to-us, but actually quite old, house. Three different contractor vans sat in the driveway—the electrician, the painters, and the floor company. Much had been set in motion in a few short weeks. Cash a
nd a highly motivated contractor helped.
Claire closed her car door. “It looks so much better now that they did the pressure washing. It’s like a new house.”
“I don’t know about new, but it does look pretty good, doesn’t it?”
“I know how to run a pressure washer,” Richard said. “I don’t see why you had to hire someone.”
He and Sam started down the long driveway, walking several yards ahead of Claire and me. “He takes it as a personal insult every time we don’t include him on something, even menial labor,” I muttered.
“I know it’s a pain, but he wants to feel useful.”
“I’ve given him more than enough work to do at the studio and I still feel like I’m pestering him about things. I have to say, he’s not quite as on top of things as I thought he’d be.”
“He’s getting older. I need to bug him about the check-up again. Every time I ask him about it, he changes the subject.”
Inside, we found a bustle of noise and workers milling about.
“Looks like they’re done sanding the hardwoods.” Claire swept her foot across the pale wood floor. “When do they refinish them?”
“This weekend. When the other workers are out of here. Takes a few days for the finish to cure and then they’ll put down paper until everything else is done.”
“Are you going to be here to supervise?” Richard asked. “If not, I could do it.”
“You know, I’m going to trust that the floor people know what they’re doing.”
His forehead crinkled. “If you say so.”
“Mom, you’re going to do the ceremony right here? In the living room?”
Claire’s face lit up with pure delight. “We are. The contractor says we can move in ten days before the wedding. We’ll just delay the furniture delivery for the living room.”
“We’ll put chairs for the guests here and here,” I said, indicating two swaths of floor that ran diagonally from the entry. “The aisle will go up the center. Haven’t quite sorted where everyone will go when the caterers set up tables for the reception, but we’ll figure something out. The weather could be dodgy that late in December, so we can’t count on sending everyone outside.” I took several long steps to the far corner of the room. “We’ll exchange vows right here. Then we have a party.”
