Meg and Jo

by Virginia Kantra

  “Oh, hey,” Amy said. “I almost forgot.” She dug in her pocket. “This is for you.”

  I looked at the wad of cash without touching it. “It’s a little early for baby presents.”

  She lifted her chin. “It’s not for the baby. It’s for you.” She put the bills on the table. “For a new laptop. Because I puked on your old one.”

  Stunned, I started to count. “Amy. Honey. What did you do? Sell a kidney?”

  “Of course not, silly. I left some of my bags with that friend of Meg’s. Sallie Moffat? She works at that boutique? She sold them for me.”

  “Your bags. You mean, bags you made? You sold them?”

  She nodded, her blue eyes meeting mine, seeking my . . . approval?

  “That is so sweet,” Beth said.

  “Generous,” Meg said.

  “You didn’t have to do that,” I protested. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “Say, thank you,” our mother prompted.

  “Thank you,” I repeated. “Oh, Ames, thanks!”

  She beamed. “You’re welcome.”

  And then we were hugging again, and I was crying,

  “Hormones,” Meg said.

  The family started arriving, first John—he brought the dog with him—then Trey and old Mr. Laurence. Hannah came, with pictures of her grandbabies. Finally, Aunt Phee’s white Mercedes pulled into the drive, our father in the passenger seat, her little Yorkie perched on his lap.

  Phee greeted me with a kiss and a demand to know what I’d done to my hair.

  Polly yapped and shook in our father’s arms, desperate to establish dominance over Lady. Dad held the dog awkwardly, a guest in his own home. I felt a hot surge of resentment and then a tug of pity. All this togetherness couldn’t be easy for him. He’d always held himself a little apart in family gatherings. Maybe I only noticed it now that he didn’t have his study to retreat to.

  I took the dog from him, taking care it didn’t bite. “Hi, Dad. How was your conference?”

  I stayed with him, listening, while my ears strained for the sound of the doorbell. While Trey juggled DJ and a conversation with Aunt Phee, and old Mr. Laurence got on the floor with Daisy, and John cornered Meg for a kiss in the hallway. Amy flitted around with a platter of crudités.

  “Let me get that,” Beth said, taking a bowl from Mom and setting it on the table.

  And still Eric didn’t come.

  “I spoke with your mother,” my father said, recalling my attention. “You’re . . . all right?”

  Our entire relationship was in the question and in the silence between. My father cared about me. He just couldn’t get involved in the messy emotional details.

  But my first stories were letters I had written for him. He was the one who had encouraged me to read, who took me to the bookstore to buy Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows at midnight. Who urged me to apply to grad school. Who taught me to stick up for what I believed in.

  “I’m fine, Daddy.”

  He looked relieved. “Good.” He cleared his throat as if he might say something more. Patted my shoulder instead. “Good.”

  I blinked back tears. It was all he could offer. It was enough.

  I found my sisters in the kitchen and took my turn at the sink, looking out on the empty pasture. The sun was sinking into the trees, taking the temperature down with it. The sky was stained pink. Slowly, the days were getting longer.

  Eric was late.

  Maybe his son’s game had been delayed. Or he’d changed his mind. Or there was traffic, an accident on the highway, maybe. My heart jerked. Oh God, what if Eric had been in an accident? What if . . .

  I took a deep breath, scrubbing a pan with renewed vigor.

  “I will be there,” he had promised.

  “Did you know Beth’s song got, like, a million hits on YouTube?” Amy asked.

  I smiled over my shoulder at Beth. “Because she’s amazing.”

  Beth blushed. “Not because of me. Because of Colt.”

  “But it’s your song,” I said. “You wrote it.”

  “You’ll be a celebrity when you go back to school,” Amy said.

  Beth focused on drying a pot. “I’m not going back to school this semester.”

  “What?” Meg asked.

  “Of course you’re going back,” I said.

  “Why?” asked Amy.

  Beth raised her chin, anxious and defiant. “Colt asked me to go on tour with him, and I said yes.”

  “I thought you threw up every time you went on stage,” Meg said.

  I looked at her sharply. Beth hadn’t told me that.

  “Colt says I’ll get over it. I want to be stronger. To be more . . . To be more, like Momma said.” Beth’s gaze sought mine. “Be happy for me. Please?”

  Amy was right. As much as I wanted to protect Beth, we couldn’t stay in our little pigeonholes forever. Let Beth follow her heart.

  And I would follow mine.

  “Of course we’re happy for you,” I said staunchly.

  The doorbell chimed.

  “I’ll get that,” Amy said.

  I dropped the pan into the soapy water, my hands suddenly shaking. “I’ve got it.”

  I dashed across the living room. Flung the door open. “You’re here!”

  “I told you I would come.” Eric cupped my face in his large, warm, rough hands. I caught my breath. He smelled of grass and sweat and cold. He kissed my forehead, then my nose, then my lips, kissing me as if his sons weren’t standing right there on the porch, as if my family weren’t watching from inside.

  I curled my hands around his thick wrists and held on, kissing him back with my heart on my lips.

  “Who is this?” my father asked.

  I broke away, feeling my face flush. Taking Eric’s hand, I led him into the living room, nearly bursting with pride and love and worry. “This is Eric. Eric Bhaer. And his sons. Bryan.” I tugged him forward. “And this is Alec.”

  They murmured greetings and shook hands with the awkward grace of the young.

  Phee craned her neck to look at them. “You’re very . . .”

  I stiffened. Please, please, don’t say something horrible.

  “Tall,” Phee said.

  “They’re growing boys, Aunt Phee.” I grinned at them. “Hungry?”

  Bryan nodded, smiling faintly.

  Alec flashed a grin like his father’s. “Starved.”

  John stepped forward. “Right this way. I hear you play soccer,” he said, leading them back to the kitchen.

  I loved my sister’s husband.

  Phee switched her attention to Eric, taking in his dark skin and heavy stubble beard, the tattoos under his pushed-up sleeves. “What is it you do, Mr., ah . . .”

  “Eric,” he said pleasantly. “I cook.”

  “He’s a cook,” she remarked to no one in particular.

  “He’s a chef, Aunt Phee,” Meg said.

  “I worked at Eric’s restaurant in New York,” I said. “Gusto.”

  She ignored us. “And what brings you to North Carolina?” she asked Eric.

  “Soccer tournament,” I said at the same moment he said, “Jo.”

  My heart jolted.

  “I’m with Jo,” he repeated, holding my gaze. His eyes crinkled in that way he had of smiling without smiling, and something moved in my chest.

  I grabbed his hand again. “Let me show you around.”

  Phee raised her eyebrows. “I would think the tour of the farm can wait.”

  “It actually can’t,” I said. I can’t.

  “Well, really, I . . .”

  “Let the girl go, Phee,” my mother said.

  Whatever Aunt Phee replied was lost as I pulled Eric back outside, dragging him off the porch and out to the barn. Not that h
e took much dragging.

  The barn was cold and smelled of hay. My heart hammered as I turned to face Eric. “I need to talk to you. Alone.”

  The creases by his eyes deepened in amusement. “Alone is good,” he agreed.

  My knees turned to custard. I straightened my spine. “I’m pregnant.”

  His face stilled. Before I could decipher his expression, he hauled me into his arms and against him. His body was as hard as oak. His arms were so strong and he felt so good against me, solid and strong and right. I sagged against him, giddy with relief. For a long moment, we just stood there, holding on to each other, his warmth surrounding me. With me. “I’m with Jo.”

  He pulled back, his big hands gripping my shoulders. “But . . . How?”

  “The usual way. The first night, probably.” My smile twisted. “Apparently I should have checked the date on the condom box.”

  His gaze was dark and intense on my face. “How do you feel?”

  “I feel fine. I’m seeing the doctor on Thursday.” His expression did not change. I realized suddenly what he was asking. “I want this baby. And I want you to be part of his life. Our lives. If that’s what you want,” I added.

  His hands tightened almost painfully. “That’s what I am here for. To ask you. If you will be with me.”

  My heart stuttered. “Where?”

  He smoothed my hair back from my face, his touch lingering in my short curls. “Does it matter?”

  I shook my head. “No. Not if we’re together.”

  “You can do better.”

  “I am doing better,” I protested. “Telling my story, like you said. I’m writing a book.”

  “I cannot wait to read it. But, Jo . . . I do not care what you do. No.” He frowned. “I mean, whatever you do, I respect you. I admire you. To me, you are perfect. You can do better than me.”

  “There isn’t anybody better,” I said, my voice husky. “Not for me.”

  “Then . . . Jo, will you marry me?”

  My mouth dropped open. My courage had taken me only as far as telling him. My imagination hadn’t taken me much beyond that. “I . . . It’s a little early to be making plans.”

  He gave me a patient look. “You are having a baby, yeah?”

  “Not for seven more months. Our baby won’t care. Besides, your boys need time to get used to me. My mother still needs me. And I . . . I’m not ready to leave my family.”

  “Einverstanden. You are here. My boys are here. I will stay.”

  “But the restaurant . . . Your job is in New York. Oh.” I yanked my hair. “I have to think.”

  Eric smiled. “You think. I will wait. And then we will get married.”

  I crossed my arms. “You’re not marrying me because I’m pregnant.”

  “No,” he agreed. “I am marrying you because I love you.” His face softened. “Beautiful Jo.”

  My eyes were wet, which made it hard to see, but I thought his were, too. I kissed him. We kissed a long time, until Amy called us in to dinner.

  “Sorry to interrupt,” my sister said cheerfully. “But in another minute John is going to come out and demand to know your intentions, and the rest of us are hungry.”

  We went inside, where we were met with a considering look from Trey and a quick smile and thumbs-up from Meg. DJ had stripped off his diaper and ran giggling around the living room, pursued by John. Alec galloped by with Daisy on his back. Lady pressed against the sofa, whining adoringly up at Weasley, who stared disdainfully back. Aunt Phee was directing the placement of the dining room chairs while Beth and Hannah tried to get food on the table.

  “Welcome to March Family Madness,” I murmured to Bryan, and was rewarded by a flickering smile.

  We all trooped into the dining room. John helped our mother to a chair at the head of the table. After a pause, my father took a seat beside Aunt Phee. So that was different.

  “Ashton, will you say grace?” my mother asked.

  That, too, was new, my father needing an invitation to speak.

  We joined hands around the table. Eric’s knee, warm and firm, pressed mine.

  My father bowed his head. “Lord, bless this food for our use and our bodies to your service. May we lay up for ourselves treasures in heaven, riches that endure. For where our treasure is, there will our hearts be also.”

  “Amen,” our mother said, and we all echoed, “Amen.”

  “Not that there’s anything wrong with a little treasure here on earth,” Aunt Phee added. She leveled a look at John. “What’s this I hear about your quitting your job to go back to teaching?”

  I smothered a grin.

  Dishes were passed. Plates were filled. Everybody was shoveling food and talking. Trey dealt manfully with Phee while John discussed working summers at the dealership with old Mr. Laurence. My father said something (I heard the words noble calling) that won a surprised look from John and a nod from the old man. Amy broke off a conversation with Hannah to show Bryan something on her phone. Beth had overcome her shyness to draw out Alec about an upcoming school play.

  Here was my treasure, I thought, gathered around the table. Here was my heart. I was surrounded by family. By love.

  At the head of the table, Mom held herself stiffly—she had to wear the brace for another week—but her face was warm and relaxed. I’d never realized how much of her mealtime was spent jumping up to serve others, how much of her energy went into taking care of my father. Now she listened as Meg described the recent buyer’s meeting. Eric nodded, adding something about establishing standing orders to restaurants.

  He fit in, I thought. He belonged.

  “So, when is there going to be another wedding?” Aunt Phee demanded.

  Conversation stopped.

  Eric took my hand. “That’s up to Jo.” He looked at me, that little crinkle at the corners of his eyes, and for a second I forgot to breathe. “Slow and steady, yeah?”

  My heart, already full, flooded. I loved him so much. “Not too slow,” I said.

  Eric laughed. And there, in the sight of both our families, he leaned forward and kissed me.

  QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION

  1. Meg & Jo is inspired by Louisa May Alcott’s classic story. What versions (book or movie) of Little Women are you familiar with? In what ways did Meg & Jo confirm your impressions of the characters? How did they surprise you?

  2. The March sisters often repeat their mother, Abby’s, sayings (“If you can’t say something nice . . .”; “Whatever happens, we have each other.”) What sayings did you hear as a child? Do you ever find yourself repeating them? How did they direct your life?

  3. Which of the sisters could you most identify with, and why?

  4. Meg and John both show love by actions, not words. How does this work for and against them? Does it change? What would you say your style of showing love is?

  5. Jo feels especially close to her father. Do you think her desire for his approval affected her other relationships? How did her perception of him change throughout the book? What did you think of Ashton as a man, husband, and father? Did you agree or disagree with Abby’s decision at the end of the book?

  6. When the original Little Women was published, many readers were disappointed that Jo chose older Professor Eric Bhaer over her childhood friend, Laurie. How do you feel about her choice between Eric and Trey? Which sister do you think is a good match for Trey, and why?

  7. Meg tells Jo that she’s unfair to Amy. Can you remember examples from the book that make you think this is true or not true? How would you describe Jo and Amy’s relationship? Does it remind you of sisters you know?

  8. Major scenes in Meg & Jo involve food. What does cooking in the book mean to different characters? What does it mean to you? Do you have family or holiday traditions involving food?

  9. The March girls find them
selves reverting to their childhood roles when they are together. How does that compare with your own experience? What is your family role? Has it changed over time?

  Keep reading for an excerpt from Virginia Kantra’s next novel

  Beth & Amy

  Coming soon from Berkley!

  Amy

  It’s always a mistake to sleep with a man who’s in love with your sister. Even in Paris. Even if they’d broken up again—for good this time, he said. Even though I’d been in love with him since I was eleven years old.

  But I was young and dumb and homesick. So. Whatever. I had a one-night hookup in a foreign city with Trey Laurence, the rich boy next door, after my sister broke his heart.

  Three years later, I was older and a whole lot wiser. But returning home for my sister’s wedding was still going to be all kinds of awkward.

  Not that I hadn’t been back to North Carolina before. For holidays, and that awful time when Momma got sick, and when my nephew Robbie was born. But even though my sister was about to be married to another man, I still couldn’t face her without a squirm of guilt. I’d had sex with Jo’s ex—a clear violation of the Sisters’ Code. As for the other guilty party, Trey . . . Well. Just because he’d found a way to forgive himself didn’t mean I had to forgive him. Or myself. Mostly I avoided him.

  Which was going to be a lot harder to do now that we were members of the same wedding party. (And no, my heart wasn’t holding on to some pathetic hope that now that Jo was finally marrying somebody else, Trey would pull his head out of his ass and realize it was me he loved, after all.)

  But maybe being a bridesmaid in Jo’s wedding would bring me and my sister closer. Maybe this was my chance to prove to Trey—or at least to myself—that I was over him. I had better things to do with my life than obsess over a stupid childhood crush. My handbag business, Baggage (“Own It”) had taken off. Meghan Markle herself had recently been photographed carrying one of my totes, and demands for the rechristened “Duchess” bag were pouring in, threatening to flood my Bedford Park apartment.

  “It’s like a goddamn rainbow puked up in here,” my assistant, Flo, had said before I left New York. She zipped tape across the top of a carton, adding to the boxes of custom orders packed and stacked for pickup by the door.