by Sosie Frost
“You have an odd way of making me feel welcome.”
He ruffled his hair, loose and wild. His rushed breath ached my heart. He really was upset.
“I know it’s just a fake relationship,” he said. “But you’re still my friend, and I want to protect you. I blew it. I’m sorry. I promise. I didn’t forget about you—I forgot how lucky I was to have you.”
The anger dissipated as he took my hand. I gave him a slight smile.
Jude frowned. “I left you alone for half an hour. Why do you look like you jacked off a unicorn?”
“I got hungry.”
“And missed your mouth?”
“This is your fault.”
Jude pulled me into a hug. “I know. What can I do to make it up to you?”
He rubbed the soreness from my back. That was a good start. “I need a ride.”
In more ways than one. He grinned.
“Your chariot awaits,” he said. “Once we get home, I’ll make sure you feel like a princess again.”
“Promise?”
“Just call me Prince Charming.”
I wasn’t looking for a fairy-tale, just a way to make sure my ever-after came out happy.
And with Jude? A girl could have her dreams come true.
8
Rory
I couldn’t do this.
I stared at the door to my step-mother’s house armed with only a chicken and broccoli casserole. The dish was the passport I needed to return to this particular, war-torn homeland. Inside, battles weren’t fought with fists and artillery, but pride, criticism, and a healthy dose of denial.
I liked denial. Denial meant I could hide the baby. I’d cross my legs. Pretend I found a child in a box on the sidewalk. It worked for kittens. Why not kids?
What’s this? A baby? Well…I suppose I have room in the house…has she been spayed and microchipped yet?
Jude nudged my side. “Gonna knock?”
“Nope.”
“We’ve stood here for three minutes.”
“So?”
“Come on. The sooner you get this over with—”
“I can’t ask you to do this, Jude. It’s one thing to pretend at the field—”
He interrupted me without hesitation. “I promised I was going to help.”
“We’re lying. To everyone.”
“Do you want to do this alone?”
“Do you want to pretend with my family?”
If I wanted to call it a family. More a trial by fire.
I stared at my step-mother’s door. The fortress’s gate. Regan owned a suburban castle. A perfect, custom built five-bedroom home in the heart of the upper-middle class. The cream base and red siding was a charming, yet distinctive, look for the subdivision. Not too garish but pleasant enough to catch the eye. The white picket fence framed manicured beds of darling shrubs and flowering bushes—no weeds in sight. Not that Regan would have tolerated anything that wasn’t in its rightful place. The flowers weren’t the only thing under her thumb, they were just what made it green.
Regan managed her home the same way she ruled her pediatric ward—ruthlessly efficiently with an expectation of perfection.
Even if I hadn’t come home to finally tell my family about the baby, I still would have disappointed Regan. The casserole would be too salty. My dress wrinkled. My hair an inappropriate length for a professional. We couldn’t all rule the world with poise, class, and pretention. I learned long ago, only Regan set the standard.
“Don’t be afraid of her,” Jude said.
“I’m not afraid.” I lied. “I’m already disappointed in myself. I don’t need her lecture.”
“You have nothing to be ashamed of. So you’re pregnant. You’re doing great, and you’re doing what’s right. She’ll understand that.”
Oh, I did envy his optimism.
Maybe she’d forgive something like this with Eric or his brother, Adam. Her biological sons were free to do as they wished. She expected greatness from Eric of course—she had always prided herself on her athletic and gifted son. Adam, her oldest, moved away long ago. The lucky bastard. His political aspirations honored the family. He was already mayor of his own little municipality.
But me?
Regan had plans for me. From the instant Dad had married her, Regan had decided I was to become a doctor. I followed in her footsteps—or rather, I tripped along after her.
“I don’t know what she’ll say,” I said. “If she even says anything.”
“She might be shocked, but that’s okay. It’s a baby, not a bomb.”
“You’ve been away from home for too long, Jude. I don’t think you remember my family as well as you think you do.”
“And I don’t think you’re giving them a chance.”
Was he crazy? I came home to announce that I was unwed, pregnant, and potentially jeopardizing my career. The only thing worse than disappointing the accomplished doctor was insulting my Better Homes and Garden step-mother with a cold casserole that substituted breadcrumbs for Ritz crackers on top.
The scandal.
Jude squeezed my shoulder. “Repeat after me. I’m pregnant.”
I took a breath. “I’m pregnant.”
“And Jude is the father.”
Oh lord, a phrase that might have once been scribbled on a junior high notebook.
Rory + Jude = 4EVR
This was not the way I’d imagined it all those years ago, doodling my life away in trigonometry.
“I’m pregnant, and Jude is the father.”
“Good,” he said. “Once more, with conviction. Sell it.”
“I’m pregnant. Jude is the father. I’m selling it.”
“So close.”
This was it. Now or never…preferably now because I suddenly had to use the bathroom.
I knocked, awkwardly, but the shave-and-a-haircut thud sounded off-tempo and out-of-tune even against the door. I pushed it open.
Eric rushed at me first, but I stood my ground braver than any quarterback who ever faced the blitzing defensive end. I didn’t let him get mad. I spread my arms and demanded a hug with a pout of my lip.
I’d broken my brother a long time ago. He squeezed me tight.
“How are you feeling?” He reached behind me and hauled Jude into the hug too.
“It depends,” I said. “How’s her mood?”
Eric laughed. “Ask grandma.”
Oh no.
As much as I loved Grandma Mildred, Regan was never in a good mood when the pride of St. Cecilia’s retirement community broke away from the bridge game long enough to cause trouble at home.
I squirmed away and grabbed Jude. “Let’s get out of here.”
Eric didn’t let him leave. He pulled Jude away and shook his hand. “How’s camp, All-Star?”
“You’ll find out when you play me in week three.”
Eric took the challenge. “Maybe I should check you for a hidden camera, or don’t the Rivets do that anymore?”
“Don’t need to. They signed me.”
Eric laughed and hauled Jude away with the promise of a beer.
And then I was alone.
Presenting a casserole.
Pregnant.
And under the sudden scrutiny of my step-mother.
“Aurora?”
Regan appeared from the kitchen, not a hair out of place. Her proud, high cheekbones framed a dark countenance, both in skin tone and that chastising glance that surveyed me for any and all imperfection.
It didn’t seem fair that Regan had no flaws, no cracks in that perfect, ebony veneer. All I’d ever wanted was something I could use against her—a cracked tooth, tone-deafness, ugly shoes. I wasn’t that lucky. The best I could hope for was to be like her one day, though I’d probably die of hypothermia if I ever imitated her chill.
“Hi…Mom.” It had been twenty-five years since she’d married my father, and ten since he died, but the word still stuck in my mouth like a glob of peanut butter. “I brought a dish
for dinner.”
“I’m serving a turkey.”
Oh, there was a thought the baby didn’t like. “I’ll have to gobble it right up.”
“You can put the casserole in the kitchen, though I don’t know how I’ll serve it. You do realize you’re late? Had you called, I might have saved room in the oven.”
“Sorry. We hit some traffic.” In the form of morning sickness, a door-less Jeep, and an angry police cruiser who had unfortunately followed a bit too close behind us. Fortunately, the cop tore up the ticket when Jude signed an autograph instead.
“You should have called,” Regan said. “It’s polite.”
“I will next time.”
“I needed you to call this time.”
I gritted my teeth. “I can dial you now, if you want?”
“There’s no need to be difficult.”
There was always a need. I brushed past her to the kitchen, but Regan followed.
I didn’t recognize the man sitting in the dining room, but suddenly Regan’s irritation made sense.
A handsome stranger shared a beer with Eric and Jude.
Well, this was going to be a disaster of biblical proportions.
No way the dinner guest was joining us to keep Grandma Mildred company, even if Regan’s mother scooted a bit too close to him.
“We were waiting for you,” Regan said. “Aurora, I’d like for you to meet Rick Washington…Doctor Rick Washington. He’s a cardiologist at McGrin Regional.”
Oh my god. It was a set-up. I caught Jude’s raised eyebrow. I didn’t need a cardiologist. Maybe a good OBGYN. Definitely a foot rub. But a date?
I was almost insulted. Didn’t Regan think I couldn’t find a man on my own?
“Hi, uh, nice to meet you,” I said. Why did he have to be so attractive? Tall. Black. Broad shouldered. Rick was a dreamboat, but my life had already struck the iceberg of catastrophe. “Um, excuse me...Rick. Mom, can you help me with this casserole?”
Regan was no help. “I can manage your casserole while you entertain our guest.”
“It’s actually a little tricky. I need to…add a few more ingredients.”
This didn’t please her. “You brought an incomplete dish?”
“No, it’s fine. I can serve it. But I’d like your help.”
“I’m sure you remember the kitchen layout. I know you don’t visit often—or at all—but you should remember your way around.”
“I can…but maybe you’ve…” Why did she have to make this so damn hard? “Moved the tongs while I’ve been away…”
“Oh for Pete’s sake, Regan!” Grandma Mildred snuggled between Jude and Rick at the table, happy as a toothless clam. She toasted the men, and I suspected it wasn’t her first mimosa. “Give Rory-Doll a hand. I’ll entertain our guests.”
And, to demonstrate, she tucked her wrinkled hand over Jude’s and squeezed.
At least it hadn’t been his ass. She’d need another drink before that.
“You haven’t changed a bit, Jude,” she said.
He gave her a flustered smile. “Neither have you, Mildred.”
“And Rick…” Grandma couldn’t sink her teeth into him, but she could give a wink of her lazy eye. She plucked at the jewelry around her neck. “Why don’t I tell you about the time my first husband, Rodney, gave me this pearl necklace.”
Oh, God. Not that story again, not before dinner.
Regan stiffened. “Mother.”
“It all started in 1957 when I met Rodney. He said he was an oyster diver, and, Lord have mercy, he proved it…”
“Mom.” I tugged her arm. “Kitchen. Please.”
Regan relented, marching us into a kitchen that somehow prepared a Thanksgiving-inspired feast without dirtying a single dish.
Was she a fairy god-mother or a pediatric surgeon?
My casserole clattered onto the counter, and the contents splushed into a mess of cheese, breadcrumbs, and sickly pale chicken. The broccoli would probably abandon the pan and sneak onto Regan’s neatly arranged tray of roasted vegetables. It rested near the bowl of whipped potatoes, dripping with valleys of molten butter. A turkey waited on the stove, browned and crackling with two different types of stuffing.
She’d probably spent hours on the dinner, and, knowing Regan, she’d never admit that the food didn’t magically appear with a wave of a wand.
I checked her shoes. Practical sandals. No glass slippers. Yet.
“Mom.” I crossed my arms. “Who is Rick?”
“Oh, isn’t he such a nice man?”
“Yeah, he is. Why is he in the dining room?”
Regan straightened her cardigan, but her hair, makeup, and smile were, as always, lovely. “I met him at a conference some time ago. He mentioned that he was available, and I said that my step-daughter had just taken a promising neurological fellowship in town. I thought it was a smart match.”
“Okay, this isn’t a blind date. This is a blindside.”
Regan frowned. “Aurora, I simply took a chance. When I was your age, I was already married, found a position with a highly respected hospital, and was planning my family to include your brothers.”
“So?”
“You’ve been so preoccupied with this fellowship; we’ve hardly seen each other. It’s been months since you’ve come home.”
By design. “And?”
“You know what I told you about the medical profession—never let them see you overwhelmed.”
“I’m not overwhelmed.”
“Then you should have time for certain social responsibilities. Public parties. Networking.” Her eyebrow rose. “People will talk if you are seen alone for too long.”
“I think you’re the one talking.”
“You aren’t getting any younger, Aurora. It might be time to begin thinking of your life, post-fellowship.”
“Well…I’m glad you brought it up.” I dodged her as she aimed for the green bean almondine. “I really wanted to talk to you about something.”
“Not now. You’ve already arrived late…as usual. Here.” She handed me a bowl of prosciutto wrapped asparagus. “Take that to the dining room. Get to know our guest.”
“That’s just the thing. You know that I brought Jude home with me—”
“Yes, of course,” she said. “He’s practically my third son. He’s always welcome.”
“Again, I’m glad you see it that way because—”
“Aurora. Where are your manners?” Regan wouldn’t act so undignified as to point at me, but I imagined the wag of her finger. “We will talk after dinner.”
“We really should talk before dinner.”
“I’ll bring the rolls. Make sure your grandmother isn’t embarrassing us.”
I was a doctor, not a miracle worker. I loved Grandma Mildred, and I loved even more that Regan couldn’t control her like she chess-pawned the rest of the family.
“Oh, and Aurora…” Regan tapped her chin. “Is there any way you might…find a sweater to wear? That dress is hardly appropriate.”
It had been professional…before I inadvertently rented my womb out. “I didn’t pack anything else.”
“A shame. I wanted Rick to believe you were…smart.”
“I am smart.”
“Of course you are.”
My mood swing, swung, and aimed for the fences. I grabbed the mashed potatoes and followed Regan to the dining room. Jude asked a silent question with a raised eyebrow. The food was still being served, so obviously I hadn’t spilled the beans all over Regan’s dinner. Yet.
“The table looks great, Regan,” Jude said.
“Thank you. This is nothing, just a little celebration to have most of the family together again.” Regan meticulously adjusted the white cloth napkin swaddling the dinner rolls. “I did pull out the formal China though. A wedding present from so long ago. I had hoped the set would one day pass to my step-daughter…”
Oh Lord.
Regan turned, addressing Rick. “But she’s yet to make
engagement plans…with anyone. Not for lack of trying of course. She was busy finishing her internship, and now she’s working on this fabulous fellowship.”
“Damn, Mom.” Eric grabbed the mashed potato spoon like a trowel and slopped a pile onto his plate. Mildred slapped his hand, but he earned her favor by lopping potatoes on her plate as well. “Why don’t you weigh her in and check her teeth before you sell her off?”
Regan bristled, but she’d never lose her temper, even with a petulant son. “Oh, darling, I suppose I am embarrassing her. But I am so proud of my daughter, following in my footsteps.”
Proud? Her? That was a new one.
“She was very nearly the top of her class, you know. And she’s simply amazing with her patients.”
This was a nightmare. I reached for my glass, realizing too late it was filled to the brim with Chardonnay. Damn.
How were people supposed to escape their families without alcohol?
“So…” Rick had a great smile. “You’re a doctor too?”
“Yes.” I couldn’t implore Jude for help. He and Eric swapped stories about a game they’d played three seasons prior. “I am. I only wish I knew as much about you. It appears my mom has been—”
“Making conversation,” Regan said.
“Or meddling.”
She laughed—fake and coy. “Oh, there’s that wit I was telling you about. Aurora can be so wickedly funny sometimes.”
Rick shrugged. “Always good to have a sense of humor.”
“I agree. And Aurora has never lost that spirit, even in such a difficult career field.”
“She’s also never lost her hearing,” I said. “I’m sitting right here, Mom. Don’t make Rick uncomfortable.”
“He’s not uncomfortable. We’re just talking.”
“You’re practically slapping a USDA grade on me.”
“And you’d be prime.” Regan smiled at Jude and Eric. “Right, boys?”
Eric was no help. “I’ll get the A-1 sauce.”
Rick laughed and raised a hand. “Don’t worry. I’m not offended. I’ve been hooked up a dozen times since my divorce. First at the hospital, then my brother’s wedding. I’m just happy for a good meal and pleasant company.”
Mildred reached over, feeling up his arm. “Well, he’s no football player, but he’ll do. You should keep this one around, Rory.”