She was drinking tea with her toast and trying not to gag at the smell of coffee. “You can’t live here,” she said. “You don’t even fit in the bed.” Surely he would acknowledge that point, at least.
“We could share yours,” Darryl suggested between mouthfuls.
“We tried that, and look where it got us.”
“Come on! Our situation isn’t that bad.” He leaned back, his long legs intruding into Belle’s space until she kicked him in the ankle. Then he swung them lazily away.
“Oh, it isn’t?”
“Look at it this way.” Darryl’s eyes glittered. “We both like being single, right? But sooner or later we were likely to get the urge to have children, especially you.”
“Me?”
“The way I see it, you’re the big winner in all this,” her unwanted tenant continued, ignoring her sarcastic tone. “Women get this big maternal urge in their thirties. Well, I’ve taken care of that for you.”
“How kind,” Belle growled.
“I don’t see why you’re being such a bad sport.” He took another swig of coffee. ‘‘You don’t see me complaining.”
“What do you have to complain about?” she demanded. “Other than the fact that I may garnishee half your paycheck for the rest of your life.”
That stopped him. It was at least thirty seconds before Darryl resumed tearing apart the coffee cake. Then he said, “We’ll reach a financial arrangement, I’m sure. But you’ve already got a two-bedroom condo. How much more could it cost to raise a kid?”
“I’ll have my lawyer draw up an accounting,” she said. “Now would you please go home?”
“In a month or so. We’ve got the issue all planned, with my article on the cover. Can’t let down the troops, can we?” He got up and went to pour himself a second cup of coffee.
She didn’t understand why he was being so stubborn. The man couldn’t enjoy her company. These days, Belle didn’t even enjoy her own company. And surely he could research that article without physically imposing on a pregnant female.
Besides, it was only two weeks until Thanksgiving, and she had plans. She hadn’t confirmed them, but they had taken on the solidity of accomplished fact in her mind.
“My parents are coming for Thanksgiving,” she said. “They’ll be staying with me, so I’ll need the bedroom.”
She didn’t intend to admit that her folks always preferred to stay in their enormous motor home. For two years, since her father’s retirement, they’d been crisscrossing the country. Belle wanted them to be able to stay with her, if they chose to.
“They don’t live in the area?” Darryl said.
“No.” She explained about their long-suppressed love of travel. “They don’t have a permanent address. When they go overseas, they leave the camper at my sister’s house in Maryland. It’s just a short connecting flight to Miami or New York.”
“Sounds like a nice life.” He appeared lost in reflection, no doubt trying to figure out how to maneuver her into letting him stay.
“As a matter of fact, they’re going on a Caribbean cruise for Christmas and New Year’s,” Belle went on. “Which makes it especially important that I see them at Thanksgiving.”
“That’s quite a drive,” he said. “I mean, if they plan to leave here at the end of November and drop their motor home in Maryland by the middle of December.”
“They’re used to driving.” He did have a point, though. Belle’s parents hadn’t promised they would come to California.
When had she invited them? Last August or September, she recalled. And, with a jolt, she realized she hadn’t talked to them in more than a month.
“Have you told them yet?” Darryl asked. “About the baby?”
She shook her head. The last time she’d spoken to them, they’d been visiting friends in Las Vegas. There’d been loud voices in the background, and she hadn’t felt comfortable bringing up such a sensitive topic.
Besides, she’d intended to convey the news in person, at Thanksgiving. That way she could explain the circumstances in detail.
But it surprised her that she hadn’t heard from them in four weeks. They must have gotten caught up in seeing shows and playing the slot machines. Between morning sickness and work, she’d lost track of the time and hadn’t thought to call them, either.
“We’re not as close as we used to be,” Belle admitted. “I was sort of their favorite, growing up. I was the one who starred in the class play and won a scholarship. They were always telling me how proud they were.”
“Brothers and sisters?” he asked.
“A younger sister,” she said. “Bari and I competed a lot.” She felt sad, realizing that their instinctive rivalry had kept the two of them from becoming close. It hadn’t helped that Belle had almost always come out ahead in the academic realm.
“What does she do in Maryland?” Darryl returned the remaining coffee cake to the refrigerator and rinsed his plate and cup. Score one for him, Belle thought.
“She’s a homemaker with a four-year-old daughter.” Belle was getting an uncomfortable feeling. If her parents were going to be island-hopping over Christmas, wouldn’t they want to spend Thanksgiving with their granddaughter?
But they had to come here. Something about pregnancy made her feel young and vulnerable. She wanted her mother to fuss over her and her father to shake his head in that indulgent, look-what-Belle’s-up-to-now way of his.
“I’ll bet they just dote on that kid,” Darryl observed as he washed his hands.
“Mikki’s a cute little girl,” she admitted.
Very cute. And in the four years since the first grandchild had been born, Belle had ceased to be the center of her parents’ attention. Until this moment she hadn’t realized it, but Bari had won their lifelong competition by the world’s oldest stealth tactic: having a child.
Now it’s my turn. But this wasn’t a competition. Becoming a mother made her feel closer to her sister. She wished Bari didn’t live so far away.
“Maybe they’re not coming for Thanksgiving.” Darryl turned at the sink, one eyebrow arching. “Maybe I can stay here, after all.”
“They’re coming!” she insisted. “And you’re going!”
“Why don’t you give them a call? If they can’t make it, you might be glad to have me around. I’ve always wanted to try cooking a turkey.”
“Good idea—the phone call, not the turkey. I’d like to confirm when they’re arriving.” Trying to act unworried, Belle marched into the bedroom and dialed the number of her parents’ cellular phone. It rang three times before someone picked it up.
“Yes?” Her mother always sounded hesitant when answering, as if afraid there might be a salesman or an extraterrestrial at the other end.
“Mom, it’s Belle.” Her spirits rose as she heard her mother call the news to her father, then deflated as he growled back, “Where’s she been, anyway? Too busy to talk to her parents?”
“Belle?” said her mother into the phone. “We’ve been trying to reach you for weeks.”
“You have?” she frowned. “I haven’t received any messages.”
Come to think of it, she hadn’t been getting messages from anybody except at the office. With a sinking sensation, Belle glanced at the bedside machine.
The tiny red “On” panel was dark. She must have accidentally turned the thing off.
“Well, we’ve called several times,” said her mother. “I know we talked about coming out for Thanksgiving, but we just can’t disappoint Mikki. We promised we’d be at her house. You’re welcome to join us.’’
Belle was tempted, but in her present state of discomfort, she couldn’t face crowded airports, delayed flights and narrow airline seats. Besides, flying wasn’t recommended for pregnant women, was it?
“I can’t,” she said. “But, Mom, I need to see you guys. Couldn’t you swing by here before you head east?”
“Honey, we’re in Kentucky. We can hardly ‘swing by’ California.” That was on
e of the maddening things about cellular phones. Until this moment, Belle had assumed her parents were still in Nevada. “If you can’t make it to Maryland, we’ll try to visit you next spring.”
Belle was on the point of arguing, but stopped. She didn’t want little Mikki to be disappointed at Thanksgiving, did she? And her parents had a right to enjoy their granddaughter.
It flashed into her mind that she ought to tell her mother about the pregnancy right now. Frantically, Belle searched for the right words. She couldn’t just blurt it out. A matter like this required a certain delicacy.
Then her father called out that he needed to phone the highway patrol to report a wreck they were passing on the interstate. “Two cars and a horse trailer. They’ll need help pronto!”
“I’ve got to go,” her mother said. “Is everything okay with you?”
“Fine,” said Belle.’ ‘You’d better call the cops in case somebody’s hurt.”
As she hung up, a weight settled onto her shoulders. She’d never been sentimental about holidays. And she’d believed she had long ago weaned herself from relying on her parents emotionally.
Yet at this moment she felt abandoned. Maybe it was due to hormones, but Belle had never experienced such a wave of loneliness.
Her emotionalism distressed her even further. How could she pity herself when in Kentucky two cars and a horse trailer had just collided? Why was she blowing this situation out of proportion?
Rational arguments didn’t help. Darn it, she was alone, and she felt like a little kid.
To Belle’s dismay, tears overflowed, spattering the pinks and purples on her quilt.
STANDING IN THE HALL outside the bedroom, Darryl couldn’t believe it. He’d overheard enough to realize Belle’s parents weren’t going to make it for Thanksgiving, but he was surprised to see how deeply it affected her.
Since his own father had died and his mother had moved too far away for frequent visits, Darryl had filled the holidays with charity and promotional events, plus throwing parties for his pals. But he supposed that expecting a baby might make a woman want to have family around.
Well, he was living here, so it was up to him to do something, he decided.
Belle didn’t seem to notice when he entered the room. She was too busy snuffling into a wad of tissues, her shoulders shaking with grief.
Darryl couldn’t help feeling sorry for her. A woman had a right to miss her mother at a time like this. Besides, she looked cute curled around a Kleenex, her red mane wilting.
He sat on the edge of the bed. “I’ve got an idea.”
“Uh-oh.” Even sorrow couldn’t quench Belle’s sarcasm. “Why do I assume this has something to do with your staying?”
“We have to get this baby off to the right start,” he said. “I propose we cook a turkey and invite our friends.” When she didn’t respond, he added, “Like I said, I’ll cook the bird. You can take care of the side dishes.” There was still no answer, so he continued, “Maybe some wild rice, or how about tabouli? A big salad and steamed broccoli. We could get some fat-free packaged stuffing, too.”
“That’s the most disgusting idea I ever heard.” Belle emerged from behind her tissue, red-eyed but geared for battle. “Tabouli at Thanksgiving? Steamed broccoli? And you are not bringing any fat-free stuffing into my house, mister.”
“Don’t you want to eat healthy for the baby?” he asked.
“Not on Thanksgiving!” she said. “What were you planning to have for dessert, baked apples?”
“That sounds good.” Darryl decided not to mention that he would prefer those apples baked in a shell and doused with butter, cinnamon and sugar. Everyone was entitled to a few weaknesses.
“You’re un-American!” She snatched another wad of tissues and blew her nose loudly enough to throw a squadron of geese off-course. “Sweet potatoes buried beneath brown sugar and marshmallows! Stuffing loaded with turkey fat! Gravy and mashed potatoes, and if there’s any broccoli to be found, it’s drowning in cheese sauce. Got that?”
He shuddered. “Haven’t you ever heard of choles terol?”
“In my opinion, it’s overrated,” snapped Belle, and climbed off the bed, her tears forgotten.
His urge to argue died suddenly. At least she’d agreed to his suggestion. “The point is, we should celebrate Thanksgiving as a family.”
“You’re not my family,” she said.
“I’m part of your baby’s family,” he countered. “And I always will be.”
That remark stopped her in midstride. She sucked in a couple of long breaths.
Darryl, too, recognized that he’d hit on a basic truth. He really was going to be linked to Belle for the rest of their lives. Even if they married other people and lived far apart, they would always be this child’s parents.
Someday that might be him sitting alone in a bedroom, talking on the telephone about a Thanksgiving celebration of which he wouldn’t be a part. He tried not to dwell on the possibility that he had glimpsed the ghost of Thanksgiving future. The present was all he could handle right now.
“Sweet potatoes would be all right’ he said. “And you could serve the broccoli with the cheese sauce on the side. Let’s really have fun with this. Let’s invite everyone we know.”
“Greg and Janie would kill each other,” she protested.
“They can put aside their petty squabbles for one day,” Darryl said. “And so can we.”
Belle’s chin tilted upward as if she were about to dispute that possibility, but she must have seen the sincerity on his face.
“All right, I guess we can fix Thanksgiving dinner together.” Suddenly she grinned, and he could have sworn her red hair perked up. “If nothing else, it’ll shock the hell out of everybody.”
BELLE GROANED INWARDLY when she returned from some last-minute grocery shopping and watched Darryl pry open the oven and baste the bird. Darryl, who wore jeans and a turtleneck beneath a spotless white apron and chef’ hat, had managed to clean himself up but hadn’t bothered with the kitchen.
It was on the tip of her tongue to point out that the kitchen was a mess, it was two o’clock, the guests were due to arrive at four and she had four items to make. Still, he had prepared the turkey, and stuffing to serve on the side, claiming it had less fat that way.
And the bird smelled terrific. Belle’s morning sickness had finally subsided, and she could appreciate delicious scents again.
She had to admit, the past two weeks hadn’t gone as badly as she’d feared. Darryl had made one attempt to reorganize her CD collection, but he’d given up under pressure. Otherwise, their contact had been limited to blearily sharing the breakfast table, ordering take-out food after returning home late from work and politely taking turns at the remote control.
The hardest part had been dealing with her friends’ reactions. Issuing invitations for Thanksgiving had given Belle a chance to tell them about the living arrangement before they discovered it for themselves.
The response had been primarily disbelief. Eventually, though, everyone claimed to have accepted the explanation that Darryl was researching an article. And they’d almost all promised to come for the holiday dinner.
“Good, you’re back,” he called as he slid shut the oven door. “I’ll get out of your way and let you cook.”
Belle stayed where she was, deliberately blocking the exit. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”
“What?” He gazed around innocently. “I don’t think so.”
Slowly and as obviously as possible, she eyed the grease drippings on the floor, the spatters and plastic wrap in which the turkey’d been encased on the counter and the cookbook sprawled on the table. “Try again.”
Recognition dawned, followed by a shrug. “What’s the point of cleaning up now? I figured we’d do it when you’re finished cooking.”
“Before or after I slip in the grease and suffer a miscarriage?” she asked.
He studied the area around his feet. “Gee, I didn’t noti
ce that. Do you have a mop or something?”
“Try the closet. I’ll come back when you’re done,” she said.
Half an hour later, she was able to start cooking. Everything sounded easy: instant mashed potatoes, sweet-potato casserole, gravy from a mix, frozen green beans and almonds. But ingredients had to be mixed and measured, and nothing could be cooked too far in advance or it would all get cold.
The heat in the kitchen made her hair frizz, and after half an hour she felt like a refugee from a chain gang. When Darryl appeared in the doorway and asked those endearing words, “Can I help?” Belle actually felt a wave of liking for the man.
“I’m afraid I’ve made another mess.” She pointed to some brown sugar spilled on the floor.
“Hey, today is supposed to be fun.” He came forward and caught her shoulders. “I thought we were making Thanksgiving dinner together. You look like you’re ready to burst into tears.”
“I hate feeling like this,” she admitted. “I get overwhelmed so easily.”
“Will you kick me in a sensitive area if I point out that it’s probably got something to do with impending motherhood?” he asked.
“That depends,” she said. “What do you consider a sensitive area?”
“I’ll tell you what.” Darryl regarded the counter covered with boxes, pots, baking dishes and food. “Why don’t you read that cookbook aloud, and I’ll follow your directions?”
“Can I sit down?” she asked.
He pulled out a chair and dusted it off. “You are required to sit down.”
Once she had her feet propped up, Belle’s exhaustion waned. She was surprised to find she enjoyed instructing Darryl as he went about fixing the sweet-potato casserole. In a short time, the preparations were complete, leaving only the last-minute heating.
“I’m going to change,” she said, slowly standing. “You can take a break. Watch football, if you want to. Or channel switch.” It was the most generous offer she could think of, since even the distant sound of channel surfing gave her a headache.
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