“If you’re moving to fucking England just say so, Mom.”
“Chelsea!”
“That’s what you’re saying, right?”
Uncle leans forward and lays a hand on my arm. “I’m not taking your mother away from you, dear. It’s just that we’re not going to be traveling so much now, and I wanted your mother to make the cottage her own so she feels at home there.”
“So, what then? You’re going to split your time between Dovewood and here?”
Again, Uncle looks at Mom signaling her to answer. “Oh. Split? No, I wouldn’t say that.”
“Well,” Uncle says, rubbing his hands together, “I’m starving. Could we treat you two to something delicious for lunch?”
“Yes,” Jeremy says and holds out his hand to me. “Let us change clothes before we leave.”
I figure as soon as we’re alone, he’s going to lecture me on not being so selfish, being happy for my mom, acting like an adult. But as soon as he closes the door to our bedroom he takes me in his arms. “She’s not abandoning you. You know she loves you more than anyone, even Uncle. You’ll see her just as much as you have in this year past.”
I really, really want to believe that though I haven’t seen her nearly enough this past year. “I love you, husband.”
“And well you should, wife.”
At lunch, we decide to bring dessert back to Mom’s house. Now, because she’s more formal since she married Uncle, the guys are waiting in the dining room to be served instead of here in the kitchen. While she brews the coffee, I look around the room. Mom hires people to dust the house and take care of the lawn and her garden, so you’d never guess the house is empty most of the time.
Jeremy doesn’t know this, but sometimes when I’m missing her, I come here and walk through the rooms, peek in her office, go outside and smell her roses, as if she’s just stepped out and will be home any second. It makes me feel closer to her, but now that she’s fixing up another house over five thousand miles away, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to fool myself that way again—unless. If she knew I was pregnant, wouldn’t she tell Uncle to forget remodeling the cottage, that they’ll be living here most of the time?
“Mom, can we get the guys to go somewhere for a while after dessert?”
“Why would we do that, sweetie?”
“I need to talk to you about something?”
She presses a hand to her heart. “What’s wrong? You and Jeremy aren’t—”
“No. It’s not something bad … well, not like that.”
She turns back to the coffee and starts filling the serving pot. “I can’t think of a way to get them to leave.” She smiles. “Albert will probably want a nap.”
“Maybe if we say we’re going to look at your garden, they’ll turn on the TV and both doze off.”
“Do we need them both to sleep? If it’s just a private chat you want, I’ll just say we’re going to do some weeding. No one enjoys that chore, so that’s almost a guarantee they won’t follow us outside.”
I give her a thumbs-up.
Twenty minutes later, I’m half-heartedly helping Mom scout for any weeds that have popped up since the gardener’s last visit. She’s muttering about how her roses aren’t doing as well as they used to. “They miss your loving touch, Mom.”
She sighs and takes off her gardening gloves. “Well,” she says and starts walking toward the glider under the arbor, “come sit with me.”
I feel a little sick, but it’s too soon for morning sickness. It’s nerves. It’s guilt, Chelsea. Yes. I should be telling Jeremy first, and I shouldn’t be trying to manipulate my mother at all. I drop down beside her and push off to start the glider moving.
Mom laughs. “I remember when your legs weren’t long enough to do that.”
“They barely reach now.”
She laughs. “Yes, your father ended up with two sweet petites.” She pats my hand. “Now, what do you want to tell me?”
“First, you have to promise not to scream or get too excited or—”
She gasps. “You’re pregnant?”
I glance toward the house. “Mom—”
She grabs both my hands and practically shrieks, “You are, aren’t you?”
“Yes, but, Mom, please be quiet. Jeremy doesn’t know yet.”
“You just found out? Today?”
Okay, here’s where I could lie and she’d probably never have to know. But Jeremy would. “No. I’ve known for a few days. A week.”
“A week!” Now she glances toward the house. “Why haven’t you told Jeremy?” She lets go of my hands to lay one of hers on her heart again. “You are having problems, aren’t you?”
“No, I mean yes, but not like that.” So I tell her the whole story, during which she comments with her I-can’t-believe-this sigh at least twice. When I’m done, she shakes her head.
“That’s just ridiculous, sweetie. That advance amounts to nothing in the Pearce family. Albert will write him a check this very minute.”
She jumps to her feet, but I grab her, forcing her to sit back down. “He can’t do that, Mom! Jeremy would hate it. And he wouldn’t take the money anyway.”
“Oh, that’s just foolish pride. He’s going to inherit it eventually.”
Ohmygod. Why do I always make things worse? “It’s not foolish pride, Mom. It’s normal. He wants to make it on his own. He needs to. His father—”
She flaps a hand. “Oh, don’t be silly. Jeremy and Gordon have settled their differences.”
“Partly, yes. But if Jeremy can’t support us, Gordon will start criticizing him again for quitting the law practice.”
She shoots both hands in the air and shakes her head. “I don’t know why we’re even talking about that. Whether or not Jeremy thinks you can afford it, there’s a baby on the way. And you’re going to take him home right this minute and tell him.”
She’s on her feet and pulling me toward the house before I can stop her.
I dig in my heels, forcing her to stop moving. “What if Jeremy doesn’t want the baby? It would break my heart if he asked me to—”
“Oh, Chelsea.” She pulls me into a hug so tight I can barely breathe. “You know him better than that. Jeremy would never put money above your happiness.”
Jeremy’s baffled when Mom rushes us out the door. “What was that about?” he asks as we’re getting into the car. He gives me a scathing look. “Did you say something to upset your mother?”
“Do you always think the worst of me?”
“I never think the worst of you. But I’ve never seen Marie so anxious to get rid of us.” His mouth drops open. “You don’t suppose she and Uncle wanted to get rid of us so they could”—he wiggles his brows—“you know.”
“Eww.”
“Well, they’re not dead.”
“Don’t think about my mother like that.”
“Bloody hell! I wasn’t thinking—”
“Could we just drop that subject?”
He glues his eyes to the road, and we drive in silence for a few blocks.
“So why do you think she rushed us out?” he says.
“Just drive. I’ll tell you at home.”
When we get there, he pulls in the garage, kills the engine, and says, “Tell me.”
“Seriously?” I get out of the car and go inside. He’s right on my heels and stops me in the kitchen.
“Tell me what’s going on.”
I pull away from him and go to the bar to pour him a double. “Drink this.”
He takes the glass and sinks to the sofa. “It’s bad news, isn’t it?”
“No,” I say, my voice sounding far more confident than I feel. “Drink.”
He downs the Scotch, sets the glass on the coffee table, and then sits back with his hands resting on his knees. “All right. I’m ready.”
He looks so serious, I have to bite back a smile. But I’m afraid to see his face when I tell him, so I curl up beside him and lift one of his arms to wrap around my
shoulders. He relaxes a bit, whether from the whisky or my gesture, it’s hard to tell.
“Mom rushed us out because she wanted me to tell you something in private.”
“Oh.” He sighs. “All right.”
I take three breaths and then go for it. “I’m pregnant.”
One. Two. Three. Four. Five. No reaction. I’m not even sure he’s still breathing. I sit up and turn his face to mine.
“You can’t be,” he says slowly. “We’re using condoms.”
“Before that. I was already pregnant when you said—”
“Then why didn’t you tell me?”
“I didn’t know.”
“How do you know now?”
“I took a test.”
He stares at me for a moment. Then he blinks. “You’re pregnant.” He blinks again. He takes a deep breath and exhales slowly. “I’m going to be a father.” He looks down at my stomach. “You’re going to be a mother.” Suddenly, he’s on his feet, lifting me and spinning us around. “We’re having a baby. We’re having a fucking baby!” He sets me on my feet and kisses me. Twice.
This is none of the scenarios I imagined. “You’re okay with it?”
“Okay?” he shouts. “I’m fucking ecstatic.”
“But you said—”
He waves away whatever I was going to say. “Forget that. This is fate.” He kisses me again. “My God, I love you. Do you know how wonderful you are?” He scoops me up. “Let’s go to bed.”
Who knew relief could be such a turn on? I’m so hot for Jeremy right now that I wiggle out of his arms and pull him down to the floor before we even reach the bedroom. He rises to the occasion, and, surprisingly, we cross that finish line at the same time. When he withdraws, he looks at me, breathless and beaming. “We’re having a baby.”
“We totally are.”
His kiss is followed by a groan. “I’m sorry to spoil the moment, but this floor is killing my knees.”
“Let’s move to the bed.”
He stands, pulling me up with him, and leads me to our bedroom.
A glorious half hour later, I’m lying there thinking how wonderful it is to be married to the best lover you ever had. My reverie is interrupted when he pulls his arm out from under my head and sits up.
“Time to get to work … for the three of us.” He grins down at me. A second later, that grin turns to a grimace. “You were going to tell me the news this morning, weren’t you? But I acted like an arse and made you cry. I’m so sorry.” He kisses me sweetly. “So where is it?”
“Where’s what?”
“The pregnancy test. Isn’t that how the movies show a father getting the news?”
Uh-oh. If only I’d bought the two-test pack, I could take another now and show him that. “I … I threw it in the garbage. When I was crying. It’s all yucky now.” Two truths cancel out one lie, right?
He deflates. “My fault, then.” He stands and starts getting dressed. “Still, I apologized soon after. So why didn’t you tell me when we were”—he gestures toward the bed—“lying right there?”
“Well … I was just about to tell you when Mom and Uncle showed up. Remember?”
“Right.” He pulls his shirt over his head. “But then we had another few minutes alone while we got ready to go out to lunch with them, so you could have—”
“I was afraid to tell you, okay? I thought you’d be angry … well, maybe not angry, but freaked out … upset … worried. Gabi tried to tell me you—”
“What? You told your mom and Gabi before me?”
“Well … I discussed symptoms with Gabi after Matt’s remark about her boobs—”
“That was a week ago!”
“Yeah, so I took the test the next morn—”
“A week ago? You’ve known for a week and said nothing?” He scoffs. “Oh, that’s right—you just said nothing to me.”
I pull his pillow over me to cover my nakedness. “Please, let’s don’t fight. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you first. But Ethan was here, and then Laura came, and I thought you’d be in a bad mood after I told you, and I didn’t want to ruin their visit. And then you found out about Ethan and Laura, so you were already angry, and I—”
“Stop. Those are all excuses, not reasons.”
“No, they’re the reasons I didn’t—”
“You didn’t tell me first, because I don’t come first with you.”
“Of course you do.”
He shakes his head. “You always turn to your mother or Gabi first for advice or—”
“Well, some things I need to talk to a woman about. Besides, I’ve known them longer.” Crap. As soon as that last sentence leaves my mouth, I realize how horrible it sounds. And the look on his face confirms that.
“Precisely.” He stomps off toward the office.
I pull his pillow over my head and cry. If every day of this pregnancy is going to have this many ups and downs, I’ll never survive it.
Jeremy wakes me by sitting on the bed and lifting the pillow off my face. “I remember doing this once before,” he says. “Remember?”
“Of course, but I’m surprised you do.”
He brushes the hair off my cheek. “How could I forget the first time we made love?”
That he said made love instead of something cruder makes my throat ache. My gentle, loving husband. I sit up and throw my arms around him. “I love you. I’m sorry I made you feel you’re not first in my life. Really, really sorry.”
“I know.” He strokes my back and kisses my head. “That’s why I ordered your favorite pizza for dinner.”
I push him away. “How romantic,” I snap. Then I smile.
He ruffles my hair as he stands. “Get dressed, wife. The pizza should be here any minute.”
While I’m dressing, I get a text. It’s my mom, asking if I’ve told Jeremy. I tell her I have. My phone rings thirty seconds later. Guess who?
“Hi, Mom.”
“Why didn’t you let me know how Jeremy reacted? I’ve been pacing for hours.”
“He’s stoked.”
“Albert, he’s thrilled.” She chuckles. “Albert just gave a thumbs-up. So, what did Amanda and Gordon say?”
“They don’t know yet.”
“What time is it? Oh, darn. Too late to call. Well, tell them first thing in the morning. I can’t wait to talk to Amanda about the baby.”
“Yeah, okay. Pizza’s here, Mom. I gotta go.”
When I walk into the kitchen two minutes later, Jeremy’s standing at the counter, just opening the box. “This won’t make you sick, will it?” he asks.
“Why would it?”
“You know … morning sickness, which I know from Gabi doesn’t happen only in the morning.”
I open the refrigerator to get our drinks. “She says that shouldn’t start for a couple of weeks.”
“So all the symptoms occur on a schedule?” I grin, and he holds up a finger. “Excuse me, that would be skedule to you.”
“See? How are we going to teach our child to speak when we don’t even pronounce words the same?”
“I believe we have nine months to figure that out.”
“Or not.” I sit down at the counter.
He looks a question at me as he pulls out the bar stool next to mine.
“I mean, we might not have nine months. I don’t know how far along I am yet.”
“So when do we see the doctor?”
“I have an appointment in two weeks with Barbara. You know, the same nurse midwife Gabi uses?”
He nods. We’re eating straight from the pizza box, which reminds me that after I first experienced formal meals with Jeremy’s family, I’d vowed to civilize our dinners. Never happened.
“I spilled my beer,” he says.
“No, you haven’t.”
He grabs a napkin and wipes his mouth. “The first time we had this pizza together, I spilled my beer. And then I accidentally bloodied your nose.”
“Wow. Aren’t you the nostalgic one toda
y.”
He gives me that arched brow. “You consider that disaster a fond memory, do you?”
“I do because you were trying to cheer me up. It was sweet. Bewildering, but sweet.”
“Bewildering?”
“I thought you hated me, and then you showed up at my door with pizza? Yeah, that’s bewildering.”
He considers that as he chews. “It did take a while to correct your misinterpretation of my feelings toward you.”
“Your fault, Mr. High Tea.”
“You attributed far too much to my accent.”
“It wasn’t just your accent.”
He lays his pizza slice aside. “If I’d spoken like one of your surfer dudes, what would you have assumed about me?”
“Well, with your highland shirts, suede boots, and ponytail, I’d have thought you were very mixed up … and possibly gay.”
“You did think I was gay.”
I smack his arm. “I did not. I just told Mom you were.”
“She still looks at me oddly.”
“Ha. Ha. Oh, that reminds me, she called. She’s anxious for you to tell your parents.”
“I’ll call Mum in the morning.”
I’m about to reach toward the pizza box when, suddenly, I don’t feel well.
“Want another slice?” Jeremy holds one out to me. One greasy, oozing slice.
I clamp a hand over my mouth and run for the nearest toilet.
The next morning, I wake already nauseated, so I lie still. Jeremy’s up; I hear a one-sided conversation, so he must be on the phone. I risk raising my head from the pillow enough to see him pacing on the patio. A clear sign he’s talking to his father. I lie back and listen.
“I know. Yes, I know. I’m looking into it.” Pause. “Right.” Long pause. “But I—” Pause. “I’ll let you know after we discuss it.” Jeremy mumbles something and then is silent.
I risk another look. He’s standing still, one hand raked through his hair and resting on the crown of his head, and appears to be staring at the pool. I lie back, but a second later, I’m running for the bathroom. Morning sickness sucks.
When I’m pretty sure I’m not going to throw up again, I look for Jeremy. He’s in the kitchen, making tea, and turns when he hears me pull a stool out from under the counter.
Open & Honest (Sometimes) (A High Tea & Flip-Flops Novel Book 3) Page 9