by Helm, Nicole
Instead of snapping or making snide comments, as he might have in the past, and probably would’ve now if she wasn’t carrying his child, he tried to find ways to manage his irritation.
It wasn’t working tonight, probably because he’d rather feel irritated than nervous. Nerves were not something he dealt with well. Because this was all outside his control.
He really didn’t like that.
She finally stepped out of her room, smoothing her palms down the front of her shirt. “How do I look?” she asked, nervousness emanating from every last inch of her.
“Beautiful, always, but I think you’re going to be awfully hot in that. We’re going to be outside barbecuing.”
She fiddled with the cuff of her long-sleeved shirt. “I just thought I probably shouldn’t show off my tattoos.”
He raised an eyebrow, because not once in the past few weeks had she been self-conscious about her appearance. He wasn’t sure what reaction his parents would have to her, though his siblings would be endlessly amused she was who he’d brought home. Tattoos and goats and farmers’ markets.
“Let’s just go, huh?” she said, gesturing toward the door.
“You’ll boil to death. I don’t think that’s good for the baby.”
“But otherwise you would encourage me to cover up my tattoos?”
He took a deep breath in, let it out, tried to remember how he’d dealt with frustrating customers. “You can stop picking at me anytime, Meg.”
“I told you I didn’t want to do this. But you set it up anyway.”
“You never expressly told me that.”
“You could have asked. Or, here’s a shocking thought, respected my choice. Trusted my judgment.”
He didn’t yell. He wouldn’t yell. He was a composed, rational person, and she was pregnant. So he had to be the composed, rational one.
“You should meet them. You should meet them now. And more important,” he started, evenly, calmly—or not at all calmly—digging his fingers into his palms with the effort of it, “I think you will find a group of people who could be something of an extended support network for you. Which I would think you’d want.”
“Why would I want...?” She shook her head, whatever she was going to say lost in an expression of misery. “This feels like a lot of pressure and I’m not particularly great in the face of social pressure, specifically.”
The hint of vulnerability snuck under his defenses and he crossed to her, resting his hands on her shoulders and giving her a gentle squeeze. “Don’t be nervous, they’ll love you. The only ones who might not say much to you are Wes and Mia’s father, and that isn’t personal. They’re just quiet. My sister is probably going to descend upon you.”
“I just...” She blinked up at him. “I wouldn’t want you to regret introducing us. Or feel strange. I know I probably don’t look anything like anyone you might’ve taken home in the past. And that doesn’t matter to me, but it might matter to them.”
“I think that’s crap.”
“Huh?”
“I think it obviously matters to you or you wouldn’t be acting like this meek version of yourself. You aren’t meek, and you have nothing to be ashamed of.”
She blew out a breath, and it clutched something hard in his chest to see that underneath all those irritating questions, she just looked terrified.
He didn’t want that. He didn’t want his choices to scare anyone. He wanted to move forward, to put things into motion, to make sense of what the future held.
She pushed a palm to her stomach. “What if someone notices?”
“Meg, no one can tell simply by looking at you.”
“What if pregnant people can recognize each other?”
“I highly doubt it.”
“You’re not planning on telling anyone, right? Actually I’ve changed my mind. Go ahead without me. I’m staying with my goats and never leaving again.” She tried to bolt, but his hands clamped harder on her shoulders.
“Are you always this dramatic?”
“When facing something I don’t want to do? More often than not.”
“That can’t possibly be true.”
“There’s so much...” Again she didn’t finish, she merely blew out a breath and looked miserable.
“You know, you might feel better if you actually talked to me. Whatever it is that’s been bothering you lately. I don’t think it’s just hormones.”
“I don’t make good first impressions,” she mumbled, looking away. “I’m forever saying the wrong thing, making the wrong joke. Especially when the people are important. When I know I need to impress someone, it’s always the last thing I do.”
“You don’t need to impress anyone, Meg.”
She rolled her eyes. “Your parents’ families must have gotten along.”
“Well, I suppose they did.”
“It’s something else entirely when they hate each other—most especially when one of the grandparents hates the mother of the child. It’s like poison.”
“My mother would never hate you. I don’t think my mother hates anyone, but she certainly wouldn’t hate you. There’s nothing to hate.”
“Aside from being the one-night stand you knocked up. And from looking like this. And...and...”
He wasn’t sure he’d ever wanted to rip out his hair more, and he’d dealt with a lot of frustrating people in his life. But he focused on the fact that she was the woman he’d “knocked up” irresponsibly, then forced himself—over and over again—to not lose his cool.
“I’m thirty-five,” he said, trying to sound calm, affable. There was no way he pulled affable off, considering he had to grit the words out between clenched teeth. “Beyond the very fact that I’m an adult and have been handling my life for well over a decade, my parents are reasonable, sensible people. Like me. We don’t judge by appearance alone, Meg.”
She didn’t say anything to that, just stood there looking at the floor, and he wanted to shake her until she saw some sense. Instead he did the last thing he wanted to do, but the thing that seemed imperative to do.
He told her the bone-deep, soul-illuminating truth. “My family is very important to me. I will very much want them to be a part of our child’s life. I promise that isn’t a threat to you, as my family will treat you with nothing but respect. But even if you don’t believe that promise, the only way you’re ever going to find out for sure is if you come and meet them.”
“I don’t know a whole lot of families who aren’t dysfunctional.”
“I never claimed we’re not a little dysfunctional. Families are littered with their own problems and issues. We’re not perfect—at all, but we love each other.” He loosened his grip on her shoulder and moved a hand to her abdomen.
That never failed to fill him with awe, with pride, with fear. It was the combination of feelings that had his daily search for a permanent job relegated to some dim corner of his brain.
“More important,” he said, somehow feeling both freed by the feelings he was sharing with her and scared to death of how easy it was to tell her things, “they will love this baby. No matter what. Which means they would never treat you poorly, because no child deserves to see his mother treated poorly.”
She stood motionless for a few ticking seconds, her blue eyes searching his as if she was hoping the truth was somewhere in their depths. Finally she placed her hand over his.
“All right. I’m sorry.” She rubbed her hand over his over her stomach. “Families are hard for me.”
“We’re going to have to sit down at some point and discuss that in detail. You know that, right?”
Her smile was fake. “Yeah, sure.”
For the first time he wondered—even if he enacted every plan, maneuvered her into marriage, even love—would he ever really kno
w or understand the mother of his child?
He had a sinking feeling the answer was not if she could help it.
* * *
MEG COULD HAVE SWORN she was in a movie. Or a sitcom. Yes, this was an elaborate ruse and she was really in the middle of a family sitcom taping.
It wasn’t that the Wainwrights and the Pruitts were perfect. There were arguments, frustrations, a two-year-old’s temper tantrum when she was told she couldn’t ride one of the eight dogs that ran around outside in the expanse of the Wainwright yard. No one looked perfectly coiffed—in fact, everyone was invariably mussed from some aspect of their day or another.
It was just that everything Charlie had said was true. She was treated with nothing but respect—even with his family not knowing she was pregnant. Kenzie, the little sister, was a little overzealous in her, as Charlie called it, interrogation.
But all the teasing, all the yelling, all the things were what she’d started to believe was a fairy tale when it came to families. Love. She’d come to the conclusion that love, aside from small doses like Grandma’s, didn’t exist.
Not for her.
Great. Now she was teary again. Seriously there was something wrong with her. She couldn’t grasp or untangle all these emotions. They swept up and over her like a wave—which only made her feel pathetic, which only made the emotions worse.
Ugh.
Charlie was in some deep, involved conversation with his brother about baseball, so Meg snuck away. The food was starting to make her a little queasy anyway, and she could certainly stand a trip to the restroom.
Just for some silence. Just to get her head back on straight. Just to breathe through the fact that her child was going to have this.
This.
Damn it, she really was going to cry.
She hurried into the Wainwright farmhouse, which was thankfully empty. Charlie’s mother had kindly shown her where everything was earlier, and complimented her on her soaps.
There had been nothing to be nervous about. The Wainwrights were exceedingly pleasant and kind.
She didn’t belong.
She closed the bathroom door and leaned her head against it. They were nothing but lovely and she was still having an emotional breakdown.
Maybe it was just she couldn’t fight the insecurities as well as she usually did because so much of her body’s energy was taken up with growing a child. If her body was doing that, giving all that energy to Seedling, then she would deal with seven more months of tears and freak-outs. She just would.
Determined, Meg washed herself up and left the bathroom, hands on her stomach. She would be strong because this wasn’t sad or scary; this was wonderful. Her baby was going to have a real, supportive family.
“Are you feeling all right?”
She should have known Charlie would notice her absence immediately. Would he ever give her the space to shore up all her insecurities and fears before he bulldozed his way in to make sure she was all right?
She knew she should be comforted or pleased by it, but she needed those defenses. She needed him to stay far away from the truth of her past. That she’d always be an insecure addict underneath it all.
God, Meg, really. Get it together. You’re clean. You’re going to be a mother. You can’t let yourself believe that you haven’t gotten better.
“Meg?”
She blinked at Charlie, and she so desperately wanted to tell him. To lay all the fears, all her mistakes and failures at his feet. She wanted to reveal every inch of herself, so he could reject it and she could go back to being alone.
She had no doubt he’d reject who she really was. Not after seeing this—this family and love. He would never understand the way she’d punished herself. The way she’d reached for drugs again and again because it was better than the bitter disapproval of her parents.
How would he ever be able to understand that?
His fingers brushed her cheek. “Meg, sweetheart, you have to tell me what’s wrong.”
That was exactly what she could never do. Not and give Seedling everything he or she deserved. “I’m just overwhelmed,” she forced herself to say.
“By what?” he asked gently, an arm going around her shoulders, pulling her next to him.
She relaxed into that gesture, tried to gather some strength from his. “They’re all so wonderful. It’s very disorienting.”
Charlie kissed her temple, an easy, casual touch he’d probably never understand how much it meant to her. Casual, caring gestures had never been a part of her life, and he offered them without thinking.
“Do you believe me now, that they’d never judge you?”
She didn’t. She understood what Charlie meant, that they didn’t judge by appearances, but she also knew that if they knew everything she’d done, they’d disdain her as much as her parents did. People not knowing she’d been an addict was how she’d built this new life for herself. The more she met good, kind people like the Wainwrights and Pruitts, the more she understood that she needed people like this in her life.
And she very much needed them not to know that underneath it all, she was nothing but a conglomeration of mistakes.
But she couldn’t explain that to Charlie. Not in a way he’d ever understand. They were too different. It was best to act as though her life had begun with the knowledge she was pregnant. Everything that came before was...dark. Nothing.
That would be what was best for everyone.
“I see now what you mean,” she said carefully. As much as she was trying to hide her former addiction, she didn’t want to lie to him. Not when they could be building a future.
“We should tell them,” he said, giving her shoulder a squeeze. “I don’t like pretending this isn’t happening, and I think it’d be a good time.”
She tried to back away, but he grasped both her shoulders. “No. No, I’m not ready, Charlie.”
“I’m not sure you’ll ever be ready, Meg.” He started leading her toward the door. “But it’s here, and I think we have to tell them. I promise, it’ll be fine. Whatever you’re worried about, it isn’t important.”
She was so horrified how easily he said that comment, she didn’t even realize he was propelling her out the door.
“My worries are important,” she forced herself to say, even if it came out as little more than a whisper.
He was still pulling her along, onto the porch, down the stairs. “Of course they are. That’s not what I meant. I just mean this will be fine. I promise. Trust me. I think you need this as much as I do. Hiding it does no one in this situation any favors.”
“No. No, I... No, Charlie. We can’t do this. Not now.”
“Give me one reason to wait. One reason why it shouldn’t be right now.”
She tried to think of something—anything that might sway him—but her brain went blank.
“See? It’s for the best.” He gave a little wave to the crowd outside. “Hey, guys, we have something to announce.”
Meg closed her eyes against the wave of embarrassment. “Please don’t do this, Charlie. I’m begging you.”
“It’ll be fine. It’s the best thing to do, for both of us. You’re going to see, I promise.” He motioned to his family to come closer and gave them all that charming businessman smile. “Meg and I are going to have a baby.”
There was a little pause of silence, then a bustle of bodies and voices. Congratulations and people touching her, surrounding them.
She tried to smile, to accept the offered congratulations, but the press of bodies and voices was too much. It was too hot in the evening sun; everything was too much.
“I...I... Excuse me. I’m not...” The jostling roll of nausea waved through her and she forced herself to weave through the group. She hurried back into the house, where there’d be cool a
ir and space and silence and...
How could he have just told them, after she’d begged him not to? He’d steamrolled her.
Arms wound around her as she reached the porch, soothing words being whispered into her ear, but not Charlie’s masculine voice. Feminine ones, somehow certain and reassuring, as she was led into the house.
Once inside, she was gently seated on a couch. “Get her some water. And maybe a cool washcloth.”
Meg looked up at Mia, the short woman with sharp green eyes and a no-nonsense kind of surety.
“Do you need to go to the bathroom?” she asked gently.
The cool air had helped the nausea subside and Meg shook her head miserably.
Another woman, Cara, appeared with a glass of water and handed it to Meg. “Probably overheated, poor thing. Your face is all red.”
Meg tried to breathe, tried to find some thread of sanity. “I didn’t want him to tell,” she found herself whispering to this pair of women she didn’t know. “Please tell me you’re emotional messes too. That this isn’t me having a nervous breakdown. It’s a pregnancy thing. Please tell me it’s a pregnancy thing.” Because she felt like she’d had a final break with sanity.
Meg felt the couch depress on either side of her as she clutched the cool glass of water.
“Are you kidding me?” Cara said, patting her back soothingly. “My husband is permanently traumatized. It’s all tears and hysterical laughter.”
“I’ve been too busy hugging the toilet to be emotional,” Mia offered gently. “But when I was pregnant with Lainey, I was irrationally angry all the time.”
“She really was. She almost threw a glass of water at me at my own wedding.”
“I wasn’t going to throw it!”
The sisters laughed and Meg managed to slowly get ahold of her tears, her crazy breathing. “I feel like a crazy person.”
“That’s pregnancy for you,” Mia said, patting Meg’s hand reassuringly. “I can almost promise you, you’re not having a mental breakdown. You’re just growing a human being inside you. It’s a big thing. Now take a drink.”