Wet

“It does sound a bit like live theater,” I say.

“It is in some ways. My busy season is going to start soon. Which reminds me . . . I think I’m going to have to shop for new business clothes already. All those Double-Doubles caught up with me. My pencil skirts are too tight.”

“Well you’ve been eating for two. Are there pregnant clothes for career women?”

She grins. “You mean maternity clothes? I’m not sure, but wearing those ugly slacks with the expanding waistline is a hard limit for me. I’m going to try to buy regular clothes, just bigger for now.”

“Promise me that you aren’t one of those women that goes out wearing a skin-tight knit dress in her last months where you can see the baby kicking—the thing is so revealing. I really don’t need to see that from total strangers.”

“No one does. I promise I won’t do that.”

“Thank you.”

She lets out a long yawn. “You sleepy?”

“Yeah, always these days. I’m lucky that it’s been my slow time at work since I’m so tired all the time.”

“So what’s your busy season like?” I feel a surge of worry that it’s going to sound like too much in her condition.

“Long hours, lots of stress. I have no idea how I’m going to get through it without my coffee.”

“So you really stopped drinking coffee? I’m impressed” She looked at me like I was nuts when I first told her she should wean herself off of it. Luckily her doctor re-confirmed what I said.

“Oh man. It was rough. Good thing you didn’t see me those first few mornings. I miss the coffee a lot more than the booze. Nine months is a long time.”

“It is, but you’re being strong for the baby. See, you’re already a good mom.”

She leans her head on my shoulder and smiles. “I guess you’re right. I want to be a good mom, Paul . . . more than anything.”

“And so you will be.”

Chapter Eleven

THE HOT SEAT

“Are you really sure about this Paul? Really? Oh my God, I’m freaking out.”

Parking in front of my parent’s house, I turn toward her. “Why are you freaking out?”

“Your parents are very traditional people. They must think very poorly of me for being in this situation.”

“Well, I’m not going to lie and say they think it’s great that you are having a baby without a husband, but they respect the fact that you are doing the best you can. We talked about it. They’ve always liked you, and they still do.”

“How do they feel about you . . . well, you know, helping me so much . . . and being ‘the uncle’?”

I grip the steering wheel as I try to think of what to say so that she isn’t uncomfortable. She could easily take what I say the wrong way and I don’t want to upset her. “They want to make sure I’m helping you for the right reasons.”

“Are you? I mean, I think you are, but only you can say for sure.”

I nod. “I am.”

“But they’re still worried, aren’t they?”

“Maybe a little.”

“That I’m taking advantage of you?”

I point to the house. “Hey, what do you say we shelve this deep-feely stuff for now and go chow down? I swear they’re going to be nice to you. They really like you.”

She folds her arms over her ample chest and side-eyes me. “Okay, I’ll agree because I’m famished. So you get a break now, but we’re discussing this later.”

When we get out of the car she retrieves the dessert she baked from the backseat.

“So is that your apple pie?” I ask, my mouth already watering.

“No, this time I made strawberry cheesecake.”

My eyebrows arch and let out a low whistle. “See there, we haven’t even finished the first quarter and you’re already ahead in the game.”

“Oh my goodness gracious!” Ma exclaims as she clasps her hands over her heart. Her cheeks are pink and she looks positively blissful. “You shouldn’t have, Elle! You should be resting, not baking.”

Ma really should’ve been an opera singer. She’s so theatrical with her booming voice and dramatic gestures.

“But baking is relaxing to me, Mrs. McNeill. Besides, Paul told me strawberries are your favorite.”

“They are indeed. Come in, come in, and call me Millie, lass.”

There’s a little bustle at first with all of the overly exaggerated greetings. Finally Dad gets Elle settled on the couch with a glass of water, and so far there’s no weird vibe. Even Patrick doesn’t seem totally awkward about seeing her again.

During di

Meanwhile Patrick and Dad are talking about the stock market while I watch Elle eat. Suddenly Trisha pipes up.

“Hey, Paul, did you hear who Ma ran into at the bank?”

I look over at my mother, who’s busy buttering her bread. She gives Trisha a stern look and shakes her head, then glances at Elle. Ma’s reaction makes me curious as to what’s going on.

“Nope. Who was it?”

“Melanie Milstead,” Trisha replies with an edge of defiance in her voice.

Ma’s eyes grow wide with fury. My sister has a knack for stirring things up.

The intensity of the feelings that buzz through me is surprising, a mix of intrigue, frustration, and longing. Melanie Milstead . . . the girl that got away. Even after all these years hearing her name still gets to me.

Ma lifts up the big bowl to her right. “More mashed potatoes anyone?” she asks with an exasperated expression. Dad picks up the cue and grabs the bowl and offers more to Elle.

Patrick sets down his fork. “Hey, I remember that girl. You had a big crush on Melanie Milstead in high school. You talked about her all the time.”

“Um, yeah. That was a lifetime ago,” I respond.

He nods. “Wow. How’s she doing?”

Ma sighs with resignation. “She seems fine. She’s just moved back to L.A. after working in New York for a few years. I think she said in design.”

“Yes, she’s a graphic designer,” I say.

Elle looks over at me with a curious expression.

“So Ma says she asked all about you,” Trisha teases.

“Really?”

Ma shrugs. “I told her you were working for Sater and Gates and she was impressed.”

“That’s nice,” I say, my palms sweating. I can’t believe just the idea of that girl still makes me nervous.

“She gave Ma her information so you could contact her,” Trisha states.

“Contact her? Like a date? Are you going to do that?” Patrick asks like it’s a column of numbers that aren’t adding up.

“No! I’m not going to ask her on a date!” I answer emphatically.

“Why not?” inquires Elle, seeming genuinely intrigued.

My mouth twists as I try to think how to change the subject. “Well . . .”

“Ask her out,” Elle says.

I lean back. I sort of thought that Elle wouldn’t want me dating other women, while I’m helping her with her baby-centric life.

“Really?” I ask.

“Sure.”

I study her face and see no sign that she’d care if I go out with Melanie. It bugs me. I want her to care.

Elle gives me a smile. It looks a little forced, but I’m not sure.

“It might be fun to see her.”

“Lots of fun,” Trisha comments.

“Maybe I will,” I reply, testing the dark and murky waters. I don’t share that I could never get Melanie to go out with me before, so I’m not sure why she would now.

“Good.” Elle says as she finally pushes her di

“Maybe she’ll be a good design contact,” Ma suggests.

“You said she really has her life together. Didn’t you, Ma?” Trisha says.

Ma scowls at her.

From the way Elle’s eyes darken I can tell she’s taken offense. She smooths her napkin over her lap. “You should definitely be dating a woman who has her life together,” she says in a clipped tone.

“And you two aren’t a couple, right?” Trisha asks, gesturing toward Elle and me. My sister is ever the helpful one. Maybe this was her idea to test us to see if we could be a potential couple, and Elle and I have failed.