“I’m having a baby with Willa. We are intimately involved, but I’m not joining your family.” He ran his hand through his hair, longish at the sides again. I secretly loved that he didn’t go out of his way to get a haircut for my mom.
An appointed photographer with a huge camera interrupted. “How about over here?”
Behind us on the wall was an American flag made from flowers.
“What he means is we are not getting married,” I quietly explained to my mom while the photog placed Cal where he wanted him, positioning him to the left and then the right. I felt Cal’s gaze on me as I spoke to my mom.
“Ms. Conway…”
It was my turn, leaving my mom with her mouth gaping as Cal and I were told to look at one another and smile.
The photog looked at Cal. “How about your hand on her belly?”
“No,” I said firmly.
“What the beautiful lady wants, she gets,” Cal said, and I knew it had a double meaning. He’d seen me tell my mom we were not getting married, and I’d drawn a line in the proverbial sand.
“Oh, that’s wonderful,” I was told as I smiled and rested my cheek in Cal’s palm, the two of us the picture of love.
“It is,” my mom concurred.
“Okay, that’s it for today,” I said politely. They had their shot, and I was done. I could feel anger rolling off Cal—at what, I didn’t know—and my mom was bubbling over with questions I presumed were for him.
“I’m feeling a little tired,” I feigned.
“What do you mean you’re not getting married?” My mom took my elbow and steered me toward the kitchen.
“To clear things up, when I said I’m not part of your family, I meant I don’t do political contributions or events,” Cal interjected after following us. “As a practice, we decided that it was best for the health of our business and staying neutral with patients.”
Safely ensconced in the kitchen, I felt myself looking at Cal, my turn to sport a gaping mouth, not knowing what the heck was going on. I hadn’t asked him to take a stand with my mom. I’d thought this whole conversation was about my stance on not getting married, and was about to say something in Cal’s defense when Beatrice had the nerve to say, “Well, we do that in this family, and you’re clearly going to be tied to it. Financially, Dr. Rand.”
“Mom!”
“Keep your voice down,” my mom said in a quiet snarl.
“If you mean financially tied to my child, then yes. To campaigns, then no. If you didn’t notice, I’m a grown man, capable of deciding what I do with my money and time.”
I had no idea where any of this was coming from, but I needed to hit an eject button. “Cal, let’s go. I want to take a little rest before I head back tomorrow.”
He looked at me with kind eyes and nodded.
“Bye, Mom.”
“We are not finished—”
“Yes, we are.” Cal spoke the final words, taking my hand and walking out the back door.
“Text Frank and tell him we are back before I break another rule or protocol, and then let him know we don’t need anything else.” Cal made the demand as we parked the car in his garage, any earlier elements of fun and light long gone.
I didn’t do what he asked. Instead I got out of the car and trekked upstairs before calling Frank. I knew I’d never get him off my case if he didn’t hear my voice.
Putting on my best calm and serene acting voice, I said hello to Frank, telling him we were back and staying in for the remainder of the evening. “It was nice.” I lied to him about my mom’s party, leaving out that Cal and I were in a fight. Sucking back emotions was a change for me. Usually I was tasked with bringing the tears out.
“No change in tomorrow,” he said. “The car will pick us up at ten sharp.”
“Yes. See you then.”
Sliding my finger against the end call button I tossed the phone on the kitchen counter where I’d made my way while faking it with Frank.
