And then I’m hit in the face when I see my parents standing near the door, shaking off their coats from all the snow falling outside, and immediately sprint to them.
I’m received with tight hugs every which way and my mother and my mixed tears of joy.
I haven’t seen my parents since last March, when my dad wasn’t feeling well and my mom was overwhelmed with what to do.
The doctors said he was doing too much and to take it easy.
Bobby didn’t come, I remember that, and I’m happy he didn’t.
Now I have his lookalike behind me.
Shit.
This is karma at her finest because I was just enjoying Bronte’s sister and mother riding him about us being married and not telling them.
Now, I have to tell my parents that I married my ex-fiancé’s brother—randomly and without their knowing—and I’m in for my own version of remorse hell.
“We missed you, Meirna,” my mother coos to my left, squeezing me harder for added effect when my father adds in, “Youlook older.”
“Dad,” I drone, pulling away from him and receiving a teasing smirk from his face. “It’s been nine months, really?”
“Really,” he replies immediately. “We live in upstate New York not LA. I haven’t seen my daughter in over a year.”
“Nine months,” I remind him. “Twelve is a year.”
“Nine too many.” My mother pulls me in for another warm hug. “You look beautiful, sweetheart. You been okay?”
Uhh…sure?
“You’re married,” Dad recites casually, not sounding upset at all.
“Yeah,” I deadpan, moving away from Mom to look at him. “I’m married.”
“To Bronte.”
Shit.
“Yep.”
“Is that a nickname?” Mom asks even though he’s standing right behind me. “I thought he only went by Bobby.”
Okay, I want to die now.
“Bronte is sophisticated,” Dad says. “Strong.”
“Historical.”
My brows furrow at my mom’s weird adjective. “What?”
“Congratulations,” Dad gushes, yanking me into his stocky frame. “We’re happy for you, kid.”
“Thanks, Dad?—”
“Welcome to the family, Bobby.”
Damn it all to hell and back.
I feel my dad extend his hand to Bronte, and I don’t know where to begin. How to explain—in less colorful terms—how I ended up with Bronte and not Bobby. How much information I should tell them so they don’t go running to the cops and make this into a whole big fiasco.
