And as I sat there with my hand still on Melanie’s thigh, her fingers laced in mine like it meant something, I couldn’t help but feel like I was standing in that fire all over again—surrounded by people who thought they knew me, while the only thing that ever really did was long gone.
“Are you sure you’re not a Killian boy?” Cliff says as he stuffs his face with turkey and mashed potatoes. "Sounds like something I would do. I did get married in Vegas once.”
“Oh geez, let's not jinx it, Cliff,” Nora says, peering over at him but returning her attention to me and Melanie.
“I’m just so thrilled for you two. And how cute would it be if you guys got pregnant, and then the baby could have a friend growing up just like you boys did.” Nora says
Mel coughed, and I looked over and saw her reach for her glass of water.
“Wrong pipe,” she cleared her throat again, “And I don’t know about that. We haven’t discussed children.” Mel says with a hint of nervousness behind her tone.
“Ya, Nora, it’s a little soon for that. Besides, I want her all to myself for a few years, before we have a baby.” I said.
Mel and I smile at each other, and I notice how her posture slumps over a little, leaning closer to me.Did I have that effect on her, or was that part of the act?
“I may be dead before you give me grandchildren.” My mom says and reluctantly, I avert my gaze to hers. “Mom, stop you act like you are so old.”
“You are already thirty-two, son.”
“That’s the good thing about having a hot young wife,” I say, scooting Mel’s chair closer to me so I can bring her into my chest. “We have lots of time to practice baby making.” I waggle my eyebrows down at her, and she swats at my chest, pushing herself away from me.
“Nick, children,” Abigail says.
She was doing a great job pretending to be flustered. An image of Melanie with a swollen belly, carrying my baby, flashed to mind, and I blinked the thought away.
“I don’t have much time. And now that you are married, you must give your wife children. You do want children, Mel, Ya?” My mom’s lips purse together, and she stares intently at her. “And I hope you don’t believe in birth control.”
Mel starts to speak, but she stumbles over her words. A gleam of sweat appears on her forehead, and she looks like she is about to have a panic attack.
“What’s birth control for? To control the babies? Did you use birth control on me?” Bodie peered up at his dad.
“See, Mom, look what you started,” I said, returning my attention back to my food.
“Mi stai dicendo che hai sposato una donna che non crede in Dio?”Are you telling me you married a woman who doesn't want children and doesn’t believe in God?
“Mom, not right now,” I said, feeling my jaw muscles clench as I held my fork in place.
“Beh, viene dalla California. Come fai a sapere se non è una di quelle liberali radicali?”Well, she is from California. How do you know if she’s not one of those radical liberals?”
“Mom,” I say again in English because even though Melanie can understand Italian, my mom doesn’t know that, and I wasn’t going to be the one to reveal that part of Melanie.
“If you’d excuse me,” Melanie says, standing up so abruptly her chair scrapes against the floor. “I need to use the restroom.”
Before I can stop her—before I can even read the storm building behind her tight smile—she’s already halfway down the hallway.
“Ah, young love, it’s so much fun,” Cliff says with a chuckle, draining his glass like he’s watching a romcom instead of a live grenade about to detonate.
Colt’s eyes slice into me from across the table. He knows. I know he knows. I shove back from my chair and follow her before I can second-guess it.
“Melanie,” I call out, the hallway echoing back my voice. Nothing.
I glance around, panic flickering in my chest until I catch sightof her, through the back window, standing alone in the yard, arms wrapped around herself like she’s barely holding it together. I push through the sliding glass door, and the cold slaps me in the face, but it’s nothing compared to the fury blazing in her eyes when she turns to me.
“Hey, are you okay?” I ask, knowing damn well she’s not.
“No,” she snaps, spinning around like a live wire. “What the fuck was that?” She jabs a finger toward the glowing windows where our fake little audience sits.
“Shh, keep your voice down. They can see us through the windows.”
