“Maybe. I'll call you when I'm done.”
“Okay baby. I’ll keep your side of the bed warm.”
I smile, still in awe that I have a man as wonderful as Ezra in my life.
“Babe, you there?” A slight panic is in his voice.
“Yeah, sorry. Just distracted.”
Distracted is an understatement. Overwhelmed, scared, and feeling completely out of control. From the calendar, to school, and now this mystery news Mom is planning to share, I feel likeeverything is out of my hands. The only thing that feels right is my relationship with Ezra.
“Well, I have some papers to grade and a grade curve to figure out. I hope to see you later. I love you.”
“I love you too.” I barely get the words out before the call disconnects, and the radio starts blaring my new song obsession. Pink Pony Club. The fucking lyrics just live rent free in my head.
When I pull into the driveway, I’m not expecting to see Mom's car already here. It's only four thirty, and she doesn't get off until five. Not wanting to block her in, I shift into reverse and back out, opting to park on the curb in front of the house instead.
I grab my bookbag from the seat and get out of the car, making sure to lock it behind me. It's not the greatest security, but an unlocked door is an invitation for any punk looking for a joyride.
When I step inside the house, the smell of garlic floods my senses. Pasta. It has to be.
“I’m home,” I announce as I set my bookbag on the floor and toss my jacket on the couch. My feet move of their own accord, following the direction of the smell of the chicken. Sure enough, on the stove is a large stockpot, and Mom is grilling chicken on the George Foreman she’s had for as long as I can remember.
“Are you making my favorite?” I ask in shock as I open the pantry and take out a bottle of water.
“Spaghetti, covered in meat sauce, and grilled chicken smothered with cheese. My baby girl’s favorite.”
“Not a baby,” I say, gritting my teeth as I remind her.
“I don't care how big you get, Felicity. You will always be my baby.” She places her hands on her hips as she glares at me. “Don't you forget it either.”
“Fine. I'm your baby.” I give her an eye roll that earns me a stern look. “So my favorite dinner. You must have something super important to share with me.”
She doesn't speak. We’re in a showdown but instead of guns, it’s stares as we wait to see who'll be the first to crack and look away.
“We could eliminate some of the tension in the room if you just tell me.” I cross my arms over my chest as we continue our little game.
“I'll tell you while we eat. Why don't you go ahead and set the table.”
Shit, this must be really big. Normally, we just eat our dinner in the living room.
She doesn't wait for me to argue with her. Nope, in true Christine fashion, she turns back around and finishes cooking.
Knowing I've lost the battle, I walk over to the cabinet, pull out two plates and glasses, then get silverware from the drawer.
God, please don't let her be pregnant. Twenty-one is too old to be getting a sibling that someone could mistake as my kid. Sure, I want kids one day, but not now, and when it happens, I want them to be mine. Plus, can we just… ewww. No one wants to imagine or have proof of their parents having sex. My body shakes as if something’s crawling on me just from the thought.
Once the table is set, I sit down and pull out my phone. I'm not sure when Lorna will talk to Roxy, but I just want to check if I have a message. I’d really like to meet her first before we do the deed and get up close and personal. But when I check, there’s nothing. Not even a call from a number I don't recognize.
“Do you need any more—” I shout just as Mom walks through the doorway and places a casserole dish of pasta and chicken on the table—“help?” I finish.
“Just something to drink would be lovely.” She immediately heads to the kitchen and I follow after her. I pick up my discarded bottle of water off the counter, then open the fridge and pull out the jug of iced tea. Mom's already heading out of the kitchen with a plate of garlic bread in hand.
Now that we have everything, we take a seat. “Let's dig in. How was your day at school? How’s Ezra?” My eyebrow raises and I give a slight shake of my head.
Mom's dodging the conversation she brought me here to have. It only has the pit in my stomach growing heavier. This thing she has to tell me must be bad. Suddenly I've lost my appetite for my favorite dish.
“School is school. Ezra is amazing. Now, what do you have to tell me?” I finally blurt in frustration.
