Maybe I should insist on a tenancy agreement and have some paperwork drawn up. Something to reassure them both. All?
I usually make a point of not giving a flying fuck for the opinions of others, but this baby will be part of their family. I want them to not hate me, at the very least.
I hope they’re a nice family. They sure raised a good man.
“I didn’t realize I had to keep you informed of my movements.” Matt pours hot water into a floral china cup the size of a soup mug. He glances my way and winks and—dammit—my boobs begin to tingle.
I fold my arms immediately. My nipples are probably blinking like disco balls—and that is not my fault given he’s the guy that turned my sexual faucet back on after it had happily been on the fritz. I guess hormones could be to blame, which would still make it his fault by my reckoning. I haven’t once suffered a pregnancy scare in my life, so I’m blaming our current reality on Matt’s super jizz.
“So ... you guys are dating?”
“No,” I say at the same time as Matt retorts:
“Nosy much?”
“Don’t be giving out to me,” she says with a laugh.
“My family,” he begins with a pained glance my way. “Sadly, they’re as mad as a bag of spiders.”
“And he’s the king of them,” she says, leaning in. “You should see how smart he looks in his frock coat with the fancy golden epaulets.”
“Sounds like something I ought to see,” I say, like this is the first time I’m hearing this.
The pair begins to bicker in a way that makes me both happy and sad. They say you’re not supposed to miss what you haven’t had, but I’m not sure that’s true. There are plenty of times I’ve yearned for a connection. For family. And just as many times I have thanked Providence there wasn’t anusto suffer.
“Uncle Matty, may I pleath have a hot chocolate?” Clodagh asks from the huge sectional on the other side of the room. Which is pretty much where Matt led her the minute she appeared at the bottom of the stairs. So much for cartoons being a perfect distraction as she kneels on the cushions to wave at me. I wave back and hope she’s not in the mood for asking more awkward questions. Because kids aren’t dumb. They’re perceptive.
“Why not,” Matt says. “But we’re out of marshmallows.”
“This house is bullthip!” Clodagh playfully thumps the back of the sectional.
“Excuse me?” her mother demands. “What did you just say, young lady?”
“This house is bullthip,” she replies happily.
“Where on earth did you learn that?”
“Uncle Seb. When he was back from university.”
“Your brother is at university?”
“He’s the baby of the family,” Letty replies.
“A happy surprise,” Matt murmurs. “Or so the story goes.”
That look. I bite my lip to stop myself from smiling back at him.
“At least he’s no longer a teenager,” Letty says, oblivious to the look that passes between us. “They’re God’s cruelest gift to parents, I’m sure.”
“He was a pain in the arse for us all,” Matt interjects. “You’re not gonna be a rotten teenager, are you, Clo?”
“No, I’m gonna be a printheth!”
“Good girl.”
“God, I hope so,” Letty mutters. “Because it seems unusually unfair to spend the first twelve or thirteen years learning on the job. You don’t drop them on their head, they learn to speak, to say nice things, and become tiny, funny humans.” She glances her daughter’s way, her eyes soft. “You think you’ve got the job cracked—you’re nearly there. Then puberty hits. And you realize you’re rubbish after all. Because they tell you so. Often.”
“Wow, that sounds rough.”
