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“I’d be happy with twenty,” I repeat. “That’s plenty.”
“Sure,” he says, nodding in a way that does not reassure me at all.
My phone starts buzzing in my purse. I quickly pull it out.
Grace.
“I should take this.”
“Of course,” Vince says. “Don’t forget to settle the bill on your way out.”
I give him a tight smile and step into the hallway.
“Sweetheart. Hi,” I say as I answer.
“Mom,” Grace says. “I have news. Big news.”
“Okay?”
“I’m pregnant.”
She laughs then, pure joy bubbling through the line, and I stop dead in the hallway, one hand reaching for the wall. For a second, I can’t make the words fit together.
Pregnant.
“You’ve only been gone a few weeks,” I manage, trying to keep my voice warm even as my mind spins.
“I know, I know. I left my birth control at home and…” She laughs, delighted. “Well, here we are. I’m so happy, Mom. We both are.”
A dozen careful questions rise in my throat. Are you sure? Are you ready? Are you safe? Have you seen a doctor? Do you understand what this means? I swallow all of them. She sounds happy, and I can’t bring myself to take that from her.
“I’m so happy for you,” I say gently. My voice trembles despite my best efforts. “Gosh. My baby’s having a baby. I’m going to be a grandmother.”
Grace laughs again, that carefree sound I’ve missed so much. In the background, I hear Drew’s voice.
“Pray it’s a boy, Carmen. I’m not sure I can survive two of them. Grace already has me graying at the temples.”
“Don’t listen to him,” Grace says quickly. “He wants three daughters.”
For a few minutes, she tells me about the apartment they’re renting, how Drew is already fussing over her, how she’s feeling surprisingly good so far. How hungry she already is. I listen and ask gentle questions, forcing myself to bite back every concern before it can leave my mouth.
The receptionist glances up from her desk and gives me a polite but pointed smile. I lower my voice.
“I should go, sweetheart. I’ll call you later, okay? I love you. Take care of yourself. Both of you.”
I pay the nine-hundred-dollar fee and walk out to my car in a daze.
I’m supposed to go to school. My books are on the passenger seat. But Vince Vinegar hasn’t listened to a word I said, and my daughter has just called to tell me she’s having a baby with a man who kills people for a living.
I don’t let myself think past that. I can’t.
I sit behind the wheel, hands resting uselessly in my lap, and stare through the windshield. I should drive to class. I should be sensible. Keep moving. Keep doing the normal things until life feels normal again.
Instead, I drive home.
The whole way, I tell myself it’s because I need to check on Fifi. Because I need a quiet house. Because I’ve had too many surprises for one morning and school can wait until tomorrow.
But I know the truth before I even turn onto my street.
