Seven of Hearts

11. Leah

11

LEAH

I was going to throw up. Unfortunately, the nausea wasn’t caused by morning sickness. That had eased once I made it to the second trimester. No, the impending vomit was due to the fact that I was sitting outside my parents’ house, like a death row inmate awaiting execution.

I had worked through every scenario in my mind, and none of them ended with a “congratulations” or tears of joy.

My phone buzzed in the cup holder. I grabbed it to see who had texted me, hoping for an emergency so I could leave.

Logan: You don’t have to do this alone. Say the word and I’ll be there.

Warmth bubbled inside me. I knew he was talking about dinner with my parents and telling them about the baby, but I couldn’t help but wish he meant it in a grander sense. In a ‘mom and dad sitting in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g’ sort of way.

Logan and I had sort of skipped right to the baby carriage part of the rhyme.

The back of my head lay against the headrest and I let out a sharp breath.

Mom and Dad.

It was the first time those two words had really crossed my mind.

Regardless of whether we were together or even in the same state, Logan and I were going to be parents. We would forever be tethered by one moment that changed everything.

I just hoped that it would change everything for the better.

Leah: I can handle it. Thanks, though. I’m going in.

Truth be told, I wanted him to hold my hand as I made my way up the white pebbled walkway that led to the front door. I wanted him to lace our fingers together and give my palm a squeeze with the reassurance that it would be okay. That I could lean on him.

He was being sweet, but I couldn’t take advantage of it. I’d had a moment of weakness when he showed up at my door because I was tired, but I couldn’t repeat that. I couldn’t let myself rely on him, no matter how much I wanted to. Logan wasn’t staying.

Unfortunately, Laura Holloway was my problem.

I fisted my car keys, letting the jagged edge bite into my palm to keep me grounded as I rang the doorbell.

My parents weren’t the “let yourself in and raid the fridge” type. Not even close.

Hi, Mom. Hi, Dad. Nice to see you. Dinner looks great. By the way, I’m having a baby.

Oh no. What if they had made sushi for dinner and I couldn’t eat it? Dropping the pregnancy bomb definitely seemed like a topic for after the meal, that way I could leave.

I couldn’t even fathom what would happen if I told my mother I was pregnant and refused to eat the food she had prepared.

With my heart in my throat, I pushed the doorbell and waited.

Exactly six seconds later, the appropriate time to leave a guest waiting on the stoop according to my mother, the door opened.

“Leah, are you ill?” she asked as soon as she opened the heavy wooden door. “You look absolutely dreadful.”

And this was why I never came over, even though my parents only lived ten minutes away.

Dr. Laura Holloway was an exacting woman who didn’t believe in softening the truth.

I tucked my hair behind my ears, a nervous habit I was certain she’d call out the moment I did it.

Her lips pursed as she clucked under her breath. “Self-soothing with grooming does not make the question disappear. It’s better to answer than to delay the inevitable.”

I actually would have preferred to be strapped to a polygraph machine and asked embarrassing questions about my teenage years rather than look my mom in the eye.

“I’ve been a little under the weather,” I admitted. It was easier than denying it.

She lifted an eyebrow but said nothing as she stepped aside to let me in. She was like a bridge troll who made you answer a riddle before you could pass.

Shit. Was that a terrible thing to say about my mother?

The smell of roasted chicken was welcome, and I let out a relieved breath at dodging a homemade sushi boat.

I hoped my baby bee would accept the chicken and not make me throw up. This was the last place I wanted to get sick.

A wave of nausea washed over me as if I had conjured it.

No, no, no . . .

Before I could bolt, my father walked in from his office. He was a little gentler than my mother, but still just as frosty.

“Hello, darling,” he said as he kissed my cheek.

“Hi, Dad.”

And that was that. No hugs. No prompts to sit down and tell him about my day or what I had been doing at work.

It made me think about all the times Luca and Maddie DeRossi or Hannah Jane and Isaac Lawson came to pick up their kids from me, and the immediate hugs and conversations about their day and how they were feeling.

I wanted to go give Gio and Ellie the biggest hug right now. But it was time to face the music.

The click of my mother’s sensible, yet pricey pumps echoed down the hallway.

“Can I help you finish dinner?” I asked, hoping to move this night along. “It smells great.”

Mom glanced at the clock. “Not yet, though I appreciate the offer. The chicken still has about another half hour in the oven.”

My eyebrows lifted in surprise. “Oh? Did I get the time wrong? I thought you had said to come over at six.”

“I thought we could talk before dinner,” Mom said as she grabbed a bottle of wine and uncorked it.

Oh no.

She left the bottle to breathe while she walked to the china cabinet and picked out a glass.

Okay. Maybe she was just pouring herself a glass, and I could avoid wine until after dinner when I told them.

She grabbed three more glasses, brought them over to the kitchen island, and began to pour, then offered the first to me.

Today was not my day.

“Thanks, but I probably shouldn’t drink.”

She raised a judgmental eyebrow. “Are you currently taking medications where alcohol consumption is not advisable?”

“No,” I muttered as the doorbell rang.

My dad dipped out of the kitchen to go see who it was, taking the interruption to escape the cold war.

“Speak up, Leah. It’s not polite to mumble. You know better than that. It’s also not polite to turn down a glass of wine when offered. It’s not like we’re getting sloshed.”

I would have paid good money to see my uptight mother get drunk off her ass.

“I can’t drink,” I said a little more firmly. If I was going to be a mother, then dammit, I was going to use my mom voice.

The front door opened and closed, and footsteps neared.

She was taken aback by my tone. “And why on earth is that?”

“Because I’m pregnant,” I said firmly.

“You’re what? ”

I spun at the sound of another woman’s voice, and my jaw dropped.

Joanne, my ex-girlfriend, stood at the entrance to the kitchen, looking absolutely shell-shocked.

The wine glass in my mom’s hand shattered on the counter. “You had better be joking. And if you are, it’s certainly not funny, Leah.”

“Why is she here?” I said, spinning on Joanne to face my mother.

“Because I invited her,” she said as she pressed her hands to her flaming cheeks.

“You invited my ex to join us for dinner?” I said with a caustic laugh.

Joanne raised her hands in defense. “I had no idea you were going to be here. Dr. Holloway invited me over to discuss positions we need to hire for at the office.”

“I can certainly invite whomever I please for dinner at my house,” Mom clipped, cutting her off. “Joanne and I were having a lovely conversation at the office on Friday, and I suggested she come over tonight.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose. “I asked you on Thursday if we could get together. So you invited her after we made plans because you knew I’d be here?”

I had been devastated after Joanne and I ended our six-year relationship. My mother had taken it even harder. Frankly, I had a feeling she loved my ex more than me.

“I should go,” Joanne said.

“Yes, you should,” I said at the very moment my mother said, “No. Stay.”

Since Joanne had already heard the big news, there was no sense in beating around the bush. “Mom, this was something I wanted to discuss with you and Dad privately. ”

Mom shook her head at me and looked over my shoulder at Joanne. “You see what I’m talking about? It’s that fear of vulnerability that she can’t conquer. I’m not quite sure where it came from.”

Ah yes. Reason 1,352 that Joanne and I broke up. She and my mother would psychoanalyze me in their respective ways. My mother, as a psychologist, and my ex, as a therapist.

“I’m leaving,” I said in disbelief.

My mother huffed. “You and Joanne just needed a nudge in the right direction, and I’m more than happy to facilitate. Leah, you mask your need for companionship and intimacy through performative self-sufficiency. I think it’s time you two work out your differences. You were so good together.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose. “This is absurd.”

Mom grabbed a tea towel and began to clear the shattered glass from the countertop. “That’s why you have independent pursuits that only require your skill set, and not a partner’s help. Tell me—what furniture piece are you working on this week? Frankly, I’m surprised you could get pregnant. That takes two people.”

Each word was more cutting than the last.

“I didn’t know,” Joanne silently mouthed with a shake of her head. “Dr. Holloway, I appreciate the invitation for dinner, but I’m going to let you all discuss Leah’s... news privately.”

I raged silently as Joanne let herself out. I hadn’t expected this to go over well, but I certainly hadn’t anticipated this nightmare.

“Leah, darling, tell me you’re joking,” my dad said when the house quieted.

“I’m not joking,” I whispered as tears welled in my eyes. I knew not to crave a hug. They weren’t the type. In place of affection, they had expectations. I rummaged around in my purse and pulled out the latest ultrasound photo. “The baby’s due at the beginning of March,” I said as I wiped away a tear. “I’m fifteen weeks along.”

My dad huffed and left the room.

“How did this happen?” Mom asked with a bite of annoyance in her voice. “Well, I suppose we both know how it happens, though I thought I raised you to be smarter than that. I should be asking who it happened with. I was not aware that you were in a relationship.”

“And yet you invited my ex over for dinner without telling me. Thanks for the ambush,” I snapped. “Joke’s on you. There’s no way in hell we’d get back together now. Joanne didn’t want kids. I do. She didn’t want to actually get married. I did. There are actually good reasons why people break up that don’t have to do with my personality deficits that you like to point out all the goddamn time.”

She raised a warning eyebrow at my language. “Who’s the father?”

Bile coated my tongue. I didn’t want to say it. I wanted to spare Logan of her reaction, even if he wasn’t here to witness it. But I couldn’t show her any weakness.

“Logan Solomon.”

Her shock was palpable. “Kylie’s brother?”

I nodded.

“That—that Boyd kid?”

“He changed his last name when he turned eighteen. Same as Kylie did,” I said in their defense.

“Leah, how could you?” she hissed. “You know your father and I have never approved of that family, certainly not Logan. That delinquent, trouble-making child is the apple that didn’t fall far from the tree.”

“He’s a good man,” I said, raising my voice. “Logan was never a troublemaker, even back then. His parents were put in prison. I can’t even imagine going through that. And yet he still grew up to be?—”

“It doesn’t matter who he grew up to be or what he changed his name to. It will never change the fact that he has their blood and had their influence for the most formative years of his life.”

“You never had a problem with me being friends with Kylie. You just wouldn’t let me stay at their house after they moved,” I shot back.

“You were friends. You were a good influence on her. You were never dating Kylie. There’s a difference.”

Tears streamed down my cheeks as I reached into my purse and pulled out the bracelet I had made with the word “grandma” hammered and stamped into a thin gold plate. I had made a matching tie clip that read “grandpa” for my dad.

“Here. I thought you’d want to know that you’re going to be grandparents. I hoped you would be excited,” I said as I left the gifts on the kitchen island and grabbed my keys. “I should have known better.”