Chapter 18
Tessa
One Week Later
Two Months Pregnant
A big pot of chili bubbles on my stove, and I'm staring at it, mesmerized. The rapid-fire conversation in the next room reminds me that I invited my sisters over to share my pregnancy news. But I’m in here stalling.
Because I’m terrified.
They will have opinions. They will meddle.
They will have more to say than my bosses at work, who didn’t seem overly concerned about me taking maternity leave in six months.
When I promised I would be available to work from home as much as possible, the male partners gave me knowing glances and urged me not to make promises until I see what it’s like to be a parent.
As though they know something I don’t. The female partners gave me different knowing glances, silently communicating that we women stick together and they’ll have my back.
I don’t know which group intimidated me more.
I can already see my dreams of partnership fizzling while I’m on maternity leave, even if it’s not fair or legal. And it makes me want to succeed even more.
The chili has been bubbling for an hour, the ground steak, smoked paprika, and tomato flavors melding as the smell wafts into the air. I have no appetite, and morning sickness still strikes at all hours, so I munch on a saltine cracker and stir the pot.
One burner over, I have a smaller crock of vegetarian chili because Hazel doesn't eat meat, and I know she appreciates it when I remember. It’s not that my other sisters forget, per se, but we’ve had many instances of someone making a dinner reservation at a Cuban or Korean restaurant that’s heavy on meat without considering that Hazel won’t be able to eat half the menu.
Laughter in the next room gives me a little FOMO, wanting to be in on the fun, but I stay put, white-knuckling the ladle. I need one more moment of solitude. One last chance to hold on to my pregnancy secret before four sisterly opinions descend.
“Hey, is the wine in the fridge?” Hazel asks, popping her head through the doorway.
I nod and retrieve the corked bottle for her. “Take the whole thing. See if the others need a refill.”
“Where’s yours? I’ll refill it,” Hazel says, popping the cork from the bottle and pouring some Chardonnay into her own empty glass.
“Oh, I'm good.” I hold up my green bottle of sparkling water, which is nearly full.
She raises an eyebrow. “Really? You can get through a whole night with all of us gabbing in your house with just a Perrier?”
“Well, you see, I’m coping spectacularly by standing alone in the kitchen, but yes, I'm good.”
Hazel pushes her wild hair from her face, peering into the pots. “Is this one veg?”
“Yep.”
She leans toward it and beckons a waft of steam toward her nose. “Smells delish. Thank you for making a whole separate one for me.”
“Of course. You have to eat too.” Hazel checks the loaf of garlic bread, which is almost finished browning in the toaster oven. She gives the salad a cursory toss even though I already mixed the Caesar dressing into the lettuce a few minutes earlier.
“I honestly don't know how you do it,” she says, gesturing around my small kitchen, which is spotless except for what I’m cooking.
I clean as I go, so I have less to do at the end, so it probably seems incongruous to someone who doesn’t cook.
“You seem so calm even though we’re all in one room, dropping cheese on the floor and spilling wine on your couches. ”
My eyes go wide at the idea of a mess, but then I rein in my panic.
It’s something I’ve been practicing, even leaving crumbs on the counter instead of cleaning them right away so I’ll be more chill with the messy house accompanying a baby.
But really, I’m only a tiny bit less chill, and I reach for a towel.
“I’m kidding. No one spilled. It was a joke.” Hazel doesn’t make jokes, so I pour some of my sparkling water on the towel and hand it to her wordlessly. “But one of these days you'll have to prep me on how to host a dinner party even though I barely know how to cook.”
“Cooking isn’t hard, especially for someone like you. You’re a scientist. You’ll get off on the chemistry of combining gluten with water and fats. I’m actually a little afraid because there’s probably a whole sourdough phase in your future.”
She takes one of my vegetarian cookbooks off a shelf and begins leafing through it. “I really never thought about it like that.”
“I’ll come by anytime you want, and we can cook together. Practice on me. Not the others.” I gesture to the next room.
“Yeah, they're not judgmental at all.” Sarcasm drips from her voice. “You good?” she asks.
“Yeah, all good. Nothing new.”
“Well, now I know you’re lying to me.”
“Why? How?”
“Because you answered too fast. Tell me. What’s up?” She's always been able to read me, so there’s no point in trying to hide it. Of all my sisters, she has the lowest tolerance for bullshit.
“Here, give me a hand with this, will you?” I point at a big serving bowl on my kitchen table, and Hazel brings it over.
I hold up the pot of chili, and she scoops it into the bowl with a ladle.
“If you bring that out to the table, I’ll grab the salad,” I say, popping the garlic bread out of the oven and sliding the pieces into a basket with the flat edge of a knife.
Hazel takes the chili, and I follow to drop off the salad bowl and bread.
Then I circle back for the vegetarian pot, a fresh bottle of wine from the fridge, and little dishes of shredded cheese and onions for the chili.
It takes me two trips, but I get everything on the table, and my sisters descend on the food like vultures.
It's our usual way. Hannah hands bowls to everyone, and Dylan starts serving the salad onto plates.
There are the general thanks and gratitude for my cooking. And the topping off of wine and the discussion of who still needs something they don’t have yet. But a few minutes later, we are all sitting outside on my deck at my round table.
There isn't much of a view from here, just part of the canyon beyond my house, but it's enough to make me feel like I'm a little bit removed from the city. I point out a yellow bird that’s peering down at us from a branch.
“Look at you, Ms. Nature Valley. Guess all that time at the ranch is making you a farm girl,” Dylan says.
“Hardly,” I say, thinking of Fitz and trying to keep the blush from my cheeks. “All city girl here. Don’tcha hear the traffic?”
I live only a few blocks from a busy street. My neighborhood currently has a helicopter hovering over it, and there’s a siren in the distance. It's a far cry from the peace and quiet I experienced at Loveland Ranch.
“Still, how’s it going up there? Does the architect have plans yet that we can look at?” Callie asks. She’s practically bouncing on her chair.
“No plans. He and I are still going over options. He’s going to give me one version that’s basically a revamp of the house, only with an addition and some modern bells and whistles.
And then a second one that shows what we can do if we’re serious about making it a wedding destination, with maybe some additional guest rooms. We can price them out and decide. ”
“I love that,” Dylan says. “So we could renovate the house first and add the rest later?”
“That’s my plan,” I say. My sisters nod, seeming to agree. They don’t have much choice, since I’m taking on the bulk of the renovation work.
“Nice work, sis,” Hannah says, topping off everyone’s glass with wine.
My thoughts stay on the ranch house, and I can’t deny how eager I am to get back.
My task list grows exponentially every time I go, but my feelings have nothing to do with the house or the renovation.
I want to see Fitz. My feelings are growing more complicated as my hormones flood my system, and my normal reactions to normal things have gone sideways.
“A toast,” Callie says, holding up her wineglass. My other siblings do the same, and I weakly follow with my little green bottle of sparkling water. If anyone notices that I'm not drinking alcohol, they don't say anything except for Hazel, who's still eyeing me suspiciously.
“Cheers,” Dylan says. “Thanks for an awesome dinner.”
“Kudos to the host,” Callie says. We all clink glasses. Hazel puts her hands on the table and turns her chair to face me.
“I feel like Tessa wants to tell us something,” she says.
I glare at her but then nod. “Okay, well, I was trying to come up with a segue into this that made sense, but I can’t come up with a nonchalant way to work the fact that I'm pregnant into the conversation, so there you have it. I’m only eight weeks along, so it’s still super early, but the doctor says everything looks good. ”
I wait out the succession of surprised gasps and the flutter of conversation before all eyes turn to me to explain.
Hazel, who never met a math challenge she didn't love, is already calculating the math. “Wait a minute. Those dates line up with your birthday. Did something happen that week? Is that when you got pregnant?”
“Is this an IVF situation? Your birthday gift to yourself?” Dylan asks.
My other sisters chime in. “Oh, I love this for you,” Hannah says.
“And our kids won't be too far apart in age. Dexter has been asking for a sibling, but that’s not in the cards anytime soon. A cousin is even more awesome because you’ll be the parent.
Please tell me everything's okay, and you're healthy, and this is what you want.”
“It is what I want,” I say. “As far as other details, it's a little, um, complicated.” I fill them in on the night of my birthday and what happened with Fitz after they left the Hitching Post. “It was a fling. Not worth mentioning to you guys. It was my birthday, and we’d just seen the disaster of a ranch, and everyone was arguing about what to do with it. I guess…I wanted to have a fun night.”
“I totally get that. I’d hook up with a guy to get away from you all too,” Callie says.
“You’d hook up with a guy anyway,” Dylan chirps. “Oh my god, I can't believe you didn't tell us about this until now.”
“She's not required to tell you about her romantic life,” Hazel reprimands, putting a hand on mine protectively. I think she feels proprietary about my news since she was the one who prompted it.
“She is when it results in a baby,” Dylan says. “So tell us the details.”
“I'm not telling you about that night with Fitz. But I will tell you that I just had an ultrasound and everything looks good.” I reach over for my purse and grab the most recent ultrasound photo to pass around, feeling bad that Fitz couldn’t be here for it.
We set up a video call during the office visit, and he watched the ultrasound while I watched him. It warmed my heart to see his eyes grow wide when the doctor pointed out the tiny bean that will grow into a baby in a matter of months. The heartbeat was so steady and strong.
For a moment, I lose myself in the memory of that day, which felt less stressful than this moment where four pairs of eyes are staring me down. And now, the questions.
“And what about the cowboy? Is he on board for all of it?” Dylan asks.
“How involved do you want him to be?” Hazel wants to know.
“How is that all going to work?” Callie sounds excited, which makes me excited.
“We agreed to hang out between now and my due date so we can plan for the baby. Like ‘friend dates.’ So we can get to know each other.”
“All very logical, and so you.” Hannah laughs and sips her wine. I chug a little bit from my Perrier and nod. “What happens if one of you falls for the other one? Have you factored that into your little ‘friend date’ algorithm?”
I shake my head. “It’s not going to happen.
We have completely different lives. He has responsibilities in Willow Springs and boundary walls as high as an elephant’s eye.
I’m a little surprised he even wants to be involved.
And I have my career and you all here. Trust me, we are not a thing. Will never be a thing.”
“Really? You’re good with that?” Hazel’s question is so quiet, I’m pretty sure I’m the only one who heard it.
“If she says she’s good, she’s good,” Dylan barks, grinning at me. But I don’t answer Hazel’s question. I can’t.
I want to be good with it, but a tiny part of me already has a soft spot for the rugged, stoic cowboy.
I tell myself it’s just the hormones. I had no problem walking away from him after my birthday, so once I have the baby and the hormones subside, I’ll walk away again. That’s the plan, and I like a plan.
“It’ll be fine. Two responsible adults co-parenting and giving our baby the best life we can. No falling in love, no heartbreak. Just good parenting. Maybe everyone should do it this way.”
As I hear my argument, I wait for my sisters to punch holes in it. It does sound implausible, even to me. Especially given how easily I fell back into bed with Fitz. But we will behave from now on for the sake of the baby. We’re adults. We can do that.
“Well, I think it’s great,” Hazel says, raising her glass. “To the newest Demille—I hope it’s a girl!”
“Aw, I kinda hope so too,” I say, clinking my green bottle against my sister’s glasses. “We do girls well in this family.”
“Yes, we do!” Callie says. “I’m going to be the best aunt.”
“But not the favorite aunt. I get that designation,” Dylan says.
“We’ll see about that,” Callie taunts. They continue debating who has better auntie skills, and I sit back, watching my sisters like the mother hen I’ve always been. Maybe it’s good training for motherhood.
Because now everything feels much more real. Now that my sisters know, it seals the deal. I’m having a baby. We've been through every life situation together, and I need their support if I’m going to do this.
From all of their smiles, laughter, and guarantees, I know I have it.