Chapter 14 No More Apologies
NO MORE APOLOGIES
ENYA
Ishouldn’t have come.
I seem to think that a lot when I’m forced to meet with my birth family.
Maggie called and insisted we meet somewhere appropriate, which apparently translates to Le Diplomate—white tablecloths, perfect croissants, and enough political regulars to make my skin crawl.
She said it was important, and I don’t have the energy to keep dodging her.
I’m now sixteen weeks pregnant, and I can’t hide my belly any longer, which means my sister is going to take one look at me and know I’m knocked up.
Plus, she’s going to guess the man who knocked me up is Dominic Delacour.
Now that he’s not some random NSA agent but a man with a high-profile family, I’m sure both she and my father will approve.
She’s already seated when I arrive, back straight, blazer crisp, lips pursed as if she’s pissed with someone…probably me.
“You’re late,” she says.
“In more ways than one,” I quip, taking a seat across from her.
Her eyes narrow. “So, it’s true.”
I pick up the glass of water in front of me and take a sip.
“You’re pregnant.”
I look down at my belly and then at my sister. “Or I’ve seriously put on a hell of a lot of weight in the front.”
She doesn’t raise her voice, but I can tell she wants to. “Enya, do you have any idea what this looks like? An unmarried pregnant daughter? People will talk.”
“In which century? Because it’s 2026 and it’s no one’s business if I’m married, unmarried, or having a baby with an alien…and by that I mean someone from outer space.”
Maggie couldn’t look more surprised if I’d taken all my clothes off, and began to sing “The Star-Spangled Banner” at the top of my lungs.
I’m the amicable sister, the soft one, but my hormones are going nuts, I need to pee like every five seconds, and my back hurts fiercely.
To top it all, I’m starving.
All the time.
I open the menu and look through it.
“Is he marrying you?”
I bark out a laugh. “No, Maggie, I’m going to wear a scarlet A for the rest of my life and change my name to Hester.”
Before she can say anything, I wave to a server who is walking by our table. “Excuse me. Can you take our order?”
The server looks at Maggie for a beat.
“I ordered for us,” she says. “The salad nicoise.”
“More power to you. I don’t want a salad.” I smile at the server. “I’ll have the gougères and the paté de Campagne…and”—I pause to look through the entrees—“the steak frites, medium rare. And mayonnaise with the fries, please.”
I set the menu aside. “Oh, and some fresh orange juice, please,” I request, patting my belly.
The server’s smile broadens. “Right away, madam.”
“What?” I demand when Maggie stares at me. “I’m eating for two.”
“The second person is really small, and that’s an enormous amount of food,” she protests.
“Did you ask me to lunch to comment on my eating habits, Maggie, or do you have something to say? Maybe something Daddy asked you to pass on because he can’t talk to me like a regular father?”
Maggie gapes at me.
Yeah, meet my filter-free pregnancy avatar, Maggie dear.
My sister shakes her head, and I see what I almost always do: disappointment and resignation.
Yeah, well, I don’t give two shits anymore.
Grandma Lucille would be proud and would even forgive me for the profanity.
“Daddy and I…well, we both think that you and Dominic should get married.”
“I thought he was a disgusting NSA agent I brought home.”
“He’s the brother-in-law of the next Governor of California,” she retorts.
My orange juice appears. I drink it down in one go. I’m thirsty. I’m always either hungry or thirsty or queasy. And I always need to pee. If this second person is so small, how are they causing such havoc in my body?
“Excuse me.”
I haul myself out of my chair. It’s not that my belly is enormous; it’s that my backache is making me have a disproportionate waddle.
“A chiropractor is coming at five today, so either you open the door for me, or I’ll break it down,” Nick told me this morning when he showed up with his flower delivery, while I was unsuccessfully trying to rub my back.
I have learned that I really didn’t know Nick, slash Dominic, slash Dom. The man I knew had been charming and affectionate; this man was charming, affectionate, and bossy as all get out.
I come back from the restroom and am happy to see that the server has brought Maggie’s salad and my gougères. I wasn’t always a big fan of cheese puffs, but these days, give me cheese, fry it, bake it, sauté it, and I’m going to eat it.
Maggie curls her nose as I sit down. “Why are you walking like you’re a hundred months pregnant?”
“Because to accommodate a baby, my entire pelvic floor had to expand. The bones actually have to move around…and that can cause some issues with one’s back.”
I don’t know why I’m being such a bitch to her, but honestly, she and I have had an amiable relationship only because I’ve kept it that way. Maggie has always looked down on me—and now, it seems, I’m done with that.
She watches as I eat, fascinated. I devour my food—first, the cheese puffs, and then the paté. They are delicious.
By the time Maggie’s finished with her salad nicoise, I’m waiting for my steak.
“Look, Daddy is reaching out to Dominic and—”
“Tell Daddy to mind his own business,” I cut her off and then shrug as I reconsider. “Actually, he can reach out to whomever he wants. I’m not marrying that lying sack of shit.”
“Enya,” Maggie looks at me as if I’ve grown a second head. “I’ve never seen you talk like this.”
“Like what? Like I’m speaking my mind?” I shake my head, disgusted with myself for being such a damned doormat for everyone. Maybe it’s the hormones, or maybe, more probably, it’s that I’m going to have a baby and my protective instincts are on high alert.
She sends me a glance that could light a fuse. I merrily ignore it because my steak has arrived. I cut into it and sigh with pleasure.
Is there anything as good as a well-cooked steak? And, Maggie is footing the lunch bill, which makes it even better.
“Do you want Daddy to have another scandal?” Maggie asks as I chew on my first delectable bite of beef.
“Sure.”
“Enya,” she remonstrates.
I toss my shoulders. “I don’t give a flying fuck.”
That elicits another gasp. I know, I know, I usually don’t swear, I’m polite and amiable…but there’s nothing usual about my situation right now.
“I’m serious, Enya,” she hisses. “There will be questions. People will assume things about you—about us. About Daddy and—"
I cut her off. “I’m not marrying someone because you’re worried about whispers.” I stick my tongue out at her like we’re children. “Weren’t you the one who told me that life isn’t a Hallmark movie?”
Maggie looks as exasperated as I am delighted at riling her up. This is a lot more fun than I thought it would be. But she’s still my sister, and….
“Maggie,” I ask levelly, without censure, “is everything in your life only about appearances?”
She sits back, offended. “You don’t understand how this world works.”
“No,” I murmur. “I understand it perfectly. I just don’t want to live in it.”
She glances around the room, suddenly remembering where we are. Then her tone shifts, sharp with calculation. “You realize who he is now, don’t you?”
“Yes, I do, and that doesn’t change a damn thing for me. The man lied to me. He used me. Do you want me to marry a man I don’t love just because it’ll look right? Is that what you want for me?”
She looks chagrined. “Connections matter, Enya. They always have.”
I dunk a fry in mayonnaise. “Maggie…is that all you see people as? Connections?”
“Yes,” she answers without hesitation. “And you should, too, unless you want to be left behind. You have a child coming. You need to think strategically.”
I chew on my fry.
“I am thinking strategically,” I tell her. “You’re paying for lunch.”
But despite my airy response, I am hurt.
I’ve been trying to win my sister’s affection since I was old enough to notice she didn’t want me around. Now, I don’t know why that was so important. Maggie is controlled by her fears…so many of them, all centered on the idea: what will people say?
It’s a limiting way to live. It’s also tremendously sad.
She can look down upon me for running a flower shop—but I’m happy, unafraid, and truly satisfied with what I do.
“Do you know why I love Lucille’s?” I ask my sister.
She shoots me a flat, unimpressed glare.
“I make people smile, and that’s what fills my heart. What fills your heart, Maggie?”
“Enya, look—"
“Do you know you always make me feel small?” I speak over her.
She stiffens, affronted. “I’ve never made you feel small.”
“True.” I nod in self-deprecation. “You just acted like I already was.”
Maggie’s mouth tightens. “You’re being dramatic.”
I eat some more of my steak. It doesn’t taste as good as it did a few minutes ago, when I was still riding on my high at giving my sister the proverbial middle finger. Now, I just feel sad.
Freaking hormones. They were making me see-saw between despair and delight.
“Maggie, I don’t want to marry the father of my child; I want to marry the man I want as a husband. Do you understand the distinction?”
She meets my gaze with quiet, simmering resentment. “Do you understand the distinction between being Dominic Delacour’s wife and his baby mama?”
I set my silverware parallelly on the plate, indicating I’m done with my meal. The truth is that I’m done with quite a few other things, like pleasing my sister, working to get my father’s approval…things that I strived so hard for are meaningless now.
“Maggie, I don’t have a problem with being a single mother, so I don’t know why you have one.”
Her jaw clenches. “Daddy won’t like—”
“I don’t care what Daddy likes.”
That shocks her. It shocks me, too. But it also feels good to say it, to mean it.
I stand. “Thanks for lunch.”
A flicker of impatience crosses her face. “Enya, you can’t just—”
“Watch me,” I say, and then with as much grace as I can muster, which isn’t much, I waddle out of Le Diplomate.