Chapter Thirty
CHAPTER THIRTY
“What do you mean the hotel is overbooked?” I glare at the white, balding man behind the front desk of the Westin Cincinnati.
“I’m terribly sorry, sir. This happens sometimes on extremely busy weekends. The system is supposed to leave room for cancellations, but...” He swallows. “It appears everyone has actually checked in.”
I glance at Lydia beside me, bundled in my old CU sweatshirt, looking exhausted and overwhelmed. It was more of an ordeal than we expected getting through the Denver airport early this morning, making it onto the flight, and actually finding our rental car once we arrived in Cincinnati. She looks like she’s ready to head out the door and walk back to Denver.
“Look, surely there’s got to be something? A tiny, cheap room no one wants? An overpriced presidential suite? Or can you call an affiliate hotel and find us something?”
The man adjusts his glasses and turns to his computer. “It’s Thanksgiving Day with the Bengals playing, sir. But I can check around.”
Lydia’s phone lights up with a call from her sister and we exchange a look. We were supposed to be at Celia’s half an hour ago.
I squeeze her hand. “Don’t worry. We’ll find something. ”
She gives me a pleading look, then steps away to take the call. As soon as her mother gets wind of the situation, she’ll insist we stay with her. Which will be so much worse than if we’d just agreed to that in the first place. Marion loves nothing more than being put in a position of influence. She’ll spend the next two days invading Lydia’s space and making her feel like she should thank her for the lodging.
And once she realizes Lydia’s pregnant, the narcissism will crank up to a thousand.
I wipe my hand over my face. This is not how I saw the holiday going at all. Before we left Denver, it felt like we held all the cards. We were traveling, staying, and announcing the pregnancy on our terms, the way I’d promised Lydia we would. Now it feels like all that control is slipping through my fingers.
The concierge hangs up his phone with a pained expression. “I’m sorry, Mr. Richie. Our affiliates are all in a similar position.” He adjusts his glasses with a cough. “I’m not supposed to say this, but ah... you could try your luck with Airbnb?”
I glare at the guy. Though I realize he didn’t personally overbook the rooms, that doesn’t make me any less pissed off. But in my head I’m already moving on to the bigger problem, which will be shielding my wife from my mother-in-law.
“I’ll expect a full refund for the stay,” I snarl.
I find Lydia on a bench outside the lobby restrooms. She sits up, looking hopeful as I approach, but her face falls when I shake my head.
“It’s a total shit-show.” I slump down next to her. “I’m sorry. This was all my idea. I never meant to do this to you.”
“You couldn’t have known. It was a decent plan.” Lydia exhales, then says in a small voice, “Celia invited us to stay with her.”
I sit up, studying her face carefully. Between the hotel and spilling the baby beans to my brother, I feel like I’ve already fucked up so much. I don’t want to read her wrong and make it worse. “Is that—do you think you could handle it?”
Lydia and Celia don’t have the smoothest relationship. And Celia’s husband Adam is his own piece of work. But neither of us has to say aloud that staying with them would be a major upgrade over rooming with her mom .
“I don’t want to be here at all,” she says, still pale, her mouth set in a tense line. But her expression is less panicked. More resigned. “You were right, though. It’ll just be worse if we don’t get it over with.”
I take her hand and squeeze. “It’s just one night. We’ll be out of here in twenty-four hours. And I’ll be by your side the entire time.”
“Sure.” Lydia grits her teeth. “I mean, it’s just Thanksgiving dinner with my mom.”
“You two made it just in time!” Celia says, spatula in hand when she answers the door. The house is one of those massive, gentrified scrapes with an indeterminate design, but is clearly the nicest one on the block. Inside, it’s like a vast, minimalist museum, scattered with more baby toys than furniture. It’s so sparsely furnished, I’m about to make a joke about them having it staged when Dr. Adam himself thrusts his hand into mine.
“Anton,” he says, gripping my fingers like a vice.
“Adam.” I nod, eyeing the blue scrubs he’s wearing with his gray cashmere sweater. “I see duty calls, even on holidays?”
“What can I say? It’s part of the job.” He chuckles like he’s said this exact line many times. “Can I get you a beer? How about you, Lydia? Champagne? Glass of wine?”
She looks at him and grimaces. “Ah, just water for me. Got a little airsick on the flight.”
I catch her eye, feeling encouraged when she smiles. We haven’t really discussed how she wants to handle the announcement, but I’m leaving the timing up to her.
“Since when do you get airsick?” Marion appears from around a corner holding a champagne flute, looking like a dressed turkey. Her sweater glitters with so many sequins she resembles an Olympic ice skater.
“Marion, how nice to see you! You look... radiant.” I insert myself between her and Lydia, intercepting the hug, and more importantly, the assessing gaze she has zeroed in on my wife. Luckily, if there’s anything my mother-in-law likes better than nitpicking her daughter, it’s getting attention herself .
“Anton, you flatterer. I see you’re just as strapping as ever.” She squeezes my bicep as I release her. “I was so sorry to hear about your mother. It must’ve been painful, watching her slowly slip away like that.”
Her expression is like a kid waiting for a firework to go off. Which is why we keep her at a healthy distance of a thousand miles. For a moment, that familiar darkness rises up inside me. There have been so many good things to focus on, I’d managed to bury my grief to the point I could almost forget about it. But Lydia grips my hand at my side and squeezes. And finally, I’m able to force myself to swallow. “I uh... thanks. It was.”
“Lydia, it’s been too long. You look... healthy ,” Marion says, wasting no time scanning her up and down.
“Thanks, Mom.” Lydia slips her coat off and drapes it over her arm, navigating a hug with it between them, effectively blocking her mother from her stomach.
“Aren’t you hot in that sweatshirt?” Marion asks, lip curled. “It’s awfully casual.”
“Nope. I’m fine,” Lydia says, keeping her responses clipped. She turns to her sister. “Celia, where’s Pookie?”
Dogs will always be Lydia’s comfort zone, and I’m not surprised to see her searching the room for her sister’s elderly Pekingese.
“Oh. Um . . .” Celia’s mouth tightens.
“It wasn’t hygienic, having a dog walking around on the same floors Gabriel’s learning to crawl on,” Dr. Adam interjects without pause.
Lydia gapes, obviously horrified. “So you?—?”
“He’s living with my friend Bethany,” Celia says, quickly turning away. “I... I need to check on the green bean casserole. Adam, will you show them the room?”
“Let the boys take care of that.” Marion inserts herself between Lydia and her suitcase. “I never get to see my baby girl.”
Lydia gives me a dreadful look, and I scramble for something to say to stay by her side, like I promised. So far, Lydia’s done more to support me since we walked in than the other way around. But before I can open my mouth, Dr. Adam grabs the suitcase out of my hand .
“Guest room is this way,” he says, leading the way up a set of floating stairs. “Too bad about your hotel.”
When I look back, my wife is disappearing into the belly of the beast with her sister and mother.
I grab her suitcase and hustle after my brother-in-law, aiming to complete the task and return downstairs as quickly as possible.
“So, how’s the finance world?” Adam asks, sounding more obliged than interested.
“It’s fine. Are your parents not here yet?” I ask, realizing they hadn’t made an appearance downstairs. And if I change the subject, I can avoid getting sucked into a work conversation.
“No.” He scoffs, leading me through a hall past what seems like countless doors and bedrooms. “My little sister graduated Princeton this year, and they promised her a cruise in the Seychelles.”
“Oh.” I raise an eyebrow. “They don’t mind missing Gabriel’s first Thanksgiving?”
He glances at a closed door, then breezes into the bedroom next to it. “He’s seven months old. It’s not like he’ll remember it.”
I follow him into another sparsely furnished room, where he sets down the bag. While my wife and her sister aren’t close, I’ve known Celia long enough that I’m surprised by the decor. She and Adam have only been married about a year, but her last apartment was decorated more country farmhouse than minimalist angles.
I stand in the door, straining to hear what’s going on down in the kitchen, but if Marion’s getting out of hand, it’s happening in hushed tones. Which is all the more worrisome.
“Well, here it is,” Adam says, smoothing his hair in a mirror, despite already resembling a Ken doll. “There’s a bathroom across the hall. Gabe’s room is next door. Hopefully you won’t need earplugs.”
I chuckle, though I can’t tell if he’s joking. “Fatherhood treating you well?” I ask, genuinely curious.
He shrugs, glancing at his phone. “Yeah, it’s great.”
“Where is the little guy?” I ask, realizing I haven’t seen him since we got here.
“Napping.”
As if on cue, a cry sounds from the other side of the wall. Adam immediately slips past me, and I figure he’s going to see to his son. But once he’s out in the hall, he heads for the stairs, not the next-door bedroom.
“Celia, he’s up!” he calls, descending to the living room.
Lydia’s sister rushes up the stairs past me, wearing a splattered red apron as Adam drops lazily into a chair across from a bright-white sofa.
“Help yourself to a beer, Anton,” he says, looking at his phone.
“Sure,” I mutter, grateful for an excuse to leave the room. “I’ll go do that.”
I wander down a short hall, past a beautifully laid formal dining room, and through another door leading into a large open kitchen and second living area. This one is slightly warmer and softer, albeit still sparsely furnished. Lydia is seated at the breakfast bar, hugging the counter like a shield. Marion leans casually by the sink, still balancing her champagne flute in one hand.
“Smells delicious in here,” I say.
Marion smiles, her eyes narrowing. “Yes, we were just talking about that.”
Lydia glances at me, her expression already resembling a cornered animal. I move closer, wishing I hadn’t let myself get pulled away.
“Anything I can do to help?” I ask.
Marion gives a derisive chuckle. “Not when everything’s heat and serve.”
I look around the room again, noting several foil pans laid out on the counter.
“I’m sorry you two flew all this way for... Whole Foods.” She sniffs. “If I’d known?—”
“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” I say. “Seems like Celia’s got her hands full.”
“Yes.” My mother-in-law clucks, draining her glass.
Lydia remains uncommonly quiet, and I notice she’s folding a pile of linen napkins in front of her, shaping them into fans and fastening them with silver napkin rings.
“Anyway, the photographer will be here tomorrow at ten o’clock sharp,” Marion says, as if she hadn’t already sent us a calendar invite. She sniffs. “I hope you brought something appropriate to wear, Lydia. ”
“Of course.” Lydia hasn’t looked up from the napkins, and I realize she’s actually folding and smoothing the same one over and over.
I settle onto the stool next to her and place a hand on her thigh, wishing her mother would find something to do so I can check in with my wife. “We’ll stay until noon, Marion, but then we’ll have to leave to catch our flight.”
Marion opens her mouth, no doubt to make some other tedious demand, but before she gets the words out, Celia blusters back into the kitchen with a chubby, bright-eyed baby on her hip.
“Okay! Sorry, quick diaper change and I guess there’ll be one more joining us for dinner.” She smiles at her son and bounces him. He grins back at her, and something squeezes in my chest. I try to catch Lydia’s eye, but she hasn’t looked up from the napkins.
“Wow, he’s gotten so big,” I say.
Celia looks my way, pride beaming on her face.
“My goodness, Celia, don’t hold my grandson so close to the oven.” Marion crosses the room, extending her arms. “Oh Gabey, let Nana rescue you from Mommy.”
Celia untangles his little fingers from the pearls around her neck and hands him over, looking reluctant, but relieved to have a free hand.
I feel useless just sitting here watching her do everything, so I slide off my stool, taking Lydia by the hand. “Lydia and I can help put things on the table if you’re ready to serve.”
“Perfect. Thanks.” Celia rushes around the kitchen, taking multiple pans out of the ovens, and I grab a couple of potholders, taking them from her and placing them at random on the table in the next room. Lydia follows wordlessly with serving spoons and forks for each one. As we finish, Celia pulls a banana out of the fruit bowl in the kitchen and slices it into long fingers. “Adam! Dinner’s ready!”
I follow Marion into the dining room where baby Gabriel has started fussing and squirming in her arms. I’m not a parent yet, but it’s obvious he isn’t happy about something. Finally, he lets out a wail, and Lydia startles, looking pale.
Marion bounces him, frowning at Celia, who’s dragging a fancy wooden high chair to one end of the room. “I don’t know what’s wrong. He must be teething. ”
Celia also frowns, looking at her son. Then a look of understanding dawns on her face and she reaches for him. “Mom, your sweater—the sequins are digging into his skin.”
“Oh, don’t be?—”
Celia snatches the baby away, and sure enough, angry red marks are pressed into his bare, chubby thighs. “Why don’t you check everyone’s drinks?” Celia barks at Adam, who wanders in, staring at his phone as she rushes the crying baby out of the room.
Marion presses her lips together as we watch Adam open up a bottle of wine. “Celia seems to be struggling with motherhood,” she says dismissively, removing the foil lids from the dishes on the table. “Perhaps we should start without her.”
The room fills with the scents of turkey, mashed potatoes, and stuffing, and Lydia abruptly covers her nose.
“Zinfandel?” Adam asks, reaching the bottle out between us.
Lydia puts a hand over her glass and I shake my head, sticking to my support plan. “Uh, maybe later, thanks. We’ll stick with water.”
Celia comes back into the room with a happier-looking Gabriel wearing a different outfit. She straps him into his high chair and presents him with the banana slices, which he quickly squishes in his fists.
“Please start, everyone,” she says, taking a seat still wearing her apron.
Silence settles over the room, broken only by a few burbles from Gabe, as plates are passed around and we each take various helpings. Despite her criticism of the food, everything looks delicious, and I can’t help noticing my mother-in-law piles her plate high. Lydia barely takes a spoonful of everything.
“So, Richies, what’s new in Denver?” Adam asks, setting his phone aside.
I turn to my wife, sliding my fingers through hers under the table. This has got to be as good an opening as any to share the news.
“Uh, well...” She clears her throat, then flushes pink. “We had a great first quarter with the second Pooch Park.”
“Oh, awesome news!” Celia says, sounding enthusiastic for the first time since we got here .
I curl my fingers tighter in Lydia’s, wondering what she’s doing, but she won’t meet my eyes. She’s focused on her sister. “Thanks. It’s exciting. We still have so much room for growth.”
“I’m glad to hear the new partnership is going smoothly,” Celia says.
“Is your business still on hold, Celia?” Marion asks. “Any firm dates on returning to the office?”
Adam and Celia share a frosty glance.
“We’ve been discussing an au pair,” he says.
“ One of us has,” Celia volleys back. “I’m not in a rush.”
Marion makes a face that reminds me of a cat’s butt. “It will be good for you to get back to work, sweetie. Honestly, I can’t imagine what I would have done if I’d been stuck at home with you girls. Of course I loved you, but going to work every day saved me.” Her lip curls. “One can only take so much hide-and-seek and Sesame Street .”
Next to me, Lydia has stopped eating. She stares at their mother with wide eyes.
“I don’t see it that way.” Celia shakes her head. “Maybe I’ll feel differently when he’s older, but since I have the privilege and we have plenty of money, I can’t imagine not spending every day with Gabe while he’s little.”
“Until you’ve been out so long you’re obsolete to the workforce,” Adam says.
“Because obviously child-rearing women hold zero value,” Celia hisses.
Marion turns to Lydia, studying her with narrowed eyes before breaking into a simpering smile. “What’s your opinion, Lydia? Will you be staying home with Gabey’s little cousin?”
Lydia had been pushing mashed potatoes around on her plate, but she freezes, fork in hand. I glare at her mother.
“Wait. What?” Celia says, looking at her sister.
Marion’s eyes light up with satisfaction. “I don’t know why you’re being coy. Did you think your own mother wouldn’t notice? You can’t stand food smells, you’re not drinking. And sweetheart, that sweatshirt of your husband’s isn’t hiding anything. You’re looking pretty round.”
Celia brings her hand to her mouth, staring at her sister. “You’re pregnant? ”
Adam’s phone starts ringing at that moment and he wastes no time stepping out of the room.
“I...” Lydia looks at me like she’s about to cry. I try squeezing her hand, but she pulls out of my grip and hugs herself like she’s trying to disappear.
“Yes.” I gather myself up, putting a protective arm around my wife, refusing to let her mother ruin our moment. “We were about to make the announcement ourselves. Lydia and I are expecting in the spring.”