Chapter Twelve #2
“I tried,” Scottie says, grinning. “Katerina, this is my mother, Hillary.”
“But you can call me mom,” she says to me right before she throws her arms around Scottie and bear hugs him, which is so sweet considering how much smaller she is than him.
“Welcome, sweetheart,” she says into his shoulder.
Then she turns to me and grabs both of my shoulders as if to get a closer look.
“And, look at you, you’re just beautiful.
Those cheekbones… And your eyes. Our grandbabies are going to be stunning.
Aren’t they going to be stunning, Arny?” she yells over her shoulder as Arny wheels closer to us.
I go absolutely still. Babies? I had never even considered children. Maybe because I never thought I’d marry a man I love. The idea of bringing children into my world… meant to use as pieces on a chess board, was something I tried not to think about.
But children with Scottie…? I shake the fantasy from even appearing. Though I can feel my uterus let out a small tear for an Easton baby, it will never carry.
Arny finally rolls over. He’s in no hurry but I can see the appreciative grin to see us.
“Your mother’s right,” he tells Scottie. “You married well out of your league, son.”
“Arny–” Hillary says, whacking Arny’s shoulder for insulting their son in the process of complimenting me.
Then Arny turns to me and gives me a wink.
And that’s when I see it. No doubt the reason Hillary fell in love with Arny. That apple doesn’t fall from its father’s tree. Scottie might have his mother’s eyes, but he has his father’s height and charm. Even in that wheelchair, it’s obvious that Arny would tower over Hillary and me.
“Speaking of babies,” Hillary starts, sliding her arm around my shoulders and nudging me out of Scottie’s grip. “How soon are you thinking about children?”
“Ma…” I hear Scottie warn directly behind us, followed with Arny rolling right beside him.
“How soon…?” I manage, then glance over my shoulder to see Scottie trying to hold back a chuckle.
“Mom,” Scottie laughs, tugging lightly at her elbow. “Maybe let her breathe before you start naming grandchildren?”
“Right. Right.” She says, walking me up the porch and into the front door.
“Well, just so you know, I already told the family that they are on their own for a few months once the baby comes. I know what it’s like having that first baby.
I can cook, clean, take on night feedings if you plan to pump, whatever I can do to help.
You’ll need a shower and a nap once in a while, and with Scottie’s hockey schedule—”
“Alright… she gets it, Hillary. Don’t scare off the poor girl before her last name is dry on the marriage certificate. She might bolt when she realizes half the Easton family is one marble short of the whole jar.” Arny teases behind us, rolling past the front door.
Scottie lets out a laugh. “I was hoping to make it past our first Christmas before she realized her mother-in-law is overbearing, but I guess we moved right past overbearing, and straight to insane.”
Hillary stops and whips a hand towards them. “You two hush. We’re bonding,” then she turns to me. “I was just about to put the cinnamon rolls in—family recipe—you might as well learn it now since you’re stuck with us.”
I glance helplessly over her shoulder at Scottie.
Scottie just smiles and mouths, You’re doing great.
I am absolutely not doing great. I’ve never had a mother-in-law before, much less a woman in my life who basically just accepted me into her life after meeting me less than a minute ago. I’m not used to blind acceptance like that.
But then Hillary releases my shoulders and tucks her arm through mine and steers me toward the kitchen.
Speaking of, for better or worse… I’m in it now.
The kitchen is loud and chaotic when we step inside.
At least seven women are crammed into the space—aprons, flour, gossip everywhere.
I catch flashes of faces as they whirl around the island, Hillary pointing out each one with a name that I barely catch: Aunt, cousin, neighbor, someone who “used to babysit Scottie when he was teething,” and has now decided this gives her partial maternal rights for life to the family.
They all want to hug me, to see the ring, to ask how we met, how the wedding was, and when we’re planning to have children.
Apparently, child-barring is a recurring theme, but it’s also just small talk, and I may be socially stunted for this kind of family dynamic, but I at least can understand that.
Hillary claps her hands once in a sharp and authoritative manner.
“All right, you vultures,” she says. “Give me five minutes with my new daughter-in-law. The rest of you go set tables or check the brisket or stare at your phones, or whatever it is you do when you’re not in my way,” but the way she says it is teasing… loving, almost.
There’s a chorus of laughter and theatrical complaining, but they listen. The kitchen empties quickly as each one grabs something from the kitchen to take out to the potluck forming outside for everyone to eat, until it’s just me and Hillary and the hum of the oven.
She gestures to the stool at the island. “Sit, sweetheart. You want coffee? Tea?”
“Tea, please,” I say. “If you have it.”
“I have everything,” she assures me. “You married into a family of women who believe every problem can be solved with baked goods and hot beverages.”
I like that. And just for a moment, I think of my mom and how she would have loved Hillary.
I hate that she’s not here with me. But then again, if she were alive, maybe I wouldn’t be going through this right now.
Maybe she would have convinced my father to let me marry for love…
maybe my ballet career would have taken me to Seattle at some point, or maybe Luka would have dragged Scottie to one of my performances if they had played New York and were in town one extra night.
Maybe I would have met Scottie on different terms. I would have been cold since he is a hockey player, but he wouldn't have let me get away with it, just like he didn’t the first day I met him.
He would have decimated my defenses against him, and then maybe he would have found a time when Luka wasn’t looking to ask for my number.
Maybe all of this would have happened naturally, and I would be meeting my real-life mother-in-law for the first time, not worried that she’s going to grill me like the KGB and find out all my secrets, including how Scottie is faking a marriage with me to protect me.
She fills a kettle and sets it on the stove before taking the stool across from me, forearms on the counter, eyes bright and curious.
“So,” she says, “tell me everything. How did you and my son meet?”
We’ve practiced this. Luka drilled the story into me like choreography.
“We met through Luka,” I say. “He and Scottie are teammates. Luka is my brother.”
“Right, the Russian Olympian,” she says, snapping her fingers. “Scottie told us. The scary one with the murder glare. I like him.”
I’m going to count that as a point for me. Luka either brings people in with his realism and his give-no-fucks attitude, or he rubs you the wrong way. There is no in-between with him.
“That sounds like Luka,” I say dryly.
“And was it love at first sight?” She asks, leaning in, eyes dancing.
“Not exactly,” I say. “He was…” I think of Scottie with his dumb apron and his seven meals a day and the way he rubs my feet like it’s a privilege. “Persistent.”
She laughs. “That sounds like him, too. Real love takes time. You don’t build a life with someone you fell for at one look. Though as a matchmaker, I’ve seen it happen, and it happened to Arny and me.” She tilts her head, considering me. “So how long were you two dating before he proposed?”
“Not long,” I admit. I don’t give any more information than that. I have no idea what Scottie told her. “But when you know, you know. Right?”
The words feel strange on my tongue.
Her gaze goes soft, sharpening at the same time, like she’s seeing straight through to the parts of me that aren’t entirely certain.
“Right,” she says finally. “And you’re happy? He treats you well?”
“Yes,” I say, that part is easy. “He’s very kind.”
“He gets that from his father,” she says. “Arnold’s the best man I’ve ever known. Even after the accident, he never complained. He just… adjusted. Kept loving us the same way.”
“Scottie mentioned the accident,” I say quietly, glancing over at the tea kettle as it starts to steam.
“He would,” she says. “Did he tell you he’s been sending money home since he signed his first contract?”
I blink. “No.”
“Well, he does.” She sighs. “Thinks we don’t know how much. We do. We tell him not to, but like you already said, he’s persistent. He’s always carrying everybody else on those big shoulders of his.”
Including me, I want to say, but I don’t.
“He’s lucky to have you,” I tell her.
“We’re lucky to have him,” she corrects gently. Then, she reaches across the island and wraps one of my hands in both of hers. “And now we’re lucky to have you, too.”
The kettle whistles. I blink hard and look away, suddenly not trusting my voice.
Hillary gets up and makes us both a cup of tea while I try to process everything. Then she returns with two mugs of tea and a plate of cinnamon rolls that smell like butter and sugar and childhood memories I never had.
“So,” she says, sliding the plate toward me, “you told me how you met. Now I need to know how he proposed.”
Panic spikes low in my stomach. We did not rehearse this part.
I open my mouth, scrambling for something plausible, when salvation arrives in the form of six-foot-two of oblivious timing.
“She’s interrogating you already, huh?” Scottie says from the doorway, a grin firmly in place. “I smelled the cinnamon rolls and figured it was safe to come in.”
“Just getting to know my new daughter-in-law,” Hillary says. “I was asking about the proposal. I hope you weren’t a caveman about it.”