27. Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Sarah
All my fears seem to be justified. This place is fancy as shit.
White tablecloths. The soft lighting hanging from the ceiling makes everyone look like they’re living in an Instagram filter world. Kevin St. Clair made sure we didn’t spend Thanksgiving at a kind of place that serves wing challenges and has living quarters over the fryer vents.
His parents are already there. They're seated at a table by the window overlooking the courtyard.
His mom is elegant in a way that undoubtedly makes me feel underdressed. Blonde hair in a perfect bob. Pearls — actual pearls. A cashmere sweater straight out of the Neiman-Marcus catalog. The best way to describe her is “effortlessly classy.”
Exactly what I expected… and feared.
But then I notice something I didn’t expect. Her smile when she sees us is so warm, it almost makes me forget to be nervous.
His dad looks like an older version of Kevin. Same build — tall and athletic, with broad shoulders. Same smile. Same blue eyes, with the tiniest edge of green that shifts in the light.
They stand when they see us.
"Kevin!" She pulls him into a hug that looks like it could last forever. Then she turns to me. I can feel the warmth in her smile. Kevin’s sunshine must actually be genetic and not just a hockey nickname. "And you must be Sarah. We've heard so much about you."
"It's nice to meet you, Mrs. St. Clair." My voice only shakes a little.
"Melanie, please. We've been dying to meet the woman keeping Ranger alive."
Mike laughs. Shakes my hand with the same firm grip Kevin has. "Mike St. Clair. That dog would've been a poster child for latchkey dogs by now without you."
"I secretly think he turns on the TV when we're not home and orders pizza," I say before I can stop myself.
Everyone laughs.
Kevin's hand finds the small of my back again as we sit. It’s such a small touch, but it reminds me that it’s all okay as long as he’s beside me.
We order drinks — water for me and Kevin. Mike asks for the wine list.
The waiter leaves and I swear the menu is written in another language. Everything sounds fancy. Everything has ingredients I've never heard of.
"So, Sarah," Melanie says, "Kevin mentioned you're transitioning roles at the rescue?"
I set my menu down carefully. Kevin's knee stays pressed against mine.
"Yes ma'am. Diane's taking over day-to-day operations. The Super PawMart partnership is — well, it's big. Life-changing for the rescue."
"Kevin showed us some of the social media posts," Mike says with a laugh. "The granddog's quite the celebrity."
My napkin is twisted in my lap. I smooth it out.
"He really is." I watch Melanie's face, trying to read if I'm making the right impression. "We've placed ten dogs since the deal was announced. We have a big adoption event this coming Saturday."
The conversation begins to flow more easily. Melanie asks about growing up in Austin. I keep my answers short because I’m pretty sure my level of family dysfunction sounds foreign to people who clearly adore each other and their son.
In short order, the food comes. As soon as we pick up our forks — I’m glad to notice there are only normal ones, not specific-use ones — my phone buzzes with an urgent text from Diane. The Chihuahua mix needs a new foster. Of course. On a holiday.
I pull out my phone to reply to the text, half my brain still tracking the conversation between Kevin and his parents.
"Can I get anyone more water?" The waiter appears. "Or perhaps you've decided on something from the wine list? I'd recommend our excellent Bateman Family Winery Reserve—"
Mike perks up. "That one. Melanie?"
"Perfect." Melanie looks at me. "Sarah, you'll join us?"
I'm reading Diane's frantic chain of texts about the Chihuahua. Autopilot kicks in and takes over my mouth.
"Oh yeah, none for me, thanks. I'll just stick with water. No wine for about seven more months."
The clatter of silverware snaps me back into my seat.
Time stops.
I look up from my phone.
There are three faces staring at me. Actually, four. Todd the waiter is suddenly also invested.
Melanie's hand freezes halfway to her wine glass. Mike's jaw drops just enough to relay shock. Kevin's eyes are the size of dinner plates.
My brain catches up to what my mouth just said.
Oh fuck.
Then Kevin starts laughing.
Not nervous laughter.
Genuine, delighted laughter that makes his whole face light up like the oversized scoreboard hanging at center ice in TexTech Arena.
He squeezes my hand so hard under the table.
"Well," he says, his face still beaming, "that's one way to tell you. Mom, Dad — we're having a baby."
The way he says it — so proud, so happy — like he's been dying to tell them since we walked in the door, and I just made it easy on him.
Melanie's hand flies to her mouth. Her eyes flood immediately.
"A baby?" Her voice breaks completely. It just shatters. "A real baby?"
"Very real," Kevin says. "Due in the summer."
Mike's jaw works. He sets his menu down with shaking hands. "How far along?"
"About seven weeks," I manage. My voice sounds like it's coming from underwater. "Our first appointment is next Friday."
Melanie makes a sound that's half-laugh, half-sob. Tears are streaming down her face and she's not even trying to wipe them away.
"After Cameron—" She can't finish. Just looks at Mike, then Kevin, then back to Mike again.
Mike stands up.
For a second I think he's leaving. That this is too much. That I've ruined Thanksgiving and their son's life and everything.
But instead of heading straight for the door, he walks around the table to Kevin's side. "Stand up, son."
Kevin stands. Mike pulls him into a hug. It’s possible that he’s about to send Kevin to the IR list with a cracked rib.
When they pull apart, Mike's eyes are red.
Then he turns to me.
"Welcome to the family, Sarah."
He says it so simply, full of certainly. Like there was never any question. Like I've always belonged here and saying it out loud now makes it official.
Welcome to the family.
I've felt on my own since I was eight years old.
My mom floated through my childhood in her post-divorce haze of wine and self-help books, then moved to Seattle as soon as I turned eighteen.
My dad has long been preoccupied with his shiny new family in Houston — a wife who makes six figures and two perfect kids who play club soccer.
A photogenic, well-balanced family, tailor-made for Christmas cards.
I'm the “before family.” The rough draft. The example that makes the redemption story look worthy of a 30 for 30-style highlight reel.
I've spent my twenty-nine years making myself small and quiet and fiercely independent because needing people meant getting hurt. Meant being disappointed. Meant being left.
And here's Mike St. Clair telling me I'm family because I’m carrying his grandchild — his son’s child — and that’s enough.
That's all it takes.
I suck in a deep breath and decide to accept Mike's generosity. I decide to take the risk of changing my own narrative.
I try to say thank you. Try to say anything.
But my throat closes up, and tears spill over and I'm crying in the middle of this fancy restaurant where I never would have allowed myself to belong before I met Kevin and Mike and Melanie St. Clair.
Melanie's suddenly out of her seat. She comes around to my side in a rush of cashmere and pearls, and before I can even process what's happening, she's pulling me up into a squishing, all-encompassing hug.
"Oh honey," she says into my hair with a whisper loud enough for half the restaurant to hear. "We're so happy. So, so happy."
I am a walking, bawling stereotype of the emotional pregnant woman.
Can't help it. Can't stop it.
My mom hasn't hugged me like this in a decade. And now this woman I met fifteen minutes ago is holding me, hugging me like I'm the daughter she never had.
I'm going to ruin her cashmere with my mascara. But she just holds me tighter and doesn't let go.
When Melanie finally pulls back, she keeps her hands on my shoulders. I probably look like a disaster. But she doesn't seem to care.
"Are you feeling alright?" she asks, full of natural maternal concern. "Morning sickness?"
"It's rough," I admit, relieved that their actions and emotions have made it crystal clear that I can just be honest with them — that I don’t need to pretend about any of it. "I'm tired all the time. Everything makes me nauseous."
"Oh honey, I remember." She glances at her husband. Some wordless communication passes between them. Memories. Mike's back in his seat but he's still watching us like he wants to hold onto this moment forever.
Me too, Mike. Me too.
"What part of Austin do you live in?" he asks, trying to bring the conversation back to practicality as I sit back in my chair.
"Normally, my place is off South Lamar, but right now I’m in Barton Springs.
With Kevin. My apartment is over a sports bar.
The rent's great, and the smell was fine before but now all I can smell is wings through the vents..." I trail off, hoping they don’t decide instead that I’m a complete gold digger for moving in with Kevin on top of everything else.
"Good." Melanie sits back down, then reaches across the table to take my hand. "You need to be somewhere safe. Somewhere comfortable. Kevin's got plenty of space."
Mike nods in agreement with his wife. Totally in sync. I look at Kevin, clearly understanding now why he is the man he is.
"Life doesn't always go according to plan. But this—" He looks between us. His eyes land on me and hold. Really hold. "This is a miracle, Sarah. The best kind."
I think about Cameron. About the grandkids Mike and Melanie thought they'd never have. About plans that don't mean shit when life decides otherwise.
And then I think about my own parents. About how neither of them ever called me a gift.
About how I was always too much or not enough or just in the way.
I was the reason they blamed for their own shortcomings and inability to get along.
I was the reason they had to get married, to stay together — until they couldn’t. I was the reason they never got along.
But Kevin's parents — who've known me for less than an hour — are calling this baby a gift.
They’re calling me family.
"Thank you," I whisper. "For — for being so kind. For not being disappointed or—"
"Disappointed?" Melanie's voice jumps an octave on the last syllable. "Sarah, no. We're thrilled. A grandbaby." Fresh tears spill down her cheeks. "We get a grandbaby. We get you."
Oh my gosh. This is what Kevin was talking about. The gift. And I'm a part of it. Not just something adjacent, but a real part of it.
When I look over at Kevin, I can see that he's struggling to hold back the same emotions his parents have openly let flow. This is what he wanted when he sat with me at the rescue this morning.
This moment right here.
This is what he knew would happen.
His parents accepting me. Making space for me in their family without me having to fight for it or prove I'm worthy or earn my place.
Kevin did this. He knew what I needed before I did. And he's sitting there looking so happy it hurts to watch.
Oh no.
Oh fuck.
I love him.
Not the “well he said it earlier and I should say it back” kind. Not the "he's hot and nice to me" kind. Not the "he keeps crackers and water by the bedside and I'm hormonal" kind.
The real kind. The almost overwhelming kind. The kind where you know that if he asks you to move two thousand miles away from everything you've built, you can no longer just cash in your chips and walk away. You'll have to hear him out. Weigh it all. Face whatever choice breaks your heart less.
Even if that choice means Vegas or Vancouver, or even another city that doesn’t start with a V.
I love Kevin St. Clair.
His golden retriever energy and the way he talks to Ranger like a person.
The fact that he's been making me ginger tea since the very first day our lives totally changed without my even needing to ask him to.
How he held my hand under the table at Wing Wednesday for months while we both pretended it didn't mean anything.
The way he told me about Cameron and made today about healing a wound instead of dropping a bomb.
The way he gave me a place in a family I never dreamed I'd be able to have.
It all makes sense now.
I love him.
I didn’t know it when I woke up this morning terrified of meeting his parents and telling them about the baby, but today was Kevin’s gift to me.
My gift back to him is to figure out how to tell him without sounding like a Hallmark card mixed with a panic attack.
Because yeah. I love him.
And I need to figure out the right way to let him know.