Chapter 30
Chapter Thirty
Franky
“I’m absolutely stuffed!” Rosie leaned back in her chair and patted her stomach. “Not sure I have room for pie.”
“A full stomach should never get in the way of pie,” Cade said.
“Amen.” Dante stood and started clearing away plates.
As my only contribution to the Thanksgiving meal was two tins of cranberry sauce, I jumped up to intercept.
“I’ll take care of the dishes. Finish your wine, relax, take it easy.”
“Be thankful?” Vi said with a grin. She picked up her glass. “I won’t say no to someone else doing the washing up. Devon, could you help your sister, please?”
My fifteen-year-old brother rolled his eyes but did as he was asked.
I loved our blended family Thanksgiving with Rosie, her dads, my parents, and brother together for the holiday.
Dante and my dad did most of the cooking while Cade and Vi gossiped like they didn’t already catch up at least once a week at their regular coffee date.
Cat was sometimes with us, but this year she was spending the holiday with her husband’s family in Westchester, New York.
Earlier, we had all crowded around my laptop and marveled at how big my niece and nephew had grown.
I wondered what they would think of the fact there would be another guest at the table next year. My child. Would Jason stop by for future Thanksgivings? We had outlined sharing holidays in the contract, and if he truly wanted to be involved, he might be here.
Over the last ten days, he had made either daily stops by my office for lunch or had sent over food using Kennedy Durand’s Can Do concierge delivery service, a popular option for the Rebels players and staff. Taking care of the baby, though I liked to think he was taking care of me.
Devon was on rinse duty while I Tetris’ed the heck out of the dish placement in the dishwasher.
“So how’s it going?” I slid a look at my brother. “Did you do okay on your algebra test?”
“I texted you about it. I got an A-minus.”
“Right! You did.” I had helped my brother with some tutoring a few weeks ago, and of course he had already texted me to say he did well.
Yet, I’d forgotten because my brain was mush.
We chatted some more about school, his favorite video game, some weird prank one of his friends played on him.
A few minutes later, Rosie walked in and touched Devon on the shoulder.
“What?” he asked.
“I’m tagging you out. It’s an improv thing.”
Devon screwed up his eyes. “Am I supposed to say something funny?”
“No, you’re supposed to take this wonderful opportunity to leave the kitchen because I’m taking over in this ‘dishwashing scene.’”
Devon grinned. “Awesome. Later, Franks.”
“Later, Dev.” I turned to Rosie. “Are you actually going to help, or are you trying to avoid your dads asking about your sex life?”
She shuddered. “They’re so progressive it’s scary. Cade actually dropped off a family-sized box of condoms the last time he came to visit my place. And Dante allows this nonsense—he’s supposed to be the hard ass prude.”
Dante was a lot of things, but prude wasn’t one of them.
“Vi’s not much better,” Rosie went on. “I think she and Cade spend their time thinking up ways to embarrass me.”
“You’re unshockable. Just be glad you can tell them anything.”
My sister leaned against the sink, not rinsing any dishes. Improvising idleness.
“Is there something you can’t tell Bren and Vi?”
I hadn’t meant it like that, or maybe I had. “I’m just reminding you of how lucky you are to have such cool dads.”
Rosie hummed. “So, what’s going on?”
“Going on?”
“You didn’t eat much and usually you are all over those mashed potatoes like Bunsen with his cat treats. You’re not drinking either. I know you want to prepare your body for when you get around to conceiving, but is there something you’re not telling me?”
I was dying to share my news. I couldn’t rely on Jason as my comfort through this. If it was just the two of us keeping this secret, then we would be constantly drawn to each other like magnets to metal. Or my favorite parts to his favorite parts. (Genitals, in case that wasn’t clear.)
I guided her into the downstairs bathroom, just off the kitchen.
“I’m pregnant.”
Cue Rosie’s squeal. “I knew something was going on. You’ve been avoiding me whenever I ask you out.”
“I am busy, trying to prep for the next semester in Boston.” Information I had not shared with Jason. “Do you still want to sublet while I’m away?”
She grasped my arms. “Yes, I do but stop changing the subject. This is amazing! How far along?”
“About six weeks? I have an OB appointment at the beginning of January, but I’ve had the pregnancy test with my GP and a general checkup. It’s definitely a go.”
“And?”
“What?”
Those green eyes she shared with her mom and my aunts glittered. You know who else has gorgeous green eyes …
“It’s Jason, right?”
“Correct. He’s very happy.” Though he only saw me as the brains of the outfit. My contribution was to the kid’s intellectual prowess, not much else.
While you saw only muscles when you said yes to him, right?
Not the same thing at all!
“I’m so pleased for you. I’m guessing it’s lips zipped until you’re into the second trimester?”
“Exactly. Dad and Vi will go nuts. And then there’s Kendra.”
My mother would have plenty of opinions, especially about the fact I was doing this without a man.
“Sis, I think you’re so brave, but you won’t be alone.” Rosie hugged me close. “You have me and Cat and everyone who loves you. If you need a birthing partner, I’m your girl!”
I hadn’t even thought of that. Would Jason want to be there? Probably not. It was kind of messy. But then this whole situation was the dictionary definition of “mess.”
Dispiritedly, I looked in my fridge. This was far too much food.
Violet and Dante had noticed I didn’t eat much and assumed I would be hungry later, piling me with enough leftovers to last through New Year. Now it was the Friday after Thanksgiving and the thought of all this food going to waste offended me.
I had an idea and called Lauren to run it by her.
“Hi, Lo, it’s Franky.”
“Oh, hey. Is everything okay?”
“Yes, yes. It’s fine. So this is going to seem weird …”
And it was. But here I was with key and alarm code in hand, about to do a food drive-by for the man who was fathering my child. This afternoon, the Rebels played Minneapolis, so he would be back in a few hours. Wouldn’t it be nice to come home to a full fridge of Thanksgiving leftovers?
I made it inside without any trouble. Previously, I had only come as far as the front door, and before that, the living room while we discussed the contract.
Both times, I had been too nervous to take in more than the contours of his home.
The house had a welcoming openness to it, pleasantly decorated in creams and navies, with a plethora of photos on the walls.
Jason with his nieces and nephews, his younger brothers, Theo and Sean and his mom.
None of his father, which wasn’t surprising.
Sean had told me Jason had bought this place as soon as he signed his contract with the Rebels.
It was a lot of house for one person. Professional athletes were used to capacious arrangements, though I considered this more comfortable than luxurious.
Less bachelor pad and more family style ease.
It reminded me of the house I grew up in, where we lived with Dad after Mom decided—and decided was the operative word—to suffer a meltdown in the granola aisle of Whole Foods.
Right after, she checked into a spa for a rest, while checking out of motherhood altogether.
I loved that house and, as my family still lived there, often found myself returning to it as much for the comfort of the familiar surroundings as the joy of spending time with my parents and little brother. This home gave off a similar vibe.
I headed to the kitchen and found my lips curving at the sight of the fridge covered in magnets, all the cities he had played in, I supposed, propping up polaroids with his niblings as well as childlike artwork.
Snails were the focus, which meant these likely belonged to Tilly.
That was so sweet, and I luxuriated in the fantasy that maybe he kept these pictures because they reminded him of me.
Slug Girl.
Opening the fridge, I got a mild shock: it was already filled with Tupperware containers. It looked like he had brought leftovers home from the Kershaws’ gathering the day before Thanksgiving. Well, I felt rather foolish. But I was here now. In for a penny.
I wandered around the first floor but didn’t dare go upstairs. It comforted me to get a sense of who he was, of who I had invited into my life. I spied trophies on the shelves, more family photos, a hockey puck that must hold some special meaning. On the coffee table were books.
Baby books.
The standards, of course, such as What to Expect and The Expectant Father, but also one on co-parenting.
Beside that was a book of baby names—as if he had a choice in the matter—and one on child development in the first year.
At the bottom of the pile was a basic biology text about the animal kingdom, the kind that was usually assigned to high school students.
Was Jason trying to meet me at my level? Or just learn more about the inner workings of his baby mama’s weird mind?
Above the fireplace was a big screen, and while I wasn’t really much of a TV person, I was anxious to see how the game was going. As if my boyfriend was playing.
I turned it on, lay out on the sofa, and settled in to cheer for my home team.
Sometime later, I woke to my body cocooned in the warmth and weight of someone else. I should have been freaked out, but I wasn’t. I knew instantly it was Jason.
My slight shift woke him up.
“Hey there, Doc,” he whispered in my ear.
“Hello. What time is it?”