CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Leanne
Evelyn
If you aren’t at Mom and Dad’s in thirty minutes, Jenna and I are going to show up at your door and drag you out in whatever you’re wearing.
Jenna
Eric says he’ll help.
Well, damn.
I look down at the ratty sweats and holey tee I’m wearing—that I’ve been wearing all day because it’s Sunday—and sigh.
I hoped my family’s silence after I told them I needed to finish up some work tonight meant I was off the hook for dinner. Given that I made the measly “work” excuse the last two weeks and was sick the Sunday before, it seems my family’s had enough.
I glance at the clock on the oven: 6:33 p.m. I guess I’d better get in the shower if I have any hope of looking halfway decent by seven. Thank goodness my parents’ house is only a mile up the road.
Me
I’ll be there
Evelyn
She lives! See you soon.
I roll my eyes and head for my room. This is going to be a long night.
“You’re here!” Jenna shouts as she bounds out the front door and down the steps to pull me into a hug.
“I told you I would be,” I say, winding my arms around her and fully sinking into the feel of her embrace. It’s been a long time since I went this long without seeing my sisters or my parents. And even though keeping my distance was my choice, I’ve missed them.
“Come on, let’s get inside. Eric just opened a three-hundred-dollar bottle of wine some associate gave him! We’re going to see if it tastes better than Mom’s Two Buck Chuck.”
I cringe. The first obstacle has already been laid and I’m not even in the door.
“You’ll have to tell me what you decide,” I say with as much nonchalance as I can manage. “I have a big convention starting tomorrow and don’t want to be hungover for it.”
She scoffs and pulls me closer as we walk up the steps. “You won’t get a hangover from one glass.” She bumps me with her hip and I shake my head, hoping my excuse will fly with the rest of the group. I’d rather not pour expensive wine into one of Mom’s houseplants if I can avoid it.
“Hey, Annie.” Mom beams and walks into the hall to greet us.
She pulls me into her arms for a quick hug, then settles her hands on my shoulders to scan my face.
I do everything in my power to keep my expression neutral.
Mom will be the hardest to lie to. She was always able to ferret out when any of us girls did something we shouldn’t have when we were younger.
Of course, I’ve been lying to her for months now…
Dad walks up and wraps his arms around us both, effectively disrupting Mom’s attempt to x-ray me with her eyes.
“Glad you could make it, Lee.” He plants a kiss on the top of my head.
He’s the only one who calls me Lee, while the rest of the Koles either stick to Leanne or Annie.
I’ve always liked it though. He and Mom were sure I was going to be a boy and had planned to name me Lee.
They changed it to Leanne when I was born, but he never quite let go of the habit he developed over those nine months.
I wonder for the briefest moment what kind of nicknames this little one will have and almost reach to touch my stomach. Thankfully I think better of it before I give myself away in the first five minutes.
“Hey, Dad,” I say as I slip my coat off.
I won’t be showing for a while yet, but I purposely dressed in such a way as to hide any invisible baby bump.
My cozy sweater hangs off one shoulder and reaches mid-thigh over black leggings.
I pulled my damp hair back into a low bun at the nape of my neck and added a touch of makeup before I left home, in a bid to cover the dark circles under my eyes.
Evelyn and Eric descend on me next and I’m glad for the reprieve from my parents’ scrutiny.
“I’ve got a glass of stupid-expensive wine for you,” Eric says, holding it out. “Drink this and tell us if it tastes two hundred and ninety-eight dollars better than the stuff your mom drinks.”
We all know it isn’t two dollars anymore—cheers, inflation—but even at four dollars a bottle, it’ll always be Two Buck Chuck in this house. I take the glass with a stiff smile and give Evelyn a quick hug.
I take the first opportunity to set the glass on the counter beside the open bottle and hope no one notices.
“Work’s been keeping you busy, Lee?” Dad asks.
“Oh yeah, it’s been a crazy month. Sorry I’ve missed the past few dinners.”
“You work too hard, honey. No wonder you were sick last month,” Mom says, worry coloring her tone.
She freaks out whenever anyone gets sick; she can’t help it after years of cancer treatments with Jenna.
I can only imagine how nervous she’s going to be throughout this whole pregnancy, which is part of why I haven’t told her yet.
I don’t want to be inundated by extra nerves when I have enough of my own.
I avert my gaze, catching Jenna’s eye, and she notices my empty hands. “Did you finish your wine already?”
“Oh. No, I have that conference tomorrow.” I point at the glass on the counter. I know this is suspicious; I always have a glass of wine with dinner, even if I have work the next day. But what else am I supposed to say? “It’s right there if you want it.”
Evelyn reaches for it and takes a swig, clearly unfazed by my excuse. “Well, if you’re not going to have it.” Her laugh is soft and melodic.
I relax a little, ignoring Jenna’s narrowed eyes, and hope that’s the first hurdle passed.
Mom isn’t deterred by the change in subject however. “You’re feeling better now though, right?”
“Yes, I’m fine. It was just the flu.”
“It’s early for the flu though. Did you get your flu-shot? Are you taking your supplements? Vitamins?”
“Yes, Mom.” I think of the prenatal vitamins sitting on my vanity. “And the flu can hit at any time, maybe I was just one of the lucky people to get it first this season.”
“I guess.” She gnaws on her lip then shrugs. “Well, I’m glad you could make it tonight. I think this is the first time we’re all here for dinner since the wedding.”
I hide the blush on my face at the mention of the wedding by taking a huge gulp of the water my dad handed me.
She’s right though. Between Eric and Jenna being in Canada for their honeymoon, Evelyn traveling for work, and then the past several weeks of my not being here, we haven’t all been together since we were at Monarch Ranch.
I change the subject and ask, “What’s for dinner?”
With a swooping realization, it occurs to me that this is a question I should’ve asked before agreeing to come. I’m still taking Zofran around the clock to keep the nausea at bay and I’m mostly subsisting on English muffins with peanut butter and grilled cheese sandwiches.
“I’ve got a beef tenderloin on the grill, and your mother made baked potatoes and a big salad,” Dad says, grabbing the tongs and a wooden cutting board before heading for the back door.
I nod, relieved. That should be fine… hopefully. It’ll be my first foray into red meat since getting pregnant, but seeing as it’s always been a favorite, I’m sure it’ll be okay.
“And I made an apple tart for dessert,” Evelyn adds.
“And what did the newlyweds bring?” I ask. I normally would have brought a dish as well, but I came empty-handed. I’ll chalk it up to pregnancy brain.
Eric lifts the ridiculous bottle of wine. “Libations, of course.”
Of course… and now I’ve brought attention back to the wine issue. Damn. “Right. Sorry I can’t partake.”
“Me too,” he says. “I was counting on your refined pallet to determine how good this wine really is.”
“Maybe next time,” I say.
You know, in seven months.
“Leanne, can you help me set the table?” Mom asks, and I jump at the chance, but she quickly corners me by the hutch where I’m grabbing plates. “You sure you’re feeling better? I know work’s been taking a lot out of you, but you look so tired, honey.”
She plants a hand on my cheek and stares into my eyes. It’s more like she’s staring into my soul.
I turn away and say, “Thanks, Mom,” my tone dripping with sarcasm.
“You know I didn’t mean it that way. I just worry about you. You look thinner too. Are you eating enough? I know Craig used to be the one who cooked—”
“Can we not talk about Craig, please?” I snap.
She flinches at my scolding tone and my irritation wilts.
It’s not her fault she has no idea how badly things ended with Craig, and I never lose my temper with her, or with anyone in my family.
The closest I think they’ve ever seen me to losing it was that day at the ranch when I was antagonistic with Bryce.
“I want to make sure you’re taking care of yourself.”
I respond much softer this time. “I know, but I can take care of myself just fine. I don’t need a man to feed me.”
My mind shifts to Bryce and our grilled cheese dates and the groceries he picked up to fill my fridge and pantry. I guess I do have a man feeding me, but she doesn’t need to know that.
“Right, well, I’m happy to serve you a home-cooked meal tonight. I’m sure there will be leftovers too.”
The prospect seems to cheer her up and she relents, dropping her inquiries about how I’m feeling.
Everyone chatters around us while we set the table and I pick up on small snippets of their conversations.
Jenna and Eric’s plan to get a puppy—this is a terrible idea since they’re barely ever home.
Evelyn’s newest side-hustle idea that’s sure to end with Dad bailing her out.
Speaking of Dad, he walks in at that moment with the cutting board in hands, a huge slab of meat laid across that looks like it’s been cooked to perfection.
Unfortunately, I don’t think I’ll get to find out if that’s the case. As he passes me, the scent hits my nostrils and my stomach flips in a way it hasn’t in weeks. The queasy feeling the meds have kept at bay is back in full force and a clammy tingle runs down my spine.
I swallow thickly, a cold sweat breaking out on the back of my neck, and try to breathe in through my mouth to avoid another cloying nose-full.
It’s fine, this will be fine.
Another heave lifts my stomach and I squeeze my eyes shut.
I will not throw up. I will not throw up.
“Leanne?” Jenna asks quietly, pressing her palm to my back. Her simple touch is enough to throw off the minimal control I have over my stomach, and I bolt for the bathroom.
No matter how many times you throw up, it does not get easier, and I think my brain blanked out all my memories of what I’ve coined “the week from hell,” because this feels worse than ever before.
Rubbing my palm over my abdomen, I whisper, “Little baby, what are you doing to me?”
I quickly rinse my mouth out and splash water on my face, like it can wash away the last few minutes. I really don’t want to explain why I just sprinted from the room to vomit. At least my hair is pulled back and looks as slick and stylish as it did before.
I square my shoulders and pull the door open, glad to see they aren’t all standing in the hallway waiting for me. But they are sitting around the table with looks of blatant curiosity when I walk back into the main living space.
I glance toward the kitchen and the cutting board covered over by aluminum foil. Thank god for small mercies. The smell still permeates the space, but it’s not as aggressive as before.
“Sorry, everyone, I’m not feeling well. I’m going to head home.” I back away toward the door, holding my breath the closer I get to the kitchen.
It’s Dad who stops me. “Lee.” His voice is soft and full of concern. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” I say too quickly, avoiding eye contact. “I’m just tired and must still be sick. I don’t want to pass it to anyone else, so I think I’ll go.”
“Leanne, are you…” Mom starts but shifts her gaze to Jenna who’s staring at me with a skeptical expression that’s mixed with concern.
“Are you pregnant?” Jenna asks, filling in the question Mom clearly couldn’t find the voice for.
“What? Why would you ask me that?” I go on the defensive, angry I couldn’t keep this one thing secret when I’ve kept so many others. Why won’t they just let me leave?
I know from the look Mom exchanges with my sisters that they were talking about this while I was in the bathroom.
“You’re not drinking. You’ve been avoiding the family for weeks.
You’re getting sick—you never get sick.” Mom’s open concern almost has me softening until she says, “Is this why you got so upset when I brought up Craig? Did you two…” She trails off, but the implication is clear.
Anger and hurt tangle together at the mere mention of his name in connection with my pregnancy. He doesn’t get to have any part of this. Not today. Not ever. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” I seethe. At least my avalanching emotions are forcing the nausea to subside.
Everyone at the table stares at me with wide eyes and open mouths like they’ve never seen me before. Maybe because they haven’t. Not really.
Leanne, the perfect daughter who always does what she’s asked and never rocks the boat, isn’t here right now. I knew this dinner was a bad idea. And it only goes from bad to worse when I open my mouth again.
It seems word-vomit is as big a problem as the real kind tonight and I can’t hold anything in anymore.
“I would never go back to Craig. Never.” Livid tears fill my eyes.
“Not after everything he… he said. Not after he blamed me for not being able to get pregnant. Not after he called me faulty and left,” I shout, leaving a deafening silence behind.
They all sit stunned, and I rub my shaking, sweaty palms down the outside of my leggings and take a deep breath. When I regain control of my ability to speak at a normal octave, I say, “I would appreciate it if everyone in this family would refrain from mentioning him in my presence.”
Even though my voice is calmer, the fury blazing through me is ready to burn this entire thing down.
Which is exactly what I do with my parting words.
“And, yes, I am pregnant. I would’ve preferred to tell you when I was ready, but there you go.
And not that it’s any of your business, but it was a one-night stand. ”
With that explosive exclamation, I turn on my heel and stalk for the entryway, grabbing my jacket and slamming the door on my way out.