CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Bryce
Iexpected Leanne to be guarded throughout dinner but was surprised how quickly the tension radiating off her before we walked in melted away in the presence of my family. She opens up more with each joke, each question, and each small touch I offer in encouragement of her being wholly herself.
I don’t think I could have asked for a better night.
This table hasn’t felt this full in a long time, and Leanne sits by my side laughing as we eat our weight in steaming tomato bisque and the best grilled cheese I’ve ever tasted.
Delia even made a huge salad, because she knows I usually eat pretty healthy, and to be honest, the amount of grilled cheese I’ve consumed lately is probably equal to the amount I’d had in the previous six years.
I try to ignore the looks Becca occasionally shoots my way—the ones saying “this looks like more than friends.” She’s absolutely right, and it feels like more too—at least for me.
But I’m not going to push or force my way and end up losing it all.
Not again. Leanne and I are trending in the right direction.
She said she’d think about moving in with me when the baby comes.
She kissed me—even if it was hardly more than a peck.
And if I have to live forever as Leanne’s friend so we can do this together, then that’s what I’ll do.
If it’s what’s needed for me to keep her—them—I’ll do it.
“Presents!” Becca exclaims, jumping up from her seat and disappearing into the hallway. Bemused looks are shared around the table before she reappears with an armful of gifts. The teetering pile leans precariously, and I stand to help her get everything onto the table.
A small green gift bag with yellow paper is pushed in front of me, while all the rest find their way in front of Leanne.
“You really didn’t have to do all of this,” Leanne protests, not used to being the center of attention.
Well, too bad. She’s about to be not only the center of my whole world, but this family’s as well. Not that I’ll tell her that. Not yet.
“We wanted to! It’s not every day we have a reason to spoil this guy”—Delia hikes her thumb in my direction—“and we may be more than a little bit excited about this new little one.”
I love this family. They have zero qualms about accepting Leanne even after everything we lost when Sarah died.
They’ve always accepted me exactly as I am.
They welcomed me into their family when I had nothing and then furthermore when I married their daughter.
Now, when they could be bitter and hurt, they’re showing the exact kind of love to Leanne they’ve always had for me.
I feel Leanne’s eyes on me before her hand slides onto my thigh under the table, offering me three squeezes of encouragement. That’s when I realize I’ve been staring silently at the small bag in my hands.
I shake myself and offer her a reassuring smile. “You start,” I say, pointing at her pile of gifts.
The large folded blanket isn’t wrapped, so it’s the first thing she reaches for. Her delicate hands travel over the soft fabric before curling under to caress the faux sherpa lining the other side.
“This is lovely,” Leanne says, pulling it closer like she might hug it. “Thank you.”
Delia beams and Becca pushes the basket of other gifts toward her.
As she pulls out each item—fuzzy socks, bath salts, an inflatable bath pillow, waterproof noise cancelling headphones, ginger lollipops, a chocolate bar, and finally a printout with a picture of a large U-shaped pillow—Leanne’s eyes turn glassy, her walls falling more and more.
“This is way too much,” she finally whispers, the words thick. “None of this is even for the baby. It’s all for… me.”
“Of course it is. You should be pampered, dear. And there will be plenty of time to buy gifts for the baby later.” Delia winks and I shake my head, knowing exactly how carried away they can get.
There wasn’t a week that went by during Sarah’s pregnancy where one gift or another wasn’t appearing on our stoop.
“The pillow is being delivered to your house instead of here. The box is apparently enormous, so make sure you get Bryce to help you with it.”
“Mom, it has a pillow in it. She’ll be okay to get it in the house.” Becca rolls her eyes.
Leanne clears her throat to get my attention and silently begs me to take the attention onto myself. I offer her a wink and reach for my gift, noticing how my hand quakes slightly with nervous anticipation.
I pull the paper from the top and let it drop to the floor as I see the soft white cotton inside. The onesie barely takes up any space in my big palm when I pull it free. It’s tiny. And the Monarch Ranch brand is printed on the front in a burnt orange color.
As if all they’ve done up to this point wasn’t enough to solidify the knowledge of their excitement, of their acceptance of this new member of our family, this does it.
And there I go again, getting all choked up. Are these sympathy emotions or something? I’m not an uber emotional guy, yet my feelings have been bubbling just below the surface all evening.
“Thank you,” I choke out, looking first at Delia and then at Alex. Their eyes are full of tears, and I’m not sure how I’m supposed to hold it together when they’re looking at me like this.
“Goodness, y’all are the biggest bunch of babies,” exclaims Becca. “The only person who gets to cry whenever she wants is Leanne, and I don’t see her crying… Ah, come on!”
She’s caught sight of Leanne, who has tears streaming down her face as she watches the interaction between me and my family unfold.
She may not understand exactly what all this means to us—not yet—but she knows enough to recognize, like I do, how much it means for them to be embracing us through this.
Leanne laughs through her tears and strikes them away from her cheeks. With a deep breath, she stands from the table. “I’m going to use the restroom.” She points down the hall. “Is it this way?”
Becca jumps up and takes her arm. “I’ll show you.”
This leaves me alone with Delia and Alex, who are already clearing the table.
Once I’ve set down my own armful of dishes, Delia pulls me into a tight hug. “I really like her.”
I lean my cheek against her hair and breathe in the woman I’ve known as my mother for over half my life. She always smells like herbs and freshly baked bread. She smells like home. “I’m glad. She’s really something.”
“That she is,” Alex agrees, clapping me on the back. “I think she’ll keep you on your toes, and then the baby will arrive, and you’ll never have another day’s peace.” He laughs, a deep booming one that draws one out of me as well.
“That I am sure of.”
“Did you ask her?” Delia whispers, pulling out rubber gloves from under the sink and looking toward the door.
“About moving in?” I ask, carrying more dishes over. “Yeah. She said she’d think about it. Best I could expect probably.”
She squeezes my forearm before turning her attention to the sink.
“Not that you need my opinion,” Alex interjects, about to share whatever’s on his mind whether I want to hear it or not. “But I think this friends business is codswallup. I’m not blind. I can see the way you look at her… the way she looks at you.”
I want to roll my eyes like I did as a teenager, but I refrain. “A lack of chemistry is definitely not our problem. It’s that our pasts make this more complicated than a girl meets boy, boy gets girl pregnant, boy and girl live happily ever after situation.”
“I never said it wasn’t complicated,” he retorts. “I—”
“We’re back.” Becca’s voice carries her and Leanne back into the room arm in arm, like they’re the best of friends. Hope blooms in my heart that maybe that can be true someday.
“Who wants dessert?” Delia asks, forgoing the rest of the dishes and reaching for a large chocolate cake on a crystal stand I hadn’t noticed before.
“Oh wow, that looks delicious. Did you make it?” Leanne asks.
“From scratch. It’s Bryce’s favorite. I hope you like chocolate.”
“What pregnant woman doesn’t like chocolate?” Leanne asks with a grin.
“You’d be surprised,” Becca says. “I think I’d cry though if I was one of them.”
The next hour flies by, and as Leanne stops to drop me off outside my house, her trunk full of presents and a slice of cake wrapped in cellophane for later, I find I don’t want the night to end.
“That went much better than I thought it would,” she says, turning in her seat to look at me. After a big dinner and a second helping of cake, her baby bump is more obvious than ever. The desire to reach across and lay my hand there is nearly impossible to resist.
Instead, I tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “I told you it was going to be fine.”
“You did, but I didn’t believe you,” she deadpans.
“Thanks for the confidence,” I snark back at her, loving the way her face leans into my palm.
“I really like them.” She rests her hands over her stomach, and we both watch them move slowly back and forth.
“I hope they liked me.” The admission quietly indicates that tonight was important to her, just like it was for me.
I forget sometimes that the confident, takes-no-shit-from-anybody woman I know Leanne to be has a side that’s been hurt before, abandoned and rejected.
“They did. They told me as much. You’re stuck with us now, I’m afraid.”
“Not such a hardship,” she says with a small smile.
Some might not think that’s much of a compliment, but coming from her, it’s one that will stick with me for a long time.