Chapter 18
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Leo
T elling the gang went so well that I’m starting to think we should have waited until after we’d gone through dinner with her family to tell them.
On the other hand, it’s obviously lifted her spirits to have such an eruption of happiness around the news from the people closest to us. We waited until lunchtime, which wasn’t easy given the concerned looks the boys were giving me. But we waited until everyone was gathered on the reception sofas, and the moment the words, “Leo and I are going to have a baby, and no, it’s not the first of April,” left her lips, there was a flurry of squeals and energetic hugs as she and I were congratulated to within an inch of our lives. Knowing our family the way I do, I anticipated nothing less, but actually experiencing it still fills me with reassurance. Nobody looked horrified. Nobody pointed at me incredulously and shouted, “With him?! You can’t be serious!”
Far from it. Eli and Dean both clapped my back hard when they hugged me. Parenthood might not be Eli’s bag, and who knows with Dean, but I’m left in no doubt of their full support and their belief in my abilities to be a good father. It was a boost I didn’t realise I needed.
Emily made excited plans to see how many decaf flavours she can find for the mother to be to enjoy for the next seven months. Sadie swore enough to put Gary to shame when she realised she’d be off her beloved caffeine for a while.
Liaden bounced about like a kitten with the zoomies, telling us how good it is for a baby’s brain development if they’re raised bilingual, and begged us to let her teach our kid a language of our choice. “And obviously they’ll be taught ASL before they can speak,” she adds. And absofuckinglutely they will.
There’s not much to coo over in the ultrasound picture, as our baby is so small and easily lost amid the other wavy lines and smudges, but we all manage to see something .
Once I’m back in my studio, all I can think about is how to handle tomorrow evening with Sadie’s family. I’m glad I don’t have any clients this afternoon and booked the rest of the day out for business admin, because this is going to be a tricky one to play. Sadie doesn’t need anyone white-knighting for her, and would smack me upside the head if I tried, but I will be damned if anyone says anything to upset her. But at the same time, I must not make the situation worse by saying the wrong thing, or standing up for her in a way that screws everything up even more.
I just need to figure out the best way to support her as each moment arises. I can talk to her about it beforehand, ask what she would find most useful. I’m not going to tread on anyone’s toes. And at least Tim will be there. I’ve never met Jacob. I know Sadie isn’t particularly close to him, though she’s never said anything negative about him as a person. Her parents are likely to be the grouches raining on our parade here, mostly her father. On the rare occasions I’ve had any contact with him, I’ve always found him to be so far up his own arse he can probably lick his own lungs.
One thing’s for damn sure: he will never treat our child like shit. I won’t allow it, and I’m sure Sadie wouldn’t either, but that’s my own line in the sand for the future.
Checking my watch, I do a little mental arithmetic, and then pick up the phone to call my mother and sisters. And Auntie Woowoo. At least I know they will be delighted to hear the news.
And I think they’ll also be happy to go along with an idea I’ve just had.
The moment we enter the Stewart family home, Sadie’s whole demeanour visibly changes. Her shoulders are straight and her chin is up, and she gives easy enough hugs to her mother and both her brothers, but she’s tense and her fists are tight at her sides when she stops. I place my hand on the small of her back, and she’s stiff as a board. It makes me want to stand in front of her like a shield against whatever’s bothering her, or better yet, sweep her out of here and shout at them all for making her feel like she isn’t safe to be herself in her family home.
I’ve worn one of my best shirts for this occasion. It’s dark green and made of silk, and hopefully indicates that I’ve made an effort and that I’m affluent enough to afford decent clothes. Being both socially aware and an excellent provider are obviously desirable traits in a daughter’s partner, and a grandchild’s father, and I’m hoping maybe this will soften them up to the idea.
Though, given the length of my hair and the sheer amount of ink on my skin, I doubt it.
As I move towards her, the photo in my shirt pocket shifts a little, like it’s reminding me it’s there. I smile to myself. No matter what they think, however they react, this is happening, and they can’t stop it. And I won’t let them take anything away from our happiness. They’re not ruining a damn thing.
“Leo,” Tim says warmly, clearly trying to set the tone as he shakes my hand, “great to see you.”
“You too.” I send him a grateful smile.
“Have you met Jacob?” He nods towards a man who’s even taller than me, dark haired and affable, dressed in a fisherman’s jumper with a shirt and tie on underneath. He looks uncomfortable, but his smile is friendly enough, albeit shy.
“Pleasure,” he says, giving me an enthusiastic handshake. His eyes are a similar shape to Sadie’s and Tim’s, but otherwise, he looks nothing like them, and I’d never have thought they were siblings. Poor guy seems a little out of place.
Even more so when Mr Stewart makes his entrance, shoulders back and head up, his tie tight around his crisp shirt collar, his jumper looking brand new. Perhaps he sees Jacob as his clone, I think as I take in their similar dress. He gives his family a thorough looking over, assessing them, and I swear if this was another era he would expect bows and curtsies. He saves looking at me until last, his eyes carefully avoiding me as he surveys everyone else, before treating me to a cursory glance. Judging by the flare of his nostrils and his barely-there nod, I still don’t impress him. “Mills.”
“Stewart.” I look at him evenly when he scowls at me. I’m not going to antagonise him, but I’m also not going to take any crap.
When Sadie squeezes my hand, I know I’ve done the right thing.
“Utilitarianism,” Jacob mumbles.
I turn to him and smile. “Sorry?”
“Uh…” He shrugs awkwardly. “John Stuart Mill. Father of the ethical system of utilitarianism. The greatest good for the greatest number.” He squirms. “Though he spells Stuart with a U, and there’s no S on the end of Mill, so…not that alike, after all.”
“Jacob knows so much about so many things,” their mother says quietly from the doorway, and from the way she’s leaning slightly, she’s been there for a while, unnoticed. Mrs Stewart is tiny, maybe five feet tall, and wears beige head to toe, unobtrusive and matching the wallpaper. Her shy smile doesn’t reach her eyes. She’s watchful, trying to anticipate anything that could happen. As she looks between me and Sadie, her hands fidget at her sides, and I can tell she’s waiting for us to say or do something scandalous. Something that will set her husband off.
“Dinner almost ready?” Mr Stewart asks her, like he’s her commanding officer.
“Almost,” she says in the same quiet voice, and scurries back to the kitchen to get it done.
Her husband clearly runs a tight ship around here. Or at least he thinks he does. I cannot fathom how my wild, fiery angel came from this rude, unfriendly, stiff-arsed old codger. Still, I suppose even the most beautiful plants sometimes come from the foulest shit heaps.
“Let’s go into the living room,” the commandant decides, standing back and watching us to make sure none of us disobey his order.
A streak of defiance has me calling through to the kitchen. “Mrs Stewart, do you need any help?”
There’s an odd silence, and then she calls back in a voice I have to strain to hear, “No, but thank you.”
Mr Stewart gives me a rather incredulous look, as if he can’t tell if I was making a joke or just being bloody-minded in not simply obeying him. He strikes me as the sort who believes in the concept of ‘man’s work’ and ‘women’s work’, and in his position as the ‘man of the house’, commanding unquestioning obedience from all.
And for him to be lucky enough to have a daughter like Sadie, but regard it as a misfortune because she dares to be her own person… I try hard not to give away my feelings and keep my expression as bland as I can, but it’s not easy.
“No Eleanor this time?” Sadie asks Tim.
“No, she’s having a sleepover with Tegan.”
Mr Stewart grunts. “‘Tegan’. What kind of a name is that?” He lets out a derisory laugh. “Names have become very odd these days. What happened to all the Marys and Susans? Good, solid English names, for goodness sake, not these blasted American monstrosities that seem to be taking over.” Ah. A direct dig; he knows I’m half American. He narrows his eyes at Tim, who’s maintaining a placid expression. “Who’s daughter is this ‘Tegan’? Not that hairdresser woman?”
“Yes, actually.” Tim seems resigned to his father’s determination to voice his opinions.
Mr Stewart huffs. “I do wish Eleanor had fewer friends with single mothers. The moral standards in this country have taken such a nosedive since my day.”
I know without looking at her that Sadie is bristling. Tim just looks at him expressionlessly, and Jacob shifts uncomfortably, like he’d rather be anywhere but here.
“And what’s wrong with single mothers?” Sadie asks, her eyes narrowing at her father dangerously. Something inside me is soothed. My valkyrie might be uncomfortable around him, but she’s not cowed. She’ll yell at him like she’d yell at anyone else saying this bigoted bullcrap.
But, disappointingly, Mr Stewart turns to Jacob as though Sadie hasn’t even spoken. “Be careful none of these unmarried mothers try to get their claws into you, my boy,” he says with a sort of shitty joviality that makes me want to punch him in the face. “Especially the ones with children by several different men. Prosperous man like you… They’d be on to a good thing, and they’d know it!”
Jacob blushes and shakes his head uneasily, but before he can reply, Mr Stewart starts talking again.
“Have you gained that promotion yet?” he demands.
“Ah, not as such, but the interview for it went well, and - ”
“Well, then, it’s a done deal.” Mr S hath spoken, so must it be. What a twat . “Bravo.”
Mrs Stewart comes in with a large dish of plain brown rice, followed swiftly by steamed vegetables, a watery looking cauliflower cheese, and grilled chicken, which thankfully seems to have been seasoned with herbs to save the meal from truly catastrophic blandness. I smile at her warmly. “Thank you very much. I’ve been looking forward to this.”
She smiles, flustered, before glancing at her husband. Almost like she wants permission to answer, or for him to answer for her.
“We only serve healthy meals in my house,” he tells me. “Fruit salad for dessert.”
“Sounds terrific.” Again, he and I have a staring contest, and I’m not sure what outrageous thing he imagines I’m planning to do to sully ‘his’ pristine home. Spill my drink on the white rug? Ride a dirty motorbike through his living room and rub my naked body on his sofa?
Sadie is practically sparking with fury at his contempt for single mothers, and then being ignored when she tried to call him on it, but she sits quietly at the table. I can almost hear her bomb ticking, but Captain Hook here is oblivious, as though he doesn’t even know her. Mr Stewart gets the first helping of everything, passing everything down in such a way that I receive each dish last. Another put-down; I’m an imposition to be tolerated, not a guest, and he wants me to know it by giving me the dregs of everything. Sadie swaps things around so that I go before her sometimes, sending filthy looks to her dad, but he isn’t paying her any attention.
Following my cue from Tim, Jacob, and Mrs Stewart, I eat without talking, and for long moments the only sound is the clink of fork against china. The food is plain as all hell, but I get the impression Sadie’s mother simply does everything the way her husband likes it, and I suppose he thinks seasoning fires up the blood too much. Maybe too much pepper can cause rebelliousness, and cayenne pepper is a gateway to back-chatting. Sadie doesn’t eat much, pushing her food around her plate and clenching her teeth. If it wasn’t for how tight with anger her face is, I’d wonder if she was having a bout of morning sickness. Tim, sat opposite her, seemingly nudges her leg under the table from the way she looks up at him, and he shakes his head subtly.
I kind of agree with him. I can’t imagine telling these people in this situation that we’re adding a new family member to their ranks. Honestly? I wouldn’t allow any child of mine to sit through this tense, funereal atmosphere under any circumstances.
Maybe we shouldn’t tell them just yet.
“How’s Peter?” Mr Stewart asks, looking down at his plate as if he did nothing more remarkable than pass comment on the weather.
“I couldn’t give a fuck,” Sadie replies evenly. Her mother gasps, Tim closes his eyes, and Jacob flinches, but still tries to continue eating his rice as though nothing happened.
Mr Stewart drops his fork loudly on his plate. “I beg your pardon?”
“I said I couldn’t give the tiniest fuck, Dad,” Sadie repeats slightly louder, like he’s gone deaf.
He gives her a look of utter contempt. “Small wonder he left you if that’s the kind of filthy gutter talk you used with him. Poor man had probably had enough of your unladylike potty mouth.” He nods at her plate. “Still, eating like a bird, at least you’re likely to lose some weight. Do more to clean up your act, young lady, and you might get him back. Might .”
I’m so shocked I can’t speak. Factually speaking, Sadie is one of the most willowy, slender women I know, without a spare pound to lose. But for him to pass any comment on her weight in such a contemptuous way is so nasty, so cruel, when he should love her at any size because any size is innately loveable and she’s his daughter , I can hardly believe my own ears.
He might have just dropped his fork, but Sadie full on throws hers down harder, making a louder noise and bouncing it onto the floor. “Has it escaped your notice that I brought company this evening?” she asks in the quiet voice that always warns me she’s seriously lost her shit. “Leo is my boyfriend now, Dad. What did you think was happening here?”
Mr Stewart rolls his eyes and rubs the bridge of his nose. “I knew you’d do this eventually,” he mutters. “I knew you’d bring home some -”
“Some what ? Some handsome, successful businessman who’s more of a decent human being than Peter could ever hope to be in ten lifetimes? Someone who makes me happy for the first time in literal years , in case that matters?” She stands up and leans forward on the table. “Well, I’ve got news for you.” She grabs my hand, and even though I’ve just been treated with the most astonishing rudeness, I’ve never been prouder or felt such warmth at being defended by my warrior princess of a baby mama. “Leo, give it to me.”
I wonder what she’s talking about to begin with, but then realise, and wordlessly hand her the ultrasound photo. She throws it into her father’s lap as I stand next to her, but he ignores it. “I’m pregnant, Leo’s the father, we’re going ahead and having the baby, and that photo right there is the closest you will ever get to your second grandchild, because I have officially had enough, and I’m not going to let you be such a shit to my child ever in its life. Not like you’ve been to me.”
Her mother chokes back a sob.
Tim gives her a look of pride, but also resignation that the shit has hit the fan and he’s going to have to help clean it up.
Jacob does something I wasn’t expecting. His face lights up, and he gives Sadie a hug. “Congratulations,” he says warmly, and I think he means it. He turns to me and shakes my hand. “That’s wonderful news for you both. I’m so pleased - ”
“ Sit down ,” Mr Stewart snaps at them both.
“No,” Sadie snaps back, giving as good as she gets. “It’s about time someone said it like it is. You’re getting to be more and more of a cantankerous, narrow minded, bigoted old bastard as time goes on, and I’m not prepared to put up with it anymore. After the way you’ve treated me and Leo, I can’t see any reason for me to. You clearly feel like you owe me nothing, and back atcha, George . You’re not going to bash me around and sneer at me like you do Tim and Nat. Eleanor is a blessing , not a source of shame, and the same goes for my baby.” She takes my hand and pulls me towards the door. “We’re done. You won’t be hearing from me again.”
“HOW DARE YOU?!” he bellows at the top of his voice.
She turns. “I ABSOLUTELY DARE!” she yells back.
“George, please ,” his wife begs.
“No! How dare you speak to me like that after everything I’ve done for you? Paying me back with…with disobedience , and rudeness ,” he fumes, “and now giving me a bastard grandchild with some tattooed lout, my second grandchild born out of wedlock, my only daughter become a slut - ”
That does it.
I walk towards him and look him in the eye, man to man. “You can say whatever you like to me, but I swear to you,” I say calmly, “if you ever speak to her like that, or call her or my child names ever again, I will go out of my way to make sure you regret it for the rest of your miserable little life.” Mr Stewart flinches, clearly not expecting to be gainsaid so placidly in his own home, and I turn to face the others. “Tim, always good to see you. Jacob, Mrs Stewart, a sincere pleasure.” Then I look back at him as he goes purple. “I’m afraid I can’t say the same to you. Your manners are appalling.” I put my arm around Sadie, and we head for the front door. Her legs look like they’re shaking a little, and I want to get her out of this archaic toxic hell hole.
“Sadie,” comes a small cry from behind us. Her mother seems stricken, and Sadie just looks at her. Mrs Stewart squirms under her daughter’s unforgiving gaze. “He…he didn’t mean it - he’s been stressed out lately - please don’t - ”
“Mum,” Sadie cuts in, “if that’s the case, he’s been ‘stressed out’ all his life. You know he’s getting worse. I don’t give a shit why he’s a mardy-arse all the time. He doesn’t get to speak to people like that for any reason, least of all his pregnant daughter. And, frankly, I’m disappointed in you for putting up with it, and even more so for defending him to me rather than the other way round.”
It’s hard to determine which of the two women has gone paler after those words. Sadie is galvanised by the sight of her mother’s eyes filling with tears, and throws the front door open, almost running to my car. I click the button on my key so she can get in straight away.
I give Mrs Stewart a gentle look, feeling her pain and confusion and defeat right through to my bones. I wish I could help her. But the first step needs to come from her. So I squeeze her arm, letting her know there’s no ill will from me. She startles, but then her face softens with relief, maybe even gratitude, and we look at each other as her husband continues to shout impotently in the other room. And then I walk away, back to the car, back to my fierce woman, who is shuddering with rage in the front of my car.
“Get me out of here,” Sadie whispers as soon as I close my door. I press the ignition button without further ado and drive around the corner, pulling over the first chance I get so I can take her into my arms as she cries out her frustration and hurt.
“You did great,” I whisper to her. “You did the right thing. You never have to deal with him again.”