Patti had a history of hugging her children too long.
Their age didn’t matter. Their location didn’t either.
In front of other students on the first day of kindergarten. In front of other students on the first day of college.
In the check-out line at the grocery store. The nonfiction section at the library. The intersection of First and Main when the stoplight was red. When it was green.
In the middle of One Posh Place, in the middle of the day.
“This is a really, really long hug. I’ve only been gone four days,” Tessa said, her face buried against a zebra-print silk shirt that smelled like White Shoulders. “Inappropriately long. We have customers.”
Two steps into the boutique and she’d been wrapped up so tight, it’d make sailors returning from sea envious.
“I’ll hug my daughter whenever I want,” Patti replied, letting her up for air. “You’ve been crying, haven’t you? And eating carbs too. You’re puffy, red around the nostrils, and have bags under your eyes. Nothing a little quality cover-up and pressed powder can’t fix, though.”
And then she did the unthinkable.
Wet her thumb and used her own saliva to clean Tessa’s tear-stained, carb-bloated face.
“Yuck, I’m not a toddler,” she groaned, wiping the moisture away with the back of her hand. “And thanks for analyzing my appearance. What a confidence booster.”
“Oh, Tee, he was such a loser. We don’t cry for losers. We might fall in love with them, then learn a terrible lesson when they show their true colors, but we don’t let them break our spirit. No man’s worth that, especially Mac. Keep your chin up and press on. Broken hearts mend.”
And back in she went, Patti squeezing her like a ragdoll.
“Laurel?” she called out, hoping her sister was somewhere within earshot. “A little assistance, please?”
Disengaging wasn’t easy. Her mother was freakishly strong.
“Your sister’s in the stockroom. She can’t help you now.”
Nobody could help Tessa now.
She was in bigger trouble than they knew, because, yeah, broken hearts mended when an asshat like Mac McAllister backdoored another woman minutes before the vows.
But when Jason Reynolds flat-out refused your love and affection after throwing yourself at him, well… that broke something inside she didn’t even know existed.
It might never heal.
Luckily, she managed to slink away unnoticed when the UPS driver showed up. If anything could distract Patti, it was a friendly man with a big package.
Her office was just as she’d left it, expecting to return with a Balinese tan, a big rock, and a new last name. Oh, and that idyllic, but elusive perfect life she’d been wishing for since age seven.
Dropping her purse on the organized desk, she sank into her pink velvet chair and eyed the stacks of paperwork. Unopened mail, sales receipts, and invoices, all waiting for her.
“Welcome home, my little runaway.” Laurel walked in, taking a seat in front of her desk. “How’s the dress? Safe and sound?”
“Let’s just say, it needs a dry cleaner who specializes in wine stain removal. The second time around, if you catch my drift.”
“I’m sure you’re not the first bride to puke on herself. Tell me it wasn’t red?”
“Nope. Chardonnay for the win. Do I have bags under my eyes?” Opening her compact, she stared into the small circular mirror. “Never mind. The reflection never lies.”
Pizza and patty melts were the mortal enemy of her pores.
Laurel peered at her through rhinestone-framed glasses. “You lost a hundred and eighty pounds of cheating man and just got back from vacation. You should look a lot better than this.”
Snapping the compact shut, Tessa faked a smile. “Hey, thanks. You and Patti are so complimentary today. I feel better already.”
“I thought you were lazing it in Palm Springs through the weekend. You didn’t meet any men hotter than the temperature?”
“I met a man with one eye. Literally, one working eye. He didn’t like me very much. Or my car.”
“The sexy pirate in the bar? I thought he was into you?”
“No, not the pirate.” She ignored the ache in her heart. “Ironically, he had both eyes. But, as it turns out, didn’t like me very much either.”
Physically, he’d liked her just fine. Emotionally, not really.
Grabbing the pile of mail, she shuffled through the unopened envelopes, wishing for one with unfamiliar handwriting and an unrecognizable return address. No luck.
Sure, she could tell Laurel that the pirate in the bar was the hottest man on the planet, and thanks to his wicked talent in the sack, she’d gotten back at Mac in fantastic, mattress-bouncing fashion.
Then she could tell her how they’d eaten pizza, played Blackjack, and watched desert sunsets every night, and when she could get him to drop his guard, he told her things she knew he’d never told anybody else.
But then she’d have to tell her what the back of his head looked like as he walked away.
And then she’d start bawling and probably never stop, living the rest of her life with red nostrils and eye bags, Patti attempting to hug and spit-wipe the sadness away.
Those long, determined mom hugs might’ve helped chase the sadness when Tessa was seven and permanently scarred for life, but they wouldn’t do shit now.
She held up the mail. “Does this include the P.O. Box? No other incoming mail?”
“No, I’m afraid not.” Laurel shook her head, sympathetic. “Any more outgoing? I can send them for you more often.”
“I don’t think I’m gonna do that anymore.”
Surprise replaced sympathy. “Really? Why?”
“Because I’m tired of banging my head against a wall. I’m tired of talking to dead air. I’m just tired, Laurel. It’s been years. I should be over it by now.”
“What brought all this back? Is it Mac? Because he wasn’t the one for you. Be glad you got out before it cost you anymore time and money. He’s the type to go after palimony.”
“It’s not Mac.” Dropping the mail, she opened her laptop, needing the normalcy of work. “Mac and his wandering dick are dead to me.”
Jason’s story brought it all back.
Because she had a story too. Back when she was a girl called Tee.
And like his, it was sad and tragic, but worse, it was shameful. Patti and Laurel didn’t carry that shame, because they didn’t know the secret she did.
Nobody did. Not even the person who needed to know it the most, despite continued attempts to hook him into conversation.
He wasn’t talking. There was no proof he was even listening.
Probably a good thing. She had enough turmoil in her life right now. Her biological clock might be hitting the jackpot, only the prize wasn’t cash money.
“Thank God you don’t have to share a baby with him,” Laurel said.
Her jaw dropped. “What? Why?”
How did she even know about that?
“Because he’s a weasel. A cheater. A sinner the likes of which the inside of a church has never seen,” she declared, counting Mac’s faults. “Need I go on?”
“Geez, are we still talking about Mac?” Her fingers flew across the keyboard, pulling up her digital appointment book. “I’m over it, Laurel. I’m over him, and The Mothers, and the ridiculous wedding I never wanted. Case closed.”
“Speaking of The Mothers…” Hesitant, Laurel pointed to her calendar.
It was predictably blank, her honeymoon scheduled through the weekend, except for tomorrow from noon to one o’clock, where Laurel’s detailed note stood out amongst the otherwise empty space.
Lunch with The Mothers. Cucumber sandwiches. Gross—eat before you go.
P.S. Bring shooters. Spike your sweet tea when they’re not looking.
P.S.S. Maybe spike theirs too. It’ll loosen their tight asses up.
P.S.S.S. Make sure Mac’s not around. He likes loose asses.
Laurel’s twisted humor fell flat. Tessa barely cracked a smile.
“Oh, my God.” Pinching the bridge of her nose, she groaned. “Tell me you didn’t book a lunch date with The Mothers.”
“They wouldn’t take no for an answer. They practically waterboarded me, trying to find out where you’d run off to. They would’ve rolled into Palm Springs and knocked on every hotel room door until they found you. I never caved, but negotiated a lunch meeting instead. You should be thanking me.” She stood, ready to run at Tessa’s incensed look. “They’re pecking hens and you know I have tender flesh.”
“Get a thicker skin.” Tapping out a direct, but professional email, she hit send. “I just canceled, without the option to reschedule. That’s how you handle The Mothers.”
At some point, she’d have to face the McAllister women and give them a better explanation as to why she’d called off the wedding. Not just that Mac cheated, but the nitty gritty details he didn’t have the balls to tell. But some point wouldn’t be tomorrow.
There was still that pesky broken heart to mend.
“I wasn’t due back until this weekend. Why’d you book it tomorrow?”
“I knew you couldn’t stay away from the boutique that long.” She walked toward the door. “You’re a workaholic who’s always here. Always early, too, never late.”
It was a truthful statement about Tessa’s dedication to her profession, and the store her entire family relied on for their livelihoods.
Until three drudging, lonely months went by.
And Tessa was late.
Bad late.
Always early. Never late.
Wrong.
She was late. Later than ever.
Like, somebody press the panic button, late.
“I think I might be pregnant.”
Heavy silence followed, during which Tessa felt much like she had when she’d been five and stuck a pumpkin seed up her nose. Way up her nose.
Embarrassed? Yes.
Stupid? Of course.
Afraid? You damn right.
“Oh dear.” Laurel sighed, the same exact response she’d given to the pumpkin seed confession. “Do you wanna be pregnant?”
“No! I mean… yes.” Tessa cupped her forehead. “Hell, I don’t know. Sort of, I guess?”
Her sister leaned back and laughed, not nearly as concerned as she was.
“Good thing you’re not the one deciding then. No woman in the history of the universe has ever been sort of pregnant. You are, or you aren’t, cookie.”
Her fear of the unknown came in waves—at times overwhelming, at times vanishing, upstaged by a surprising exhilaration at the thought of motherhood.
“I think I am. I just don’t know for certain yet,” she murmured, grimacing when Laurel clucked like a chicken.
Much like a pumpkin seed lodged inside your nasal cavity, pregnancy wasn’t something that, even with serious denial, would go away on its own.
Three months without a period, two months of feeling like death warmed over, and one month of running to the bathroom every time she got a whiff of greasy food was more than a stomach bug and good old-fashioned stress.
And here it came, another wave of anxiety, threatening to buckle her knees.
Sitting at her desk, Laurel on the opposite side, Tessa breathed through the nausea and sipped her coffee, waiting for it to settle her nerves. It was decaffeinated, so hardly worth the five bucks and ten-minute wait in the drive-thru, but since she might be growing a mini pirate, she’d sacrifice.
The boutique was quiet this early in the morning, not yet open for business, and it was her favorite time of day. She could catch up on work without the distraction of ringing phones and the hustle of shoppers. And Patti.
She kept an ear open for her mother’s key in the door.
“Don’t you dare breathe a word of this to her,” Tessa warned, her voice low.
“Why?” Laurel snorted. “Are you afraid she’ll ground you?”
“I’m afraid she’ll start knitting uneven booties and lopsided sweaters, and make me drink disgusting green smoothies every day.”
“Oh, good point. But you don’t have to be afraid, you know.” Sensing her distress, Laurel grew serious. “Just like the pumpkin seed incident, I’m here for you, no matter the fact that you lost your damn mind and did something stupid. I told you to never trust the pull-out method.”
Tessa closed her eyes on a groan. “I’m not confirming nor denying.”
But there’d been no pulling out. It was a direct hit.
“Okay, so worst case scenario, you have a human being you’re responsible for, for say, the next eighteen years minimum. No big whoop.”
Choking on her coffee, she almost hyperventilated.
“Breathe, Tessa. Take a deep breath and calm yourself. It’s okay.” Her voice was patient, as if she was speaking to her child after he’d fallen and scraped a knee.
Laurel specialized in this. Soothing boo-boos.
And Tessa’s had the potential to be a doozy.
“Define okay, Laurel, because I’m in uncharted territory here and about to jump. Talk me off the ledge.”
“You feed it, you watch it, you love it.” She shrugged, narrowing parenting down to a few bullet points. “You ignore it when it purposely makes disgusting noises with its body—which it will, if it’s a boy—and when it tells you it hates you and you’re ruining its life. That’s pretty much it.”
Tessa frowned, her usual wit absent. “I’m not like you. I don’t have that nurturing instinct. The biggest thing I have going for me is that I can keep a houseplant alive. So, I’ll keep the kid hydrated, but the rest of it? I’m totally screwed on this.”
“You’re in this situation because you got totally screwed. But never mind that. Every first-time parent goes in blind, Tessa. This is natural. You’ll learn, even if it’s trial by fire, which most of it probably will be. You’ll be great at it, just like you are everything.”
“Why do I feel like you’re trying to sell me the Golden Gate Bridge?” But she smiled anyway. “You know I’ve never even had a cat, right?”
“You’ll have plenty of help. Me and Patti. The Mothers. Mac, when he’s not in front of a mirror or some random chick’s ass.”
Oh, shit.
Of course she assumed Mac was the father. Tessa hadn’t said a word about Jason and she wouldn’t, unless it turned out she was brokenhearted and knocked-up.
“Sooner or later, you’re gonna have to pee on a stick. Either do it now and face reality, or deny it until you can’t fit into your pants anymore and give birth in the bathroom between appointments.”
Reaching into a drawer, Tessa pulled out a drugstore paper bag, dumping the contents onto the desk. Three pregnancy tests, each a different brand, along with a leftover wrapper from a king-size Snickers bar. Stopping on her way to work this morning, she’d eaten the candy bar during the drive in, saying repeated prayers around mouthfuls of chocolate and caramel.
Please don’t let me be pregnant. Please don’t let me be pregnant.
The twenty-minute commute was lickety-split by California standards, but it gave her plenty of time to soul search. Enough time that another prayer emerged, a subconscious desire verbalizing.
Please let me be pregnant. Please let me be pregnant.
“Time to face the music,” Laurel said, ripping open the boxes and handing her the foiled-wrapped sticks. “Down the rest of that coffee and hop to, cookie.”
Her stomach in her throat, Tessa walked into her private bathroom, locking the door and leaning back against it.
Her life could change in this room. Jason’s life could change in this room. She might walk out alone. She might walk out plus one, a soon-to-be parent.
A soon-to-be single parent.
As predicted, he’d been incommunicado since Nowhere. Like he—and they—had never been at all. The only proof was a piece of motel stationery with his email address written on it, and her memories.
And now, just maybe, a baby.
The deed done and all three sticks resting on the counter near the sink, she sat on the small bench opposite the vanity, watching the second hand on her watch. It ticked, and she prayed, sending the holy above some seriously mixed signals.
Please don’t let me be pregnant.
Please let me be pregnant.
An insistent knock on the door shook her from the opposing wants.
“Did you pee on them?”
“Yes.” What else would she be doing in here? “I’ll know my fate in three minutes. I’m enjoying the silence in the meantime.”
The voices in her head were loud enough.
The door rattled when Laurel tried to barge in. “Open up. I promise I won’t talk.”
She broke that promise twenty-two seconds in. Tessa knew. She was still staring at the ticking second hand.
“I hope it’s a girl. Think of all the pink baby clothes! And naming her will be so much fun since, you know, we must abide by the ridiculous McAllister tradition of rhyming. How about Sally? Sally McAllister,” she pronounced, testing it. “It’s cute, right?”
“No, it’s not cute.” Or right, either, but Sally’s daddy was for another day.
If Sally existed.
“If it’s a boy, you have to choose Hal. It’s terrible, I know, but you’ve got a theme to follow and there’s not much wiggle room.” She leaned back, tapping her chin and imagining Tessa’s unconfirmed child’s life. “Poor baby boy. A cheating father and a crappy name? You’re gonna need to be Mother of the Year to make that little guy’s life tolerable. Good luck, cookie.”
There were several errors in that rambling statement, but Tessa didn’t correct her. The second hand was ticking down.
And… time.
Three minutes of Laurel babbling, three minutes of Tessa praying for two very different things. Please don’t let me be pregnant. Please let me be pregnant.
Taking a deep, cleansing breath, she stepped up to the counter.
All three sticks told her the same thing, their results matching.
Her prayers had been answered.
Staring from one to the other, the absolute truth of what she’d so badly wanted became clear. Funny how a plus or a minus symbol could strip your conflicted soul bare and bring forth stark clarity.
Tears filled her eyes and she laid a hand across her mouth, overcome with emotion.
The traveling family from the Tumbleweed’s parking lot came to mind, as vivid now as they’d been three months ago. One dusty minivan, two laughing parents, four rowdy kids, and eight dancing dog paws.
And the lonely man with no mom, no dad, and no heart sitting next to her, seeing the same family through an entirely different lens.
Fate had shortchanged him, he just didn’t know it.
And now, staring at those sticks, she wondered if it was doing it again.
“What do they say?” Whispering, Laurel stood but didn’t approach, respectful of her privacy. “Is it the answer you wanted?”
Their gazes met in the mirror, Tessa knowing she’d get zero judgment either way.
“Yes,” she quaked, then closed her eyes.
Because it wasn’t.
It was the opposite.