Until There Was You

“Okay. I’ll have two egg rolls, some sesame noodles and the General Tsao’s chicken. Fried rice, too. Pork, okay?” Maybe she should tell Gretchen. One thing was for certain: it was very strange, being friends with Gretchen. Suddenly, clothes didn’t litter every surface, and the kitchen was cleaned up. Not only that, Gret was being…sweet.

“Hey, I made you and Liam some goodies,” she’d said that very morning. “You know, in case it’s your night.” She smiled—nicely. “You two serious?”

Posey grimaced. “Um…I’m not quite sure. I think so.”

“You make a great couple. Okay, gotta run. Sauerbraten tonight. Takes some prep, let me tell you. Hey, what do you think? The food’s better these days, isn’t it?”

“Oh, definitely,” Posey said. Then again, she wasn’t exactly renowned for her palate.

“You know, I found a can of sauerkraut from 1996,” Gretchen said, laughing. “I said, ‘Mutti, are you trying to kill us?’”

For once, Gretchen’s co-opting of her parents didn’t feel like theft. It felt…natural. Gret’s parents were dead, she really did love Max and Stacia…let her call them Mutti and Papa. No harm done.

On Sunday, when Guten Tag wouldn’t open until five, Posey drove to her parents’ house for lunch. Gretchen was going to drop her bombshell, and she’d asked Posey to be there as an ally.

Her parents lived in a classic American neighborhood, the kind that had been great at Halloween, when Posey would end up with an entire pillowcase of candy (most of which Stacia would purge, looking for razor blades or rat poison). The addition still made her wince a little—not because it was ugly, but because her parents’ fooling around had caused the fire that destroyed the bedroom, and what kid wanted to think about that? Putting such thoughts aside, she ran up the steps to the front door.

Henry and Jon were already there, and Gretchen was in the kitchen, wrapped in one of Stacia’s aprons.

“It smells fantastic in here,” Posey said.

“I thought we’d have something a little different today,” Gretchen said, setting a giant bowl on the table, and though Stacia scowled suspiciously at each piece of ziti, the rest of them fell upon the food like a Biblical horde of locusts. Twenty minutes after they’d sat down, most of the food was gone, though Posey had managed to nab the last of the pasta, to Henry’s chagrin.

“My God, Gret, I had no idea you could cook like that,” Jon said, sinking back into his chair.

Max leaned back and loosened his belt. “I don’t generally like Italian food,” he said, “but that was delicious.”

“Wonderful, darling,” Stacia said. “Almost as good as the spaetzle you made last week. And the Wiener schnitzel! Amazing.”

“So, what’s new, Gretchen?” Posey asked. May as well get things moving here.

“Well,” Gret said, flashing her a grateful smile, “I have some news. Some happy news.”

“Are you pregnant?” Stacia asked, getting a snort from Jonathan.

“No, no, not pregnant.”

“Sweet!” Henry said, phone in hand. “Someone got his foot caught in a lawn mower. Four toes severed! I have to run. Sorry!” Posey’s brother bolted from the table, face alight with joy.

“Henry is not normal,” Posey said.

“Hush,” Stacia chided. “Your brother’s a genius. Those hands? So gifted.”

Posey shot Jon a look. It’s true, he mouthed, winking.

“Anyway, Gret, as you were saying,” Posey said.

“Right.” Gretchen took a deep breath. “Well, I’ve been seeing someone, and while I wasn’t sure we were going to have a lot in common, it turns out we do. And we’re moving in together.”

Stacia gasped and covered her mouth with her hand, expression joyful. “Is it Liam?”

Gretchen glanced at Posey. “No. It’s…it was surprising to us both, but…well, it’s Dante Bellini.”

“Holy sh—oot!” Jon blurted. “Wow! That’s brave.”

Max said nothing. Stacia’s face was thunderous. “For a second there, I thought you said Dante Bellini,” she said rigidly.

“I did,” Gretchen’s voice was small.

“I think it’s romantic,” Posey offered. “Kind of a Montague-Capulet vibe.” No one said anything. “Romeo and Juliet?”

“Well, it’s not,” Stacia said. “Gretchen Katarina Heidelberg! Your parents would be—”

“Stop, Mom,” Posey interjected. “Look. Dante owns a restaurant, a lot of people like it, he has made some…uninformed comments about Guten Tag, but he’s hardly a criminal. Gretchen wouldn’t be dating him if he was, right, Gret?”

“Right,” she said. “Um, Auntie, Uncle Max, he’s very nice, really. And I—”

“I cannot believe I just ate Italian food!” Stacia trumpeted. “I feel unclean.”

“Okay, okay, calm down,” Max said, patting his wife’s hand. “Grettie’s an adult, sweetheart. And Posey’s right. Mr. Bellini there might be a bit stuck-up, but Gretchen likes him. Which means we have to.”

Stacia shook her head. “I don’t know if I can,” she said, a Wagnerian note of disaster creeping into her voice. “He’s been so unkind.”

“Right, Mom,” Posey said. “But you know how you were telling me how sweet Gretchen is? How she sees the best in people? Well, maybe she makes Dante want to be a better man.” Jon made a gagging sound, and Posey kicked him under the table.

Stacia gave a little shrug.

“And didn’t Opa disapprove of Dad?” Posey said.

Stacia shot Max a glance. “Well…a little bit.”

“Maybe if you just gave Dante a chance,” Gretchen suggested.

“Well, I’m certainly not closed-minded,” Stacia said, and Posey had to bite her lip. “I suppose if you like him, sweetheart, then he can’t be too horrible. No matter how it seems.”

“Thanks, Mutti,” Gretchen said. She caught Posey’s eye. Thank you, she mouthed.

LATER THAT AFTERNOON, Posey lay on the bed in the guest room, watching as Gretchen packed her stuff. The big suitcases were out—Posey’s church would be hers once again. And the cats could reclaim their afternoon napping spot.

“No offense,” Gretchen said, “but I cannot wait to get out of here.”

Posey rolled her eyes. She always loved how people stuck in the words no offense right before they insulted you.

“I mean, seriously, this place is just not me. Maybe when you’re done with the renovations, sure. Oh, Posey, you should swing past Dante’s house! I’ll give you the tour. You’ve never seen anything like it.”

Posey swallowed. “Maybe sometime.”

“You want this bracelet?” Gretchen asked, tossing a sparkly blue thing on the bed next to Posey. “It never looked good on me.”

“Um…sure. Thanks,” Posey said. She couldn’t imagine wearing it, but it was a nice gesture.

Gretchen zipped up the suitcase. “I think that’s it,” she said briskly. She went to the bureau and handed Posey an envelope. “Here. Half of what I owe you.”

“Hope you didn’t win this at the craps table,” Posey said.

“Not funny,” Gretchen said, checking her teeth in the mirror. “No, that’s from my pay.”

Posey cocked an eyebrow. “You’re paid pretty well.”

“Well, I am a celebrity chef, Posey,” she said. “My name alone has brought in a ton of new business.”

Ah, Gretchen. She may have softened a little in the past couple of weeks, but she was still Gretchen. She looked at Posey in the mirror, then turned around and sat down on the bed. “Posey,” she said slowly, “there’s something I think I should tell you. It might upset you. But after living here, and especially after the past couple of weeks when we’ve gotten closer, I feel like I should say something.”

“What? I have no sense of fashion? I already know that.”

Gretchen didn’t laugh. “This is serious.”

The sun was bright outside, and the sound of wind chimes could be heard over the springtime birdsong…a sharp contrast to the somber look on Gret’s face. Posey sat up. “What’s the matter?”

Gretchen took a deep breath. “Posey, you never tried to find your birth parents, right?”

“Right.”

“Why not?”

Posey took a deep breath. “Well, Max and Stacia are my parents. I mean, I wondered about my biological parents, sure. I’m glad they gave me up. But even if I wanted to find them, it was a closed adoption. I can’t contact my birth mother, she can’t contact me.”

Gretchen looked at her steadily. “Posey…she actually did.”

Posey blinked. “What?” She shook her head. “No, she didn’t.”

“She sent you a letter.”

“No! She didn’t. What are you talking about, Gretchen?”

Gret took a deep breath. “Okay, this might make me look like a sneak, but…well…” She shook her head briskly. “It was when I was living with you guys senior year. A few weeks before we graduated, Aunt Stacia got a letter. From an attorney. She was really upset, and I thought…I thought it might’ve been about the accident or something.”

All that pasta from lunch suddenly felt like cement in Posey’s stomach. “My mom wouldn’t keep something like that from me.”

Gretchen looked at the floor. “I waited till everyone was out, and I know I shouldn’t have, but I thought it was about my mom and dad. So I snuck into their room and found the letter. It was in the drawer with all her girdles. So…I read it. Well, I read part of it. As soon as I realized what it was about, I put it back. And I swear, I never looked at it again.”

“What did it say?” Posey asked. Her voice sounded high and strange, and her heart was clattering in her chest.

Gretchen squeezed her hand. “Well, your birth mom was in college when she got pregnant. There was some stuff about her and your father. And some family medical history.”

“Anything bad?”

Gretchen shook her head. “I don’t remember the specifics, but no. Normal stuff.”

Posey closed her mouth and forced herself to swallow. “Anything else?”

Gretchen was quiet for a minute. “I only read a few lines. Maybe I should’ve told you a long time ago, but if Max and Stacia didn’t want you to see it…I don’t know. It wasn’t really my business. But I just thought you should know.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

LIAM WAS A LITTLE torn. Nicole had canceled her afternoon with the Tates, claiming too much homework, and while he didn’t mind the fact that he wouldn’t have to see his in-laws today, he’d been planning on seeing Cordelia while Nic was out. He could cancel—Cordelia wouldn’t mind—but since Nicole was indeed in her room surrounded by books, maybe he’d go anyway. Nic was always telling him to get a life, after all. And it wasn’t like they were doing anything together right now.

And he did want to see Cordelia.

He hadn’t expected her to be so…fun. Or sweet. She was unpredictable; one minute she’d be cheerfully insulting him, the next, looking at him with those big soft eyes. She baked cookies the other day, which was just so not her that he could tell it was a big deal.

“How are they?” she’d asked.

He chewed assessingly. “Not the worst I’ve ever had.”

Her eyes narrowed, and before Liam saw her move, she’d snatched the cookie from his hand and tossed it in the trash. “No more for you, ingrate.”

Liam looked at his now-empty hand. “Really?” He grinned. “Who’s gonna stop me?”

“I am. You want another cookie, you have to come through me.”

They’d ended up doing it on the kitchen table.

And that was another thing. Liam hadn’t expected the sex to be so, well…mind-blowing. Here he was, a good month into seeing someone—granted, no strings attached—and was feeling a little bit like a randy teenager, walking around with a goofy smile on his face.

The only problem was that he suspected Cordelia might be getting a little…attached.

He walked down the hall and knocked on his daughter’s door. “Nic, how much longer are you gonna be?”

“Dad, this paper is killing me! Can you, like, stop interrupting?” She glared at him from her desk. Audrey Hepburn posters had replaced Edward the Vampire, he was happy to see, and the clock from Sweetie Sue’s glowed above her bed.

“Well, I just wondered if you wanted to do something later.”

“No. This will take the rest of the day. I may as well just chain myself here and, like, work until I pass out, and you can just throw some raw meat in here. This teacher is insane! She thinks we have nothing better to do than study!”

An excellent teacher, clearly. “Okay, well, I thought I might run out for a couple hours,” he said.

“Do it. Leave me alone, or I’m going to fail everything.”

“You okay here by yourself?”

“Dad!” The three syllables of doom, followed by a huffy sigh. “I’m not six years old, you know.”

“Just asking. If you wanted me to stay, I would.”

“I don’t.” She must’ve realized she sounded like a twit, because she gave him an apologetic glance. “Sorry. It’s just this is a hard class.”