Too Good to Be True - Kristan Higgins [63]
Mom sighed and looked at the ceiling. “Grace, you have cobwebs up there. And don’t shlunch, honey. Walk me to the car, all right?”
I obeyed, leaving Margaret, who was hand-feeding Angus bits of her roll.
“Grace,” my mother said, “who was that man who was here?”
“Callahan?” I asked. She nodded. “My neighbor. Like I told you.”
“Well. Don’t go screwing up a good thing by falling for a manual laborer, dear.”
“God, Mom!” I yelped. “You don’t even know him! He’s very nice.”
“I’m just pointing out that you have a lovely thing going with that nice doctor, don’t you?”
“I’m not going to date Callahan, Mother,” I said tersely. “He’s just some guy Dad hired.”
Ah, shit. There he was, getting into his truck. He heard, of course. Judging from his expression, he heard the “just some guy Dad hired,” not the “very nice” bit.
“Well, fine,” Mom said in a quieter voice. “It’s just that ever since Andrew and you broke up, you’ve been wandering around like a ghost, honey. And it’s nice to see your young man has put some roses back in your cheeks.”
“I thought you were a feminist,” I said.
“I am,” she said.
“Well, you could’ve fooled me! Maybe it’s just that enough time passed and I actually got over him on my own. Maybe it’s springtime. Maybe I’m just having a really good time at work these days. Did you hear that I’m up for the chairmanship of the department? Maybe I’m just doing fine on my own and it has nothing to do with Wyatt Dunn.”
“Mmm. Well. Whatever,” Mom said. “I have to go, dear. Bye! Don’t shlunch.”
“She’ll be the death of me,” I announced as I went back inside. “If I don’t kill her first, that is.”
Margaret burst into tears.
“God’s nightgown!” I said. “I didn’t mean it! Margs, what’s wrong?”
“My idiot husband!” she sobbed, slashing her hand across her face to wipe away the tears.
“Okay, okay, honey. Settle down.” I handed her a napkin to blow her nose and patted her shoulder as Angus happily licked away her tears. “What’s really going on, Margs?”
She took a shaky breath. “He wants us to have a baby.”
My mouth dropped open. “Oh,” I said.
Margaret never wanted kids. Actually, she said that the memory of Natalie hooked up to a respirator was enough to crush any maternal instincts she might’ve had. She always seemed to like kids well enough—gamely holding our cousins’ babies at family gatherings, talking to older kids in a pleasingly adult way. But she also was the first to say she was too selfish to ever be a mother.
“So is this up for discussion?” I asked. “How do you feel?”
“Pretty fucking awful, Grace,” she snapped. “I’m hiding at your house, flirting with your hunky neighbor, not speaking to my husband, and Mom is giving me lectures on marriage! Isn’t it obvious how I feel?”
“No,” I said firmly. “You’re also bawling into my dog’s fur. So spill, honey. I won’t tell anyone.”
She shot me a watery, grateful look. “I feel kind of… betrayed,” she admitted. “Like he’s saying I’m not enough. And you know, he’s… he can be really irritating, you know?” Her breath started hitching out of her again. “He’s not the most exciting person in the world, is he?”
I murmured that, no, of course he wasn’t.
“And so I feel like he just hit me upside the head.”
“So what do you think, Margs? Do you think you might want a baby?” I asked.
“No! I don’t know! Maybe! Oh, shit. I’m gonna take a shower.” She stood up, handed me my doggy, who snagged the last bit of poppy seed roll from my plate and burped. And thus ended the sisterly heart-to-heart.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
ON WEDNESDAY EVENING, I was getting ready for my date with Lester the metalsmith. He’d called at last, sounded normal enough, but let’s be honest. With a name like Lester, being a member of an artisan’s cooperative and having his looks summarized as attractive in his own way…well. My hopes were flying pretty low.
Nonetheless, I figured it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world for me to get out of the house. I could practice my feminine wiles on him, try a few of the techniques Lou had urged during our Meeting Mr.