I don’t know whether to laugh at his joke or start freaking out. I don’t even know the guy’s last name yet. I don’t want to meet his parents. I just mouth, “No” very firmly.
He winks at me. “Her name is Quinn,” he says, answering his mother’s question. He’s watching me while he continues the conversation. “Yeah, it’s pretty serious. Been seeing her for a while now.”
I roll my eyes at his lies. He’s unrelenting.
“Hold on, I’ll ask her.” He doesn’t cover his phone this time. Actually, he yells louder than he needs to because we’re just a few feet apart. “Babe! Do you want pie or cobbler for dessert?”
I step closer to him so he can hear the seriousness in my voice. “We haven’t even been on a date yet,” I whisper. “I don’t want to meet your mother, Graham.”
He covers his phone this time and motions at the table. “We just had like five dates,” he whispers. “Chick-fil-A, McDonald’s, donuts, Starbucks . . .” He pulls his phone back to his ear. “She prefers pie. We’ll see you around six?” There’s a pause. “Okay. Love you, too.”
He ends the call and slides the phone into his pocket. I’m glaring at him, but it doesn’t last long because he walks up to me and tickles me until I laugh. Then he pulls me against him. “Don’t worry, Quinn. Once you taste her cooking, you won’t ever want to leave.”
I sigh heavily. “You are nothing like I expected.”
He presses a kiss to the top of my head. “Is that good or bad?”
“I honestly have no idea.”
Chapter Twelve
* * *
Now
When I pull onto Caroline’s street, I see Graham’s car parked in her driveway. But it looks like other than his sister and her husband, we’re the only ones here. I’m relieved by that.
Caroline had her baby boy yesterday morning. A home birth. It’s the first boy born in Graham’s family since him, actually.
Caroline is the only sister of Graham’s who lives in Connecticut. Tabitha lives in Chicago with her wife. Ainsley is a lawyer and lives all over. She travels almost as much as Ava and Reid do. Sometimes I’m a little envious of their carefree lifestyles, but I’ve always had other priorities.
Graham and I are very involved in the lives of Caroline’s two daughters. Outside of the time we spend with them on Sundays, we also occasionally take them for outings or to the movies to give Caroline and her husband time alone. I suspect with the birth of their son, we’ll be spending even more time with the girls.
I love watching Graham with them. He’s playful and loves to make them laugh. But he’s also very invested in their mental health and well-being. He answers every “but why” question with patience and honesty. And even though they’re only three and five, he treats them as equals. Caroline jokes that when they return home after spending time at our house, they start every sentence with, “But Uncle Graham said . . .”
I love the relationship he has with his nieces so much, seeing him with his baby nephew makes me even more excited to see him as an uncle. I do occasionally let the thoughts get to me in moments like this about what a great father he would make, but I refuse to let our depressing situation dampen Graham’s experience with his family. So, I plaster on my happy face and make sure to never allow the sadness to show.
I practice smiling in my rearview mirror. Smiling used to come naturally to me, but almost every smile that appears on my face nowadays is a fa?ade.
When I reach the front door, I don’t know whether to ring the bell or just walk in. If the baby or Caroline are sleeping, I’d feel terrible for waking them up. I push open the door and the front of the house is quiet. No one is seated in the living room, although there are unwrapped gifts lining the sofa. I walk to the living room and place Graham’s and my gift on the coffee table next to the couch.
I make my way through a quiet kitchen and toward the den where Caroline and her family spend most of their time. It was an add-on they completed right after Gwenn was born. Half of the room serves as a living room and the other half serves as a playroom for the girls.
I’m almost to the den, but I pause just outside the door when I see Graham. His back is to me and he’s standing near the couch, holding his new nephew. He’s swaying from side to side with the newborn cocooned in a blanket in his arms. I suppose if our situation were different, this would be a moment where I would have nothing but pure adoration for my husband—watching him hold his newborn nephew. Instead, I ache inside. It makes me question the thoughts that might be going through his head right now. Does a small part of him resent that I haven’t been able to create a moment like this for him?