Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 80555 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80555 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
“I know.” Eric’s lower lip wobbled.
“Hey.” I reached out and touched Eric’s forearm. “It’s going to be okay. It is. But I’m going to tell you something Diesel never would. His mom used to talk all the time about how getting pregnant was such a mistake. An accident. I had to work time-and-a-half to get that kid to see he’s the biggest blessing of my life. Don’t do that to your future grandkid.”
“My future…” Eric trailed off, expression going from worried to hurt to downright dumbfounded. “We really are going to be grandpas, aren’t we?”
“Yep.” I dearly hoped the universe had some larger plan at work here to throw Eric and me together like this because being co-grandparents with someone who so obviously disliked me would be less than fun.
Chapter Four
Eric
“July is the worst month for morning sickness.” Maren sat at the breakfast bar in the kitchen, two weeks removed from her big announcement. The entire household now revolved around her nausea. Which, honestly, I was okay with because it kept the focus off the bigger questions about the future. In the present moment, we were all trying to help Maren make it through the first trimester.
“More like all-day sickness.” Wren gestured at the clock over the stove. In the summer, our family schedule tended to get mixed up, but it was after lunchtime by most measures. I’d come off a shift at six a.m. and really should have been sleeping, but worry over Maren pushed me to stay awake. Wren fetched a pitcher of greenish-brown liquid from the fridge, helpfully labeled For Maren as if the rest of us might be tempted to steal it. “Have you tried the tea I created?”
“No offense, Wren, but that looks like swamp juice and smells even worse.” Maren wrinkled her nose and waved away the pitcher of tea.
“It’s based on scientific studies about the merits of ginger and other herbs versus prescription anti-nausea meds in the first trimester.” Disregarding Maren’s refusal, Wren poured a glass of tea anyway and set it in front of Maren.
“And the medicines also work.” I’d been advocating for that for days now because Maren’s morning sickness was starting to look like hyperemesis. However, Maren continued to be frosty toward me and any advice I wanted to dispatch. “Honey, I’m happy to take you into urgent care if you continue to be unable to keep anything down. Hyperemesis isn’t anything to mess with.”
“No, thank you. And I can’t stomach the tea, but I’ll try some toast before Diesel gets here.” Maren pushed the tea aside as she slid off the stool. She wore a loose T-shirt and shorts, but by my eye, she’d lost rather than gained weight, contributing to my worries.
“Diesel is coming over?” I hoped my upbeat tone didn’t sound too fake. If I was too neutral, Maren tended to interpret that as an anti-Diesel stance, so I was working on sounding positive even if I still didn’t much like the kid.
“Apparently, he’s also worried about me and dehydration. Wren isn’t the only one reading up on the first trimester.” Maren offered a small, dreamy smile. “He’s bringing me a cherry limeade from that place downtown that uses real ingredients, not chemicals.”
“That’s very thoughtful of him.” There. I even managed a compliment. I was congratulating myself on my restraint when Declan, Jonas’s boyfriend and our soon-to-be former roommate, wandered into the kitchen.
“Declan!” Maren greeted him with a hug and decidedly more warmth than she had me. “I thought you guys slept at the new place last night.”
Declan and Jonas were renovating an old farmhouse on some property outside of Mount Hope, and the work had reached a point where it was at least somewhat habitable.
“We did. I came by for one final load. Now, the basement is ready to return to being a rec room or whatever else your dad dreams up.” Declan nodded at me, but before I could reply, Wren spoke up, loud as usual.
“I vote for a laboratory.”
“As much as I support your scientific endeavors, we’re not turning the basement into a lab.”
“Darn. I wanted my own mad scientist lair.” Wren cackled before gesturing at the bakery box Declan held. “Are those cookies?”
“Yep.” Declan opened the box. Wren promptly grabbed two before Declan offered the box to Maren. “Think you could try one?”
“Sounds better than toast, honestly.” She delicately selected an oatmeal raisin.
“How goes things at your house?” I asked Declan while Maren and Wren ate their cookies.
“It’s livable.” Declan’s expression was sheepish like he was reluctant to be too enthusiastic about the new place. “Speaking of renovations, I can ask our contractor about availability if you need help with whatever you decide to do with the basement.”
“We’ll be fine.” I clapped him on the back. “Stop feeling guilty.”
“Oh, the cookie was a bad, bad idea.” Maren dashed from the kitchen at top speed.