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  “Okay,” he says slowly. “But it was an honest mistake.”

  “I know it’s an honest mistake, Rand. Just try harder not to make them.”

  “We can cater,” he suggested. “Get someone to cook the whole thing.”

  “And make me look like I just didn’t care enough to cook for her myself? Like I’m spending all your money on frivolous perks like catering?”

  “She won’t think that,” he says shaking his head.

  I want to tell him that he doesn’t know women if he thinks it will go unnoticed that I didn’t make the meal myself. I want to tell him that he didn’t see the look on Eva’s face when she saw how Rocket greeted me at the airport. But I tell him neither of those things, because I know he’s likely to think that I’m imagining it, with my recent sensitivity and all.

  “Maybe Jen can come over and help me,” I say, thinking aloud.

  “Yeah. That sounds good.” Rand is looking down at his prep material once again and I know he’s only half-listening.

  “Do you think she’ll bring someone?”

  “Do I think who will bring someone?”

  “Rand. Eva. Do you think Eva will bring someone to dinner?”

  He looks up with a wrinkled brow, as though I’m speaking a foreign language. “Like who?”

  “I don’t know. The friend she’s staying with. Should I tell her she should bring someone if she wants to?”

  “Whatever you want, baby.” He’s looking down again.

  “I think I will tell her that,” I say, now speaking more to myself than to him. “That way she’ll have someone else to talk to, and take the pressure off me.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” Rand says. He stands and takes his papers with him, and I know that he’s trying to get away from me and my idle chatter, so he can concentrate on work.

  “You’ll have to give me her number,” I call after him as he leaves.

  Rand had been the one to make all the vacation plans with Faith’s parents for Little Rocket and I had only spoken with them accidentally if I picked up the phone when they called. I still feel self-conscious, not just because I am living in the house their daughter once occupied, but maybe also because Rand and I are not married yet.

  In Rand’s field of professional sports (even though he’s only on the broadcasting side now) women who are pregnant and “engaged” to high-profile men are a dime a dozen. And many of those women never make it down the aisle. I don’t think that I will be one of them, but I can’t pretend not to be sensitive to how it might look to others.

  Even my friend, Trudie, looks at my engagement ring with something like cynicism in her eyes.

  I clear up the kitchen, putting dishes into the dishwasher and wiping kitchen counters, moving slowly because lately, with every step I can feel this kid pressing down onto my bladder.

  We’re having a little girl.

  Rand is excited and when he heard the gender, said he hoped she looked like me. When he said it, it was so spontaneous, and so obviously a genuine emotion that I blushed. I mean, I guess I should know by now that he likes how I look, but somehow him saying that solidified it. He wants our baby to look like me.

  The kitchen is clean within minutes, and then I remember that Rocket has a dish and cups in his room as well. It makes me groan, thinking of the trek upstairs, and then back down again on my swollen feet, and with my perpetually aching back. I consider calling Rand, who is probably holed up in the basement, and asking him to go. He would do it, without complaint, but then I would have interrupted his work yet again.

  Instead, I hobble out to the foyer and stand at the foot of the stairs and yell up to Rocket. He emerges moments later at the top of the stairs, barefoot and with his iPad in hand. He has that dazed and distracted look that he gets when he’s been staring at screens for way too long, the same look his father has staring down at his prep material for his show.

  “Rocket, I need you to bring down your dinner plate, and your cup, please,” I say.

  “Okay,” he says, already turning away.

  “But be careful,” I tell him. “Don’t try to carry everything down with your iPad. I don’t want you dropping and breaking anything.”

  We have only recently switched out all his plasticware, so he uses the same glasses and dishes that Rand and I use.

  “Okay, Mommy,” he says just as I begin heading back toward the kitchen.

  It is said unthinkingly, vacantly, like he’s only halfway paying attention to my instructions. But that it isn’t what I care about. What I care about is that word: Mommy.

  It stops me in my tracks, and my heart seizes for a moment. I give a small gasp and turn to look at Little Rocket again, but he’s already disappeared into his room.

  It isn’t the first time he’s referred to me that way. But he’s only ever done it to other people, telling them that I’m his ‘other Mommy’. Today, right now, is the first time he’s ever said it to me.

  He said it to me.

  Mommy.

  ~2~

  I do everything I can to avoid Eva. Dani was right. It is awkward. I guess when I mentioned that she might come over for dinner, I never thought through how it would feel, having her in the house that I shared with Faith, but with Dani playing the role of hostess, while barefoot and pregnant.

  My sister, Freya, being her usual meddling self, decided that she had to come as well, and bring the entire family. So, the dinner turned into a buffet with everyone fetching their own food from the long dining table, and then finding places around the house to sit and converse, drink or watch television.

  Jennifer, Dani’s new BFF and Stephen Jordan’s fiancée, got here earlier, I’m guessing she’s here as moral support for Dani in case she runs out of things to talk about with Eva. But she didn’t need to worry about that. Eva brought along a friend, because Dani told her the dinner invitation included whoever she was staying with for the weekend. It was the right call, because Eva and her friend, a woman around her age named Josette, are sitting near the French doors in the living room, looking out at the backyard.

  They are comfortably settled into two overstuffed armchairs and have plates balanced on their laps, eating some of the spread that Dani ordered from the caterer. Freya was able to talk sense into her, so she didn’t cook after all, and instead ordered prime rib, seafood salad, roasted chicken, some red snapper dish, and an array of sides and desserts.

  My nephews’ and my brother-in-law’s eyes lit up when they came in and saw all the food, and once their plates were stacked, all of them descended with Rocket to the basement to watch football on the large-screen TV. I can’t escape as easily, because I’m the host.

  So, I’m upstairs, keeping busy doing menial tasks, like fetching ice and whatnot, but also doing whatever I can to stay out of the orbit of Faith’s mother.

  “Randall,” she said when I answered the door and let her in earlier. Just that. Just my name. Then she leaned in and received my hug, and we lightly brushed cheeks.

  “Good to see you,” I tell her.

  Then she was introducing me to her friend as “Faith’s husband” and I immediately felt tense. It’s been a long time since I heard myself described that way. I can’t help but worry that there was an unspoken appendage to that sentence when Eva said it, and I don’t think I imagined the look that she and her friend exchanged.

  ‘Yes, this is him. The one we’ve been talking about,’ Eva’s eyes seemed to say.

  I feel like she’s accusing me of something. Always have felt that way— even when on the outside she was being perfectly nice—because I think she knew more about my and her daughter’s marriage than she ever let on. For sure she knew I wasn’t a model husband.

  Even with Faith’s parents around, I found it hard to pretend to be anything other than a virtual hostage in that relationship. But they’re old school; wouldn’t mess with someone else’s marriage and all that. They’re the ‘leave the young people to figure it out for themselves’ kind of folks.<
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  So, Eva has no reason to think well of me. She witnessed a lot of my bad behavior while I was married to her daughter and what she didn’t see herself, there’s a good chance Faith told her. And there was also all that time after the accident and well beyond it, that I ignored her and her husband Weston’s dozens of calls and pleas sent through messages with other people, to see Little Rocket.

  He only just started seeing them again when he turned four last year, and though there was never a word of complaint once I got back in touch, I can’t help but think that Eva probably holds a little bit of a grudge for that. And if she does, who would blame her?

  As I gather up some used napkins, I glance in her direction and think how much she resembles my wife. My … ex-wife? How do you refer to a spouse who has passed on? But I do know that calling her my wife never felt right when I spoke it aloud even when she was alive. It feels less right now.

  I’m living with the woman who is going to be my wife. My real wife. That’s how I think of Dani, but even so, it’s a shitty thing to think, because it sounds like I’m erasing Faith, who at the end of the day, is the mother of my son, which is no small thing. It’s just that what I feel for Dani is so completely different from what went on with Faith that they don’t even feel like they warrant the same label.

  I’m an asshole for even thinking something like that about Faith, I know.

  And so, looking at, and being in my home with her mother makes me feel an indescribable skin-itching discomfort. I see Faith in her, and can’t help but wonder if, had things been different, and Faith had lived, she would have aged as gracefully and as beautifully as her mother has. And would we have found our way past all our stuff, and back to each other?

  Eva’s wavy dark hair is streaked with gray and pulled back into a sizeable bun at her nape. I imagine it is long, like Faith’s was. She has the same round eyes, and long lashes, the same warm, brown complexion with a hint of luminosity beneath the skin; and the same defined yet feminine jawline, and long neck. Even her mannerisms are reminiscent Faith’s. She has a habit of occasionally subtly tossing her head to one side like someone accustomed to swinging a long mane of hair over her shoulder and out of her way.

  In some ways, Eva could not be more different than her daughter was. Where Faith was giddy and energetic, making big gestures with her hands, and speaking always a decibel or two louder than everyone else, Eva is quiet and placid. Her watchfulness makes me feel like I’m being judged.

  As if sensing that I’m looking at her, she turns her head and our eyes meet briefly. Hers are unreadable.

  I give her a quick smile, and retreat to the kitchen.

  When I re-enter the kitchen, I see Jennifer. She is leaning against the center island with a glass of wine in hand, which is three-quarters of the way full. Unless I’m mistaken, this is may be her fourth one today, of equally impressive size. She doesn’t look drunk, but it’s almost a guarantee that she won’t be driving herself home this evening. Which means Dani will ask me to do it, or else we’re having an overnight guest.

  “Here he is!” she says.

  She sounds tipsier than she looks.

  Dani and Freya are at the double kitchen sink. Freya is washing up and Dani is rinsing vegetables. When she turns, she glances at the trash in my hands and her eyes narrow slightly.

  “What’re you doing? Aren’t you going to get something to eat, babe?” she asks.

  “Yeah,” I say. “Just thought I would …” I shrug. “Help out up here before I ...”

  “Go. Go watch the game,” she says. “I’m about to go out in a minute to sit with Eva and her friend. Can’t leave our guests alone too long.”

  “You sure?” I ask.

  “Yup. I have Jen and Freya to keep me company.” She winks at me.

  I toss the trash and then turn to Jennifer.

  “What were y’all sayin’ ‘bout me?” I ask, not sure I want to know.

  Jennifer’s eyes twinkle like someone about to start some mess, and I look at her out of the corner of mine.

  “It wasn’t about you, exactly. We were talking about Danielle’s birth plan. Has she told you this?”

  “No …” I let the word drag.

  Even the words ‘birth plan’ make me kind of squeamish to be honest. I wasn’t in the room when Rocket was born. By the time I made it to the hospital, the action was over with. I remember being relieved and avoiding Eva’s eyes then as well.

  Just about the time Faith was pushing our son into the world, I was pushing ninety on the Westside Highway, trying to make it back from New York where I’d been hanging out with some guys from the team, having hit up some of the city’s raunchiest titty bars the night before.

  The first time I held Rocket, I’m pretty sure I still stunk of Cuban cigars, and cognac.

  “Jen, stop it. You’re scaring him.” Dani laughs.

  She swats Jennifer with a kitchen towel, and winks at me. Lately, Dani has a new inner light, which I think is a pregnancy glow, but which she tells me is probably just pregnancy rosacea.

  “Well, let me give you the abbreviated version,” Jen continues, moving out of Dani’s reach. “No epidural.”

  I frown.

  “No drugs, Rand,” Jennifer emphasizes, in case I didn’t understand what that meant. “None. She plans to do this the ‘natural’ way.”

  I shrug. “Well, whatever she wants, I’m cool with.”

  “Thank you, baby,” Dani sings.

  Jennifer laughs. “Okay, but that means you need to bring your big boy pants. Natural, according to my sister anyway, is nightmarish. The screaming, the …”

  “Jen.” Dani’s voice is firmer now. “I said stop. You’re scaring him.”

  “The person you’re scaring is Danielle,” Freya weighs in, glancing over her shoulder at me. “Rand will feel nothin’. All he has to do is hold her hand and be supportive. Men get off easy.”

  “I think I’ll just go get my plate now,” I say, ducking out, the sound of feminine laughter following me.

  Physically, I’m definitely the one getting off easy, but psychologically, I’m not so sure. I look at Dani’s rounded, pregnant body and in between the awe, all I can think about are the things that could go wrong. These days, if she stays in the shower too long, I play it off and go in the bathroom pretending to need something in there, but really just to make sure she hasn’t slipped and fallen.

  Lately, I sometimes wake up in the middle of the night, heart pounding, some unspoken terror having chased me out of my sleep. When that happens, I turn over and reassure myself that Dani is alright. I put my hand on her swollen middle, and sometimes the baby moves, letting me know that she’s alright as well. Only then do I feel like I can close my eyes again, but to make sure I cover all the bases, I slip out of bed, go down the hall and check on my son first. The nighttime panic attacks, which started after Faith and Rocket’s accident, are back.

  I grab a plate and pile it with food then head out to the living room, planning to hang out with Eva and her friend until Dani emerges from the kitchen. Both women look up when as I walk in and Eva smiles. Her friend, Josette does not. She looks me over, like she’s sizing me up, her expression neither friendly, nor unfriendly.

  I take a perch at the edge of the sofa opposite them and pick up my fork, preparing to dig into my food.

  “So, how long are you staying, Eva?” I ask, before taking my first bite.

  As soon as the question is out, I regret it, because it sounds like I want to rush her out of town or something.

  “Only till Tuesday morning,” she says, dabbing at the corner of her lips.

  “And that puts you back in Florida …”

  “In the early afternoon,” she supplies.

  And with that, we officially run out of things to say to each other.

  There was never very much conversation between me Faith’s parents now that I think about it. Eva always treated me like a benevolent stranger that she didn’t mind having around. And he
r husband, because he was also one of my coaches, always had game-talk to fall back on, but when that was exhausted there wasn’t much else going on between us other than ‘want me to get you another beer while I’m up?’ type of small-talk. Once things between me and his daughter went south, he never spoke to me at all except on the field and during practice.

  “Rocket can’t stop talking about his time on the ship,” I say, finally thinking of something else to get the conversation un-stalled.

  “He had a ball.” Eva’s eyes light up and even get a little misty. “It was wonderful having him along with us. Weston is just beside himself, finally being able to …”

  She breaks off abruptly and I know it is because she wants to avoid alluding to all the time that they didn’t see Rocket.

  “Anyway, it was good to have him,” she says and then looks down at her plate again, spearing a string bean with her fork.

  If we were alone, I would apologize again, like I did when I first got back in touch. I would tell her that my keeping Rocket away from them was wrong, and that I let it go on too long. I would tell her that it had nothing to do with her, or her husband; and that it was all me. But I won’t say any of that with her friend here, staring at me like she’s a witness for the prosecution.

  “We’ll make sure he does that more often,” I offer. “Goes down to spend some of his holidays with you. Maybe he should do that every year.”

  I know I should probably talk this over with Dani, even though she won’t have a problem with it.

  “Well, you do have a new baby due any day,” Eva’s friend says. “So, I guess it will be good to have someone take the other one off your hands.”

  I might be imagining the edge to her tone, like she’s implying that a new baby will make me less likely to want Rocket around. But still, I can feel my hackles rise a little. Only reminding myself that she is a woman old enough to be my mother, and a guest in my home, prevents me from saying something borderline impolite in response.