“We are probably lucky he didn’t make it worse,” I remark as I hop back into the driver’s seat. “You think we should stay? Provide backup?”
“Nah,” he shakes his head. “She’s a big girl. She can take care of herself.”
Epilogue
Libby
The pots bubble on the stove, filling the kitchen with steam and a dizzying combination of aromas. Reaching overhead, I flip the exhaust fan on and listen to the white noise for a few moments, trying to organize my mental list.
Cake. Chili. Chili condiments. Bread in the oven. Pasta salad. Green salad. The two-foot submarine sandwich from the deli around the corner.
What else. What else? I know there is something.
Cass lounges in the living room, leaning back on the sofa with his heels on the coffee table. I sweep around the perimeter of the room, snapping to get his attention.
“Hey! You said you were going to get the extra chairs from the basement!”
He leaps to his feet and grins sheepishly because I caught him slacking. “Yes ma’am!”
“And don’t call me ma’am!” I call after him as he disappears through the basement door.
“Anything I can do?” Will asks gently, or maybe carefully is the right word. “I mean, before you yell at me? Just tell me now, and I will do it.”
“I would love it if you would set the table,” I answer gently.
That is how I have to do it. Remember to be gentle. Remember to be nice. They are always nice to me. It’s not their fault that I’m so damn uncomfortable right now.
Actually, you know what? It kind of is their fault.
Snow falls gently outside the front window, obscuring the front lawn from view. But I don’t see any new tracks, so I don’t think anyone is here yet. I still have time.
I head back to the kitchen, crossing Will’s path as he carries a stack of plates to the dining room.
“It’s all under control,” he smiles reassuringly.
Is it? Probably. And even if it is isn’t, what is the point in worrying about it? It’s not the Super Bowl. It’s just a normal, family dinner. Just regular Sunday stuff, like people do all over the world.
The exhaust fan is doing a good job of clearing the steam from the kitchen so I can breathe. When it gets too humid, I feel like there is no room in my body for my breath. I have to raise my arms over my head to get just a little extra room for my lungs.
And I have to be careful. I can’t climb up on the counters. I can’t carry the big slow cooker by myself. There is just no damn room.
A sudden jolt nearly doubles me over, reminding me comically of yet another thing I can’t do. I can’t go more than forty-five minutes without a trip to the bathroom.
“Yeah, I hear you, I hear you,” I murmur to my belly, drawing my palm across the impossibly swollen surface. It doesn’t even look like me. I’ve been invaded by aliens.
Two aliens, to be specific. Twins. Who could have guessed it?
As I hobble to the bathroom, waddling shamelessly, I have to laugh at myself. Stop and smell the roses, after all. I mean, it won’t be like this for much longer. And honestly, I don’t want to forget a moment of it.
As I wash my hands, I hear the front door open and voices in the foyer. Without waiting, Mona dashes down the hallway to bang on the bathroom door.
“I’m in here!” I announce.
“I know! Why do you think I’m knocking? Let me in!”
“Don’t you have any sense of privacy—”
The words disappear on my tongue. She is holding up one hand, fingers splayed. In the middle of her hand, a huge diamond glitters in the center of a bright gold band.