Chapter 15
“You have got to be kidding me.” Angelica placed a hand on her growing belly. “I’ll go into labor if you bring that man to my baby shower.”
“Don’t be dramatic.” I placed the final stitches on the binding of the pink quilt. The blue one was already finished. All my years of making costumes with Tennille had not been in vain. “He’s not the guy we thought he was.”
“If he rides a motorcycle here, I’m going to slash his tires.”
“Angelica?” Mom intervened. “Is it better to put one brazil nut or two in each nut cup at the place settings? Back in my day, only women and girls came to baby showers. Adding men to the mix, we might as well just call it a party.”
Was this Mom’s way of saying she didn’t want Jeremy there either?
“You’ll both like the man I’m bringing to the party, I promise.”
“What I don’t like is the veritable half-ton of flour that went to waste while you learned to make homemade rolls.” Mom waved her hand in front of her face, as if to brush away remnants of flour dust. “Why can’t you buy them from the bakery like the rest of us?”
“Or use the frozen dough?” Angelica asked. “Brady doesn’t know the difference. Just a slight deception. Like wearing makeup while you’re dating. Or pretending you like watching hockey.”
“I do like hockey.”
“You would.” Angelica helped me fold the finished quilt. “I’ll admit, though, the rolls do taste good.” She grabbed for one from beneath the tinfoil cover. “Is there real butter in the recipe? Whose recipe is it?”
Jeremy’s mom’s. As well as the recipe for the strawberry jell-o with cream cheese and pretzels. After a lot of cajoling, Garrett had given me her number, and I’d bitten the bullet and called her. Please let my dessert be up to par.
Dad came in, as well as a few guests. We set up the rest of the buffet on the kitchen island. More guests arrived. Angelica’s husband brought his parents and two younger sisters.
“Wow. Nice spread,” Brady’s dad said. “It’s like we’re having Thanksgiving all over again, even though we just had it Thursday.”
“Our family has turkey, not ham,” the taller of the teenage sisters said. “You put little cloves in it like they taught us in culinary class at school.” She sniffed it. “Is that where you learned to make a ham?”
“Um, no.”
Still, no Jeremy. I’d mailed the letter to the address Garrett gave me. Since then, I’d gotten no reply, no texts, nothing. All this might be in vain.
But I hoped it wasn’t. I wanted my vision of his return to me to be real so much—it just had to happen.
“We’d better get started before the food gets cold.” Dad clapped for everyone’s attention. The three dozen or so guests gathered in the big, open kitchen, eyeing the food I’d made for Jeremy. “We’d like to thank Danica for this meal and for creating this party to celebrate Angelica’s and Brady’s upcoming life change, and to celebrate Angelica making Nancy and me grandparents.” There was some laughter, but not from me. With every passing minute, my heart sank more. “We’re also doubly grateful for Danica’s health returning after her accident this past summer—as it seems to have jarred loose in her brain the locked door to her cooking skills.”
More chuckles. Someone patted me on the back. Angelica gave a little huff.
“Angelica, we’re so happy for your baby, and …” Dad droned on. Mom looked impatient.
I was dying slowly inside. Jeremy hadn’t come. I’d made all this food for him, invited him the only way I could, and even prepared all the supplies—a bucket of hot water, a special huge sponge, a chamois, and a ladder—so I could finally make good on my promise to wash his truck, no matter the weather outside.
I owed him that. And so much more.
And my dad was going on. And on. And on. About Angelica.
Outside, a loud engine revved. I looked through the sliding doors to the back yard and—
“Is that a motorcycle?” Angelica shrieked. “I said if there was a motorcycle I’d go into labor.”
I ran to the back door, pressing my face against it. There, in the snow, was a motorbike with a big man astride it. The bike pulled a wagon of some fashion—and in the wagon was a strangely shaped protrusion. I pushed the door open.
“Hi.” Jeremy lifted his helmet off and exposed a grin. “Can you help me with my baby shower gift?” He pointed to the tarp-covered, pointy-looking thing in the sidecar. “It’s heavier than I expected, and as you might remember, I’m not the best motorcycle driver even when it’s not snowy.”
Underneath the tarp lay an ice sculpture. I jumped to help lift it out. “It’s … a stork.”
“Better than a swan, you know, for this occasion.”