Page 49 of The Curveball
“No. Nope. Totally false. Griffin was not drunk; it was an accident where I happened to smack my head pretty hard.”
They both seem unconvinced, but it’s my mom who asks, “And what did this Griffin do after nearly crushing your skull?”
“Okay, a little dramatic, Mom.” I tilt my head, frowning. “If you must know, the man forced me into an ambulance, sat with me in the hospital, then spent the entire night waking me up to look after my concussion. Oh, and the next morning he went and got all my stuff out of my car and brought it back to me. So, what were you saying about him again?”
Maybe Griffin is right. I do go a little feral in defense of him. I can’t seem to stop.
Still, it works. Both my mom and Cleo stop and stare. Slowly, their individual faces soften. Maybe after so many years as best friends and co-parents they’ve started to adopt each other’s mannerisms, because they both break into coy grins at the same time.
“Odd for a random man to dedicate so much time and concern to a woman, don’t you think, Lucy?” Cleo asks the phone.
My mom nods. “Very odd.”
I’m saved for a few breaths when a server comes over and brings two smoothies Cleo must’ve ordered for us before I showed up. She knows me well and made sure to ask for double the coconut.
I take a sip, then hold up a finger. “You two need to stop the thought train you’re riding—”
But it’s me who stops. I fight a groan. Beyond showing up to parade Griffin around my dad to get his promised donation, I didn’t consider this part. Bringing in the aunt and the mother.
The trouble is if Grant Pierson is chatting with the mothers of his children, it’s only a matter of time before they hear about my little lie.
I take another sip, then hold my breath as I say, “I mean, you two go straight to wedding and . . . and we’re not that serious.”
I close my eyes. Words have power, and these have doomed Griffin to the stampede of Foxs and Warrens thinking romantic things like picket fences, joint taxes, and babies. Lots of babies. They’ll have our wedding planned in twenty-four hours, or if it’s my brothers, Griffin’s funeral.
“Wren.” My mom lets out a little shriek. “Why on God’s green earth have you not said anything? Tell me about him. When do we get to meet him? To thank him, obviously.”
“Obviously,” Cleo says, grinning.
“Never. You two will dictate commentary on his backside to the point the man will be scarred for life, so the answer is never.”
“What position does he play?” Cleo asks, denying nothing about the backside commentary as she props her chin on her fist.
“Catcher, and he does not need you two hounding him about what happened in the accident. He’s already getting enough backlash for the drunk rumors, and he doesn’t deserve it.”
“Catcher?” My mom hums a little.
Again, did they hear anything I said?
“A lot of squats for sure.” Cleo winks at my mom.
“Ugh. You two are the worst.”
“Oh, Wrennie, we’re teasing.” Cleo pats my hand. “We wanted to make sure you were okay, and yell at you a bit because we both found out from the wrong people about all this. We gave you time to do the right thing and call us, but you chose wrong. Drastic measures needed to be deployed.”
I love Cleo. She always did this when we were growing up. Painting discipline like a battle strategy.
Still, my heart shudders a bit. Behind their crude jokes, there is hurt in their eyes. I slouch under the weight of the guilt. They’re right. Griffin was right. I should’ve let my family know. They hover too much, but they love me. I love them. Quirks and all.
“I’m sorry. I should’ve called you both right away. I’m really okay. Griffin’s place is completely comfortable. It’s huge, actually—”
“Wait a darn minute, Wren Elizabeth!” My mom only tosses out the middle name when I’m about to get an earful. “You’re staying with this man? As in,insidehis home? And you expect us to believe this isn’t serious?”
Dumb move, Wren. Dumb, dumb move.
“Honey, is your head that bad that he still needs to watch you? Or are you two actually, you know,cohabitating?” Another thing I love about Cleo, she’s religious, so she thinks if she whispers things it’ll make them less raunchy, I guess.
“No. I forgot to let you know my apartment has black mold. Griffin’s house is actually a duplex, so there are two identical houses, and he’s letting me stay in one until my apartment situation changes.”