Page 75 of The Curveball
Cleo and Lucy aren’t as shy about their family dynamics as Wren, and when my mom asks, they boldly share how they ended up as best friends raising their kids together.
“What do you do when the father of your kids can’t handle you? Move in with his other baby mama,” Cleo says, lifting a glass to Lucy.
My mom claps her hands, laughing. “I think that’s one of the best things I’ve ever heard. The perfect flip of a bad situation into something wonderful. You both raised a sweet family.”
Wren looks like she might cry when one of her nephews leans over my mom’s lap and giggles when Mom tickles his neck. The flow is easy. We’re different, but not so much it can’t mesh. Wren was raised by a single mom. Most of my life was spent with my aunt and uncle, and my single mom. True, my dad would’ve been here if he could’ve, but we can relate on the protectiveness of the women who gave us life.
Our families are blunt, inappropriate, and too involved.
I love it.
After we’ve all had at least two plates of lasagna and heaping servings of Marti’s famous tiramisu, I almost don’t want to leave. If my life were a jigsaw puzzle, this was the final, satisfying piece being placed in the center of the big picture.
Wren fits with those who raised me, and the way Lucy keeps making future plans, I’m guessing she doesn’t mind my face hanging around a little more.
“Help me with some of these dishes, kid.” My mom smacks my shoulder, tilting her head toward the stacks of plates.
“You got it.”
“Oh, let me help,” Wren says.
“No.” Marti takes hold of her arm. “You need to turn into Marci Grey for a second. We have questions. Stay out here and talk with us.”
My cousins swallow her up.
“Don’t give any spoilers without me!” My mom shouts over her shoulder.
“No promises!” Marti calls back.
I chuckle and take my mom’s plates out of her hands. “Marti is going to know what happens in the next book before Wren does.”
Mom grins and heads for the silver, industrial sink. Some of Marti’s kids are already washing, but they have headphones in, wholly ignoring us.
“Thank you for this, Ma,” I say. “It was great.”
My mom stops at the edge of the counter. She faces me slowly, a different smile on her face. “You seem happy, sweetheart. I really like her. Looks like she keeps you on your toes, and I’m all for a woman who can do that.”
A swell of pride takes hold in my chest. “She does, and I like her a lot too. I know we haven’t been together long—”
“I dated your dad for two months before he proposed,” she says.
“Yeah, but you said he would’ve asked on the first date.”
“Can you blame the man?” She gestures to her body and laughs.
I smile and start washing some of the plates. “It’s different with her. She’s funny and doesn’t really know she’s funny. We’ve had hours-long conversations, and I never get tired of it. I want to force myself to stay awake just to talk to her. She doesn’t care when I ramble or get excited about dumb things. She lets me be overly optimistic, and usually rolls her eyes or something, but doesn’t change me.”
My mom smiles, listening quietly. “You deserve it, Griff. Really.”
“But?” I stop washing. “Sounds like there is a but coming.”
“No but,” she says.
Nope. I’ve known my mom my whole life, and there is something bothering her. My insides take a nosedive to my lower gut. If there is a concern over Wren, how will I balance the opinion of my mother versus the woman I’m falling in love with faster than I can keep up?
“Mom, what’s up? No secrets. Isn’t that our rule?”
She sighs. “Honey, it’s not a secret. I wanted to chat about something, but it can wait. Let’s not bring the good mood down.”