Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 82524 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 413(@200wpm)___ 330(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82524 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 413(@200wpm)___ 330(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
“Hi,” I say, kicking off my shoes before sitting with my back against the headboard in the bed. “Where is Maman?”
“She’s right here,” he says and turns the phone so I can see my mother sitting in the corner of the U-shaped couch with a book in her hand. She’s wearing a loungewear set that she just makes look fancy. Her hair is loose and draped over one shoulder, her face is without a stitch of makeup. “See.”
“Maman,” I say in French, and she looks up, her face filling with a smile so big her blue eyes light up.
“Mon chéri.” My sweetheart, she answers in French, putting the book down beside her and sliding over to my father’s side. He moves his arm so she can snuggle into him. He drapes an arm around her shoulder before kissing the side of her head. "Tu es où?" Where are you?
“I’m at Matty’s,” I tell them both.
“What?” my mother asks me, shocked. “Pourquoi?” Why? she asks me, and all the words get jumbled in my mouth.
“Um.” I suddenly feel like I’m sixteen again, and I just messed up and have to break the news to my parents. Like the time I skipped school and decided I would forge my father’s signature, but they caught me and called home about it. My sister, Karrie, gave me the heads-up before I walked in. So instead of letting them yell at me, I came clean to them as soon as I walked in. Of course, I acted like the lie was secretly making me guilty, which they fell for or maybe they could have smelled the bullshit but let it slide. “Do you guys think you could come down here this weekend?” I ask them both. The nerves in my body make me jump off the bed, and I slowly pace the room back and forth.
My mother looks at me, trying to decipher what I just asked her. It’s as if she knows something is up but can’t put her finger on it. She stares at me for a couple of minutes before she answers me, “Why?” The look goes into a glare, and she sits up as she waits for it. It’s the mother instinct; she knows shit is about to hit the fan. When I was growing up, I would think it was a special gift she had. I’ve learned she just knew better than we did.
“How do I say this?” I think about how to say the next part. I could always tell them I need to see them, but my mother isn’t one who just will let that slide. She needs to know everything now. “No easy way to say this.” I look at my father, who just closes his eyes for a second longer than he should. My mother again picks up on the detail and looks at me, then at my father, and then at me again. “I’d like you to meet your granddaughter.” Fuck, that was easier than I thought it would be, well, at least for me to say it.
The screech that comes out of my mother isn’t something I was expecting. “She’s pregnant? You’ve known her two weeks!” she yells. “C'est pas possible?” It’s not possible, she mumbles in French. “C'est un blague? Tu plaisantes j'espère?” This is a joke. She looks at my father and then back at me, and this time, she grabs the phone from him. “Stefano,” she says my name through clenched teeth, “tell me that you are not stupid enough not to wear protection? You have been dating her a month.”
My eyebrows pinch together, and it finally sinks in that she thinks it’s with Jenna. “Oh no, not her.” I shake my head.
“What?” She jumps up off the couch. “Is this a poisson d'avril trick?” April Fool’s joke, she asks my father, who grabs the phone from her.
“Vivienne,” he says her name softly, “calm down.” He takes her hand and pulls her down on the couch next to him.
“Calm down?” she hisses back at him, and even I grimace at the way she asked him that. “Calm down your son.” She emphasizes on your son, and I have to roll my eyes. Isn’t it always the case that we are one parent’s child when we fuck up? “He just told us we have a granddaughter.”
“I heard,” my father says calmly as always. I get the calm from him, for sure. “Why don’t we listen to the rest of what he has to say?”
“D'accord.” Fine, she hisses at him. “Who is the mother of this child?”
“Addison,” I say, and I can’t help the way my chest heats up at her name. I can’t help but to be filled with pride at who the mother of my child is.
“Addison?” my mother says her name, blinking a couple of times. “Wait, the one who planned the wedding?”