“Or Mrs. T. I call her Mama.” Bret pulls me out of Josh’s arms and twirls me once. “Remind me again, how did my brother score a fine piece like you?”
Sandy backhands him across the chest and frowns. “Bret Allen, I taught you to talk to ladies with more respect than that.”
I stifle my laugh. These two are amazing—so warm and welcoming. My family would have judged Josh simply for being a country boy and turned their noses up at him. It’s nice to see there’s still kindness out in the world. Josh, on the other hand, doesn’t seem amused and quickly pulls me back into the safety of his arms.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” I say.
“Look at that, Bret, she’s got manners.” Sandy fans herself. “Lord help me, Josh, if you screw this one up, I’ll tan your heiney.”
Josh groans and rolls his eyes. “Damn it, Mom! I’m not five. You can’t say shit like that anymore.”
“Watch your mouth around me, son.” She picks up a spatula from the counter and waves it at him. Josh ducks behind me, hiding his face in my hair. “Now, Layla dear, after everything I’ve heard about you, I expect to see you around more often.”
“It’s all lies. I swear,” I tease.
“Oh, hush now, darlin’. That boy couldn’t tell a lie to save his life. He’s real smitten with you.”
“Mom!” Josh yelps.
“Well, it’s true! Josh is my good boy.” She reaches out and takes Josh’s chin between her fingers, beaming. He rolls his eyes and Sandy goes back to stirring her potato salad. “Bret, on the other hand, that boy is gonna put me in an early grave.”
“Aw, Ma. Don’t say that. I’m not that bad,” Bret insists, swiping his finger in the bowl.
“Damn it, Bret! Out. Everybody out!” Sandy smacks his shoulder then shoos us out the kitchen. We almost make it to the back door when she yells, “Oh, and don’t use protection, dear. Y’all would make cute babies!”
“Oh my God,” Josh mumbles, shutting the door behind us. Once outside, he heads straight for the coolers and hands me a beer before taking one for himself. He downs half the bottle in one swallow before coming up for air. “Sorry about that.”
I shake my head and set the drink on top of the cooler. “I loved it. Your family is so kind, and mine…mine isn’t.”
Josh’s phone sounds in his pocket. He frowns looking at the message, types a quick reply, then puts it away. “That was Amanda.”
“Oh,” I say, feeling out of place all of the sudden. Here Sandy was joking about babies, and Josh has one looming on the horizon. Whether it’s actually his or not is still up in the air. “Everything okay?”
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“I want this to work between us, but it won’t if there are secrets.” He saunters over to the cooler and takes the beer I’ve rejected. He pops the tab then takes a sip. “She wants me to go to the ultrasound next week.”
My chest constricts. This is the kind of stuff that’s kept me up at night. At some point, Josh is going to acknowledge the baby could be his. If it is, he’ll be a new dad, dealing with sleepless nights, doctor’s visits, and diapers. And me? I’ll either be pushed aside and forgotten or thrown feet first into stepmom mode. Neither sound appealing. “Are you going?”
“No. I told her to piss off. That baby ain’t mine.”
I let out a breath, feeling the pressure in my chest decrease, but we’re not out of the woods. If my guesstimating is correct, Amanda should be about five months. We still have four more until the paternity test results come out. “When’s it due?”
“Fuck if I know. Like I said, it’s not mine.” He draws in a sharp breath, exhaling slowly. “I’ve lost my appetite. You want to get out of here?”
“Won’t your mom be mad?”
“Who cares? I want to spend time with you.” He takes my hand and pulls me into him. “Everyone else can piss off for all I care.”
My guidance counselor, Miranda—she insists I call her by her first name—types away at her computer. Unlocking the gates of heaven and hell. Not really, but it feels that way. What she says will determine my future next semester. I’m either on track with flying colors, getting to stay in Florida for another six months, or I got a C and my parents' money dries up. I’ll either be stranded to fend for myself, disowned by my family for breaking our deal, or I’ll have to go back to Georgia and marry Ashely.
My leg shakes.
I think I did good on my final exam yesterday, but grades haven't been posted to the student portal yet. That last test was a beast. I second guessed myself every question.
Miranda stops tapping the keyboard and spins in her chair to face me. She’s a pretty woman in her mid-twenties, with a pleasant personality. Most importantly, she’s the only counselor willing to see students face to face. All the other’s on campus hold their appointments either by phone or Zoom.
“Did you know your mother calls me every week?” I can’t tell if she’s irritated by the fact my mom is a helicopter or simply sharing the information with me. Either way, next time Mom and I talk, we’re going to have a chat about boundaries. “It’s like clockwork. I know that every Wednesday at two-forty-five, she’ll be wanting an update on how you’ve assimilated into college life.”