'Tis The Season

“I do. But I’m also not blind. Maybe I should start butting into your love life.”

“God. Please don’t.” He shakes his head.

“Oh, is Mom after you?”

“Like a bloodhound after a scent.”

“The usual I want grandchildren before I’m too old?” Faye snorts.

“Never mind that she’s about to have one in less than two months.” Faye balks. “Shit. I am so sorry, Faye.”

“It’s the truth.”

“I know they’re your parents, so forgive me, but they’re being right assholes.”

“Hey, no arguments here. I don’t support the way they’re handling things. I’ve been trying to talk to them.”

“Or supplying that slimy git with information.” I tighten my hold on the fork.

“Maybe if you introduced him, they’d ease up?” Warren suggests.

She sniffs. “I shouldn’t have to.”

“No, but right or wrong, it might bring in some peace. It’s rotten being so disjointed. That’s never been us.”

I watch Faye shrink into herself. Anger flares in my belly.

“It’s not up to her to make it right. She has her hands full preparing for the baby, and Preston is a fucking creep.”

Warren blinks up at me. I lean over and kiss Faye’s cheek. “It’s your birthday, sweetheart, let’s enjoy the night. Why don’t you tell him some of your thoughts on Flora’s middle name?”

Warren gives a quick nod of understanding, and works to shift the tone that had settled over the room.

“I was thinking Magnolia for our grandmother’s favorite flower, or Violeta.”

I let her voice wash over me as the sorrow becomes a thing of the past. The closer she gets to giving birth, the more the family discord bothers her. I want to help, but it feels like her parents are in Preston’s back pocket. Clearing away the table, I bring out the cake with the fancy opening flower candle that spins.

She claps her hands. “I love it.”

We sing a round of happy birthday, and she blows them out. The knock on the door makes me frown.

“Are you expecting anyone else?” Warren asks.

“No.”

“I’ll get it. Enjoy your cake.”

Peering out the door, I frown at the man dressed in a suit before I answer it.

“Can I help you?” I ask.

“Yes, I’m looking for Faye Ferguson.” I see the manilla envelop in his hand.

“One moment please.” I return to the kitchen

“Who was it?”

“Someone with a delivery you need to sign for.”