Every Way (Brush of Love 4)

“We don’t know that for sure,” I said. “Bryan and his father insist it’s a girl, though.”

“Well, a simple blood test will clear all of this up. Is the child being stubborn for the ultrasounds? Oh, that child is going to get that from you, Hailey.”

“Did you just call me stubborn?” I asked.

“Mom, what did I tell you?” Bryan asked. “We’re still a little confused on the gender of the child. It doesn’t matter to us as long as the child’s healthy.”

“Well, the two of you are not the only ones rejoicing in this venture. There are people who want to know. Myself, included,” Dorothy said.

“It’s their decision, sweetheart,” Michael said. “Why can’t you respect that?”

“And why would you call me stubborn?” I asked.

“Because I’m sure you’re the one holding off on all of this. I know the two of you had the gender checked. Bryan told me. W

hy won’t you tell anyone?” Dorothy asked.

“Mother, are you serious?” Bryan asked.

“Is that true?” I asked. “Did you tell her we already knew the gender of the baby?”

“Technically, yes. But have I told anyone the gender? No. Do I want to? Who wouldn’t? But it doesn’t matter to me. Not enough to cause a fuss about it.”

“I’m not causing a fuss. I just don’t see what the big deal is,” I said.

“Compromise is something you’ll have to get used to now that you’re married, Hailey,” Dorothy said.

“I’m not sure how compromise works with you, but it doesn’t mean one person gets their way and the other doesn’t,” I said.

“Well, how in the world are you two going to know what types of clothes to buy for the poor child?” Dorothy asked.

“Gender-neutral colors,” I said. “Like yellows and oranges and browns and beiges.”

“Those aren’t gender neutral. That screams boy,” Dorothy said. “For heaven’s sake, those were the colors we had for—”

I saw Michael glance over at Dorothy as Bryan clamped his hand down onto my knee. I knew exactly what she was about to say. Those were the colors they had in John's room. I wasn't sure where to go from here with the conversation, but I was not going to allow her to win it just because she was grieving. This was our child, not hers. And if we didn't want to find out the gender of the child, she was not going to bully me into doing it.

“John would want to know,” Dorothy said.

“That is enough,” Bryan said. “You will not use John as an argument to get your way. His death was hard on all of us. You, in particular. But you will not use him as bait to manipulate my wife and the mother of my child.”

“But he would!” Dorothy said.

“Honey. Back down,” Michael said.

“You aren’t going to tell me what to do. This is an important part of being grandparents, showering the child with gifts and clothes. They wouldn’t even let us buy their nursery.”

“Because I made the damn furniture for it, Mother!” Bryan said.

“What happened to compromise, Mrs. McBride?” I asked.

My hands were shaking underneath the table, but I was not going to allow anyone to see. Her words cut me deep. The mere fact that a mother could use her murdered son to manipulate someone to get her way was beyond me. Instead of grieving the way she needed to and reaching out when she needed help, she was taking her anger out on the people around her. It had been like this for weeks. They hated the fact that I had taken Bryan on my European tour, accusing me of trying to create distance between him and his family. I’d had an argument with Dorothy, claiming that she had orchestrated enough of that herself and that the distance she had with Bryan was her own doing.

Now, we were lucky if we ate with them once a month, and I was ready to cut them out all together.

“You are a stubborn, hardheaded woman, Hailey. You pushed my son away not once but twice. You broke him down, brought him back up, and then squashed him underneath your heel.”

“That is enough,” Michael said.