“She is so going to kill me.”
“She won’t. She wants your baby.”
Cait turned on him like a tigress. “Don’t say that! Mom’s not like that. Take it back!”
“Okay, okay.” Holding his hands up, he rolled off the bed to his feet. “Look, Dad’s not home yet. Which probably means he’s still at your house.”
Her shoulders slumped. “Waiting for us.”
“Yeah. I think I should take you home.”
She heaved a sigh. “Oh, fine.” She rose to her feet with the grace all her physical movements had.
For the first time, though, Trevor noticed some rounding in front. Not that much, but it was there. A sort of shiver passed through him as he stared.
Our baby.
Cait saw where he was looking. “I’m getting fat.”
“No. You’re… Wow.”
“I’m pregnant.” She screwed her face up. “By the time I go back after Christmas break, everyone will be able to tell.”
Like they didn’t already know? But there was a distinction, he understood. The unseen could be ignored; the visible couldn’t.
He only nodded and took her hand, giving it a quick squeeze before he let go. “Let’s go.”
The drive was too short. Cait huddled in the passenger seat like he was taking her to her doom. He felt a little shaky about facing their parents, too. They were going to be majorly pissed. Maybe this whole thing hadn’t been such a good idea. He wanted to be indignant, because it hadn’t been his idea, after all, but couldn’t. He’d gone along with it, hadn’t he? He’d ordered the flowers, written the note.
Dad’s pickup was in front. Trevor parked behind it and looked at the house. He and Dad hadn’t gotten a tree yet, but Ms. Callahan and Cait had set theirs up in the front window, and strung outside lights, too. They were on now, weirdly cheerful.
When he and Cait got out and slammed their doors, it sounded way loud, like gunfire. Trevor cringed. They met on the sidewalk, met each other’s eyes and turned in concert to face the music. Whatever that meant. Why would the music be so bad? Sappy Christmas carols, that’s why, he decided, thinking about the crap that was playing everywhere right now.
On the doorstep, Cait got as far as putting her hand on the doorknob before she hesitated, gulped—and finally opened the door. “Mom?”
“In the living room.”
At the first sight of their parents, Trevor’s anxiety morphed into stomach-clenching dread. Ms. Callahan sat on the sofa, while Dad stood on the far side of the room with his back to the fireplace, his arms crossed. Both looked at Trevor and Cait with these totally expressionless faces. Stern. God, Trevor thought. Had Dad paced the living room all evening? Had they talked at all?
“Nice flower arrangement,” Dad said.
Trevor swallowed. “Um, yeah.”
“I understand you forged my handwriting.”
“Um,” he said again. He shuffled his feet and looked down at them. “It wasn’t that hard. My handwriting’s not that different.”
“Good to know, before you decide to write yourself a check from my bank account.”
Oh, shit. Dad was really pissed.
“I suppose I should offer to pay for the flowers,” he said, and Trevor found the guts to look up. His father was grinning at him.
“Man! You were stringing us along,” Trevor accused.
Ms. Callahan laughed. “It was irresistible.”
“So, you’re not mad?” Cait asked in a small voice.
“I’m not mad.” Her mother held out her arms. “Come here, brat.”
Cait rounded the end of the sofa and half fell on her mom. Not graceful. “You always say…”
“No matter what. I know.” Weird that she was looking at Dad now, and they both had dippy smiles.
Trevor’s eyes narrowed as he studied them. Then he turned to his father. “You said you were sorry.”
“I did.”
“And…did you…?”
“I did.”
Cait lifted her head from her mother’s shoulder. “You did what?”
Well, duh. But Dad said, “I asked your mother to marry me.”
She tilted her head back and stared into her mom’s face. “And you said yes?”
“I said yes.” She hugged Cait exuberantly. “And no complaining allowed. You were asking for it.”
Trevor exclaimed, “Yes!” and pumped his fist. Dad held up a hand and they exchanged high-fives before Dad drew Trevor into a huge, back-pounding, guy-version of a hug.
“Guess what, kids. We’re family now,” Ms. Callahan said. No, Molly said. Trevor guessed he had to get used to thinking of her that way.