Husband for a Weekend

Both sisters could have stepped out of a television sitcom set in stereotypical suburbia, Kim thought wryly as she was ushered into the house. It was always interesting to see what personas her mercurial mother and aunt had adopted since she’d last seen them.

“You look very nice, Kim,” Treva pronounced, looking her up and down. “I see you’ve lost most of your pregnancy weight. Good for you, I’m sure you’ll get the rest of it off soon.”

Hearing Tate make a little sound that sounded like a swallowed groan, Kim chose to ignore her aunt’s comment. She had worked hard to regain her healthy prepregnancy weight, and she’d succeeded, so the implied criticism didn’t bother her.

Unfazed by Kim’s lack of reaction, Treva turned to Tate. “So, you’re Tate. Betsy called you Trey the very few times she’s mentioned you in the past, but she told me on the phone last night that you’re dropping your childhood nickname in favor of your real name.”

It amazed Kim—not necessarily in a good way—that her mother could always come up with a reasonable explanation for her inconsistencies.

Tate went along again. “That’s right. It’s very nice to meet you, Mrs.—um?”

“Just call me Treva,” she said somewhat gruffly. “I’m not Mrs. anybody at the moment.”

Betsy slipped her free hand beneath Bob’s elbow and smiled somewhat smugly. “Bob and I will take these dishes into the kitchen. Why don’t you take Tate and Kim in to join the others, Treva?”

Judging by the noise level in the house, several entire families were crowded into the midsize rooms. Kim heard adults talking, children shrieking and chattering, a television blaring a baseball game. Just how many had shown up for this gathering?

“Was your whole family able to come today, Aunt Treva?”

Treva nodded in response to Kim’s question. “Patty’s here with the kids, and Cara Lynn arrived only a few minutes before you did. Come in and say hello. It’s been so long since you came to a family gathering that you probably won’t even recognize each other.”

“I saw them all at the reception for Mom and Bob,” Kim reminded her.

“That was three years ago, Kimmie,” her mom said over her shoulder as she and Bob moved toward the kitchen. “Bob and I are hardly newlyweds anymore.”

“Zing,” Tate murmured into Kim’s ear.

She laughed softly, settling Daryn more comfortably on her hip while following her aunt toward the noisy family room. At least she could count on Tate to keep her smiling during the next few hours. And they really would have some funny stories to share with their friends at lunch next Wednesday.

Her first impression was that her grandmother’s den was filled with children. After a moment, she realized there were only three, all dashing around the room and making enough noise for at least twice the number. Kim identified her cousin Patty’s girls, Abby and Harper—who were probably around six and four now. And the tow-haired toddler chasing after them must be her cousin Mike’s son, Lucas. Mike’s wife, Ashley, had been pregnant at the reception where Kim had last seen her, so that would make Lucas about three.

Seeing the children, Daryn kicked and crowed, eager to play with them, though she couldn’t yet join in the running.

Drawing her attention from the children, Kim saw that Treva’s daughters, Patty and Cara Lynn, had zeroed in on Tate, eyeing the newcomer assessingly. Patty was divorced from her daughters’ father, and Cara Lynn had recently ended a long-time engagement. For some reason, Patty and Cara Lynn had always been competitive with Kim, even though she’d tried to stay out of the contest.

She blamed her aunt and her mother—Treva and Betsy had projected their lifelong rivalry onto their daughters. In Kim’s case, it hadn’t really worked. Maybe it was because she was the oldest of the three—though only four months older than Patty—or maybe because she had spent her whole life trying not to be like her mother. Whatever the reason, she had never cared who was the most popular or who had the nicest clothes or cutest boyfriends. Her very lack of caring had seemed to annoy her cousins more than if she’d taken the competition seriously.

Despite the undertones, Kim had always gotten along well enough with Patty and Cara Lynn, for the most part. She greeted them with a smile and with air kisses, automatically noting the little changes that had taken place since she’d last seen them. They both cooed over Daryn, and Kim marveled at how much Abby and Harper had grown.

“I wish you’d friend us on the internet so we could at least keep up through pictures of the kids,” Patty compla

ined. “It makes it so much easier to stay in touch when we can read each other’s status updates.”

Kim smiled vaguely, promising to consider opening an account. Thus far, she had deliberately avoided social media, mostly because of her family. She thought again of how easily her mother’s lies could have come unraveled if Kim had decided to friend her cousins. Her profile would have revealed her as a single mom, and Betsy’s fabrications would have been exposed. Maybe it would have been best if she had opened her life to that extent.

While the sisters vied to flirt with Tate, Kim waved to her brothers, who sat on a couch across the room in front of the ball game, then turned to greet the rest of her relatives.

“Nice to see you again, Kim.”

She lifted her cheek to receive a light kiss from her mother’s older brother. “It’s good to see you, too, Uncle Nelson. How have you been?”

“Doing great, thanks.” He introduced her to his blonde, fortysomething companion, Sandi, who was obviously besotted with babies, since she immediately asked if she could hold Daryn. Daryn transferred happily enough into the arms of the smiling woman, accepting the admiring attention as her due.

Her uncle, who had been divorced for years, always had a pretty, younger blonde at his side. Kim didn’t remember ever seeing him with the same one twice, but they always seemed nice enough. He had good, if predictable, taste in companions.

Drawing Tate away from Patty and Cara Lynn, she led him to her uncle and his two sons, Rusty and Mike, both in their early thirties. Rusty had never married and was reported to be somewhat of a playboy. Mike was the father of the boisterous three-year-old now trying to climb the wooden window blinds.

“Where’s Ashley, Mike?” she inquired, glancing around the room. “Is she in the kitchen with Grandma?”