Page 153 of Never After Us
“We’re brushing our teeth, remember?”I’m standing beside her, toothpaste on my own brush, feeling woefully unprepared for this particular interrogation.Alec and I haven’t even discussed what we are, and yet here I am in the bathroom with a child who could out-interview Barbara Walters.
“You can’t keep me quiet forever,” she says between strokes, eyes narrowing at me in the mirror.
She’s right.I could attempt to distract her, redirect her, confuse her with existential questions—from dental hygiene to the ecosystem or all the animal species—but that would require more mental energy than simply being honest in the gentlest way possible.
“It’s—”
“Don’t say temporary.”She points the toothbrush at me like a tiny prosecuting attorney.
“No.”I rinse my mouth, thinking quickly.“It’s more like ...something the adults need to discuss before we tell you exactly what’s happening.”
She squints, unconvinced.“So, can I have a baby sister by the end of summer?”
“Ugh.”The sound escapes me before any rational thought forms.
“That sounds like a no.”
“Mila,” I say, turning to face her fully, “I love your inquisitive mind, but sometimes you have to accept when adults ask you to wait.This is definitely one of those moments.Can you live with that?”
She studies me for a few seconds—calculating, assessing, considering the odds—and then relents.“Fine.But when can we talk?”
“Probably next month,” I say, hoping the word probably buys me enough time to breathe.Realistically, Alec and I might need to have that adult conversation within the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours, but she doesn’t need that detail.
I still can’t believe she caught us.All it took was one night of exhaustion, one late conversation turning into ...well, more.Us.We’re together, aren’t we?
He said “I love you.”We feel the same.It’s just a matter of doing the whole ‘what will this look like’ deal.But of course before I can do that, our eight-year-old detective is piecing together clues we didn’t mean to leave out.
As if things can’t get worse, noise erupts from the kitchen—pans clattering, voices layered and far too familiar.Mila lifts her head.
“That’s Grandma,” she squeals, immediately returning to brushing her teeth at lightning speed.
My stomach drops.Of course things can get worse.Of course this morning wasn’t chaotic enough.I walk down the hall, heart pounding, because the last thing I need is my mother opening her mouth before I’ve prepared myself.
“Mother?”I call out as I step into the kitchen, glaring at her as she turns toward me.
“My sweet Mara,” she cries, rushing forward to pull me into a hug.Her perfume hits me before her arms do—floral and nostalgic in a way that both comforts and overwhelms.Behind her, Alec stands frozen in the corner with his hands lifted as if saying,Don’t look at me.I’ve got nothing to do with her visit.
“Grandma!”Mila rushes in and throws herself into my mother’s arms.
My mother’s entire face lights up, her energy instantly softening.They fall into a warm tangle of greetings—Mila telling her everything she’s missed since the last phone call, my mother making delighted little sounds as if each detail is a priceless treasure.Mila practically floats as she talks, arms wrapped around her grandmother’s waist.
I step back toward Alec, lowering my voice.“Why is she here?”
“The lawyer facilitated my visit,” my mother announces loudly, proving her hearing is still superhuman.“Mr.Hanley is a peach.How old is he?”
“Mom, please don’t start.”My mortification threatens to climb up my throat.The idea of her flirting with my attorney—or worse, trying to set me up—is enough to make me want to crawl into a cabinet.
“Fine,” she sighs dramatically.Then she glances at Alec.“If not him, there’s always your neighbor.Such a great man.”
“Mom,” I warn her, heat crawling up my neck.
“Oh, they already kissed, Grandma,” Mila announces proudly, because of course she does.She never misses the chance to deliver breaking news.
My mother’s eyebrows lift in delighted curiosity.“Did they now?”
“Mom, why are you here?”I ask quickly, shifting attention anywhere but Alec, who is studying the ceiling with the expression of a man praying for divine intervention.
“You weren’t speaking to me,” she replies simply.“I needed to figure out how to fix that.You’re my child.”
