Page 73 of Through the Storm

Caroline nods at me. “It’s your day. We’ll do whatever feels right for you.”

I look around the table. At the chaos, at these women who showed up without being asked. And I feel loved. Like there’s no one even missing here.

“No football theme,” I say. “But I reserve the right to laugh if someone brings tiny cleats.”

Ella grins, relieved.

Danny steals another cookie.

And I enjoy the feeling of being loved by my chosen family.

Ella and Caroline are in the kitchen making lunch when Rebecca gets that suspicious smirk on her face.

“Okay, Katy, spill. Now. Before they come back.”

“What are you talking about?” I attempt.

She rolls her eyes. “You look blissful. That means orgasms. Now tell me everything before I ask you in front of Caroline.”

My eyes widen. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Wouldn’t I?”

“Fine! Yes, okay? There might have been multiple orgasms in my life recently. Courtesy of Ben. Happy?”

“Very. The question is, areyouhappy?”

I sigh. “Very, very happy. I’m still a little hurt about what happened, but I just love him so much. I think I’m doomed to chronically love him no matter what the idiot does.”

Rebecca just grins smugly, like a lawyer who just won her case. “This is amazing. I’m glad you’re letting yourself be happy.”

Is it really as easy as she makes it sound? Is happiness something you can just choose to have?

My childhood house looks exactly the same. Even though everything in my life is so different. The same white siding. The same hedges trimmed within an inch of their lives. The same front door I grew up walking through without ever wondering if I was welcome.

Ella stands beside me on the front step, quiet, hands folded in front of her. She offered to come with me. She knows my parents. But she doesn’t quite understand how conditional their love can be. Growing uplike she has, with a father who adores her more than life itself, it doesn’t even cross her mind that my parents might say no.

I smooth the edge of the envelope between my fingers. Thick, cream-colored cardstock. Rebecca insisted we do it properly.

As if that might help.

The door opens.

My mother’s expression tightens when she sees me. Her gaze flicks briefly to Ella, then drops to my stomach.

Something passes across her face. A flash of something I don’t have a name for, gone so quickly I almost convince myself I imagined it.

Then she looks away, and the moment disappears.

When her eyes return to mine, her expression is perfectly composed.

“Katy.” Her lips press into a thin line. “Ella.”

“Hi, Mrs. Montgomery,” Ella says softly, offering a small smile.

My mother nods once and steps aside. “Come in.”

The living room smells like the same lemon cleaner and the same flowers that are never allowed to wilt. Nothing has changed.