Page 41 of Afterglow

“I’ve got a glass of stupid-expensive wine for you,” Eric says, holding it out. “Drink this and tell us if it tastes two hundred and ninety-eight dollars better than the stuff your mom drinks.”

We all know it isn’t two dollars anymore—cheers, inflation—but even at four dollars a bottle, it’ll always be Two Buck Chuck in this house. I take the glass with a stiff smile and give Evelyn a quick hug.

I take the first opportunity to set the glass on the counter beside the open bottle and hope no one notices.

“Work’s been keeping you busy, Lee?” Dad asks.

“Oh yeah, it’s been a crazy month. Sorry I’ve missed the past few dinners.”

“You work too hard, honey. No wonder you were sick last month,” Mom says, worry coloring her tone. She freaks out whenever anyone gets sick; she can’t help it after years of cancer treatments with Jenna. I can only imagine how nervous she’s going to be throughout this whole pregnancy, which is part of why I haven’t told her yet. I don’t want to be inundated by extra nerves when I have enough of my own.

I avert my gaze, catching Jenna’s eye, and she notices my empty hands. “Did you finish your wine already?”

“Oh. No, I have that conference tomorrow.” I point at the glass on the counter. I know this is suspicious; I always have a glass of wine with dinner, even if I have work the next day. But what else am I supposed to say? “It’s right there if you want it.”

Evelyn reaches for it and takes a swig, clearly unfazed by my excuse. “Well, if you’re not going to have it.” Her laugh is soft and melodic.

I relax a little, ignoring Jenna’s narrowed eyes, and hope that’s the first hurdle passed.

Mom isn’t deterred by the change in subject however. “You’re feeling better now though, right?”

“Yes, I’m fine. It was just the flu.”

“It’s early for the flu though. Did you get your flu-shot? Are you taking your supplements? Vitamins?”

“Yes, Mom.” I think of the prenatal vitamins sitting on my vanity. “And the flu can hit at any time, maybe I was just one of the lucky people to get it first this season.”

“I guess.” She gnaws on her lip then shrugs. “Well, I’m glad you could make it tonight. I think this is the first time we’re all here for dinner since the wedding.”

I hide the blush on my face at the mention of the wedding by taking a huge gulp of the water my dad handed me. She’s right though. Between Eric and Jenna being in Canada for their honeymoon, Evelyn traveling for work, and then the past several weeks of my not being here, we haven’t all been together since we were at Monarch Ranch.

I change the subject and ask, “What’s for dinner?”

With a swooping realization, it occurs to me that this is a question I should’ve asked before agreeing to come. I’m still taking Zofran around the clock to keep the nausea at bay and I’m mostly subsisting on English muffins with peanut butter and grilled cheese sandwiches.

“I’ve got a beef tenderloin on the grill, and your mother made baked potatoes and a big salad,” Dad says, grabbing the tongs and a wooden cutting board before heading for the back door.

I nod, relieved. That should be fine… hopefully. It’ll be my first foray into red meat since getting pregnant, but seeing as it’s always been a favorite, I’m sure it’ll be okay.

“And I made an apple tart for dessert,” Evelyn adds.

“And what did the newlyweds bring?” I ask. I normally would have brought a dish as well, but I came empty-handed. I’ll chalk it up to pregnancy brain.

Eric lifts the ridiculous bottle of wine. “Libations, of course.”

Of course… and now I’ve brought attention back to the wine issue. Damn. “Right. Sorry I can’t partake.”

“Me too,” he says. “I was counting on your refined pallet to determine how good this wine really is.”

“Maybe next time,” I say.

You know, in seven months.

“Leanne, can you help me set the table?” Mom asks, and I jump at the chance, but she quickly corners me by the hutch where I’m grabbing plates. “You sure you’re feeling better? I know work’s been taking a lot out of you, but you look so tired, honey.”

She plants a hand on my cheek and stares into my eyes. It’s more like she’s staring into my soul.

I turn away and say, “Thanks, Mom,” my tone dripping with sarcasm.