Thirty minutes later, I’m down to the last braid.
“Where did you learn how to do this?” Rosie asks. I did her hair like mine with a single fishtail hanging around one shoulder.
“My mom taught me.”
“Does she have long hair like you?” Tally asks, her high-pitched voice sweet as sugar. I flash a look to her curly head of hair that wasn’t so easy to maneuver, but I managed a boho, organic looking french braid straight down her back.
“No, but I think that’s why she learned to braid,” I begin, flipping and scooping my fingers through my youngest cousin’s shoulder-length brown hair. “My hair has always been longer and thicker than hers, so she had to learn how to style it. She learned and then she taught me.”
“Why don’t you call my mommyyourmommy?” That’s Kai, who has somehow found his way into Cheyenne’s lap to join the braid party.
“Honey, that’s not really a polite question,” Cheyenne whispers, arms wrapped tight around him in a bear hug. “She has a mommy who raised her and she calls her Mommy.”
Kai looks up at his mom, all innocence and curiosity. “Yeah, but you’re her mommy, too.”
She gives her son a kind smile before turning a nervous one onme. “You know you don’t have to answer that, Gretchen. I would never ask or expect you to call me Mom.”
I dip my chin, thankful for her understanding. I’m extraordinarily grateful to be here, to have met these incredible people and I’m proud to call them family, but I don’t think I could ever use the terms Mom and Dad for anyone other than the parents who raised me.
Cheyenne sets my mind further at ease when she says, “I think your mom is the most amazing woman on the planet and I haven’t even met her yet.”
“I think she hastwomost amazing mommies,” Kai says with both palms smooshing Cheyenne’s cheeks together, making the circle of us laugh.
The sound of a cell phone ringing from across the patio pulls my gaze. Connor looks at his screen and then excuses himself, before he disappears around the side of the house to take the call.
I finish up the last braid as one of my aunts orders the girls to huddle in close to me, showing off their braids for a picture. After she’s snapped a few on her phone, they all turn and pile on one big group hug, thanking me profusely. Who knew that a little bit of braiding would make their day? I think it made mine, too.
“Gretchen,” Connor’s voice comes close as he rushes to my side. His phone is clutched in his fist and my nerves skyrocket. “That was your brother.”
My heart slows because the panic in his eyes, the urgency in his voice—whatever comes next can’t be good.
“Reagan’s in the hospital.”
Chapter Forty
BOUGIE-ASS PESTO
Connor
Gretchenand I hastily say our goodbyes with promises to be in touch soon. As soon as I explained that Gretchen’s sister-in-law had been rushed into emergency surgery back home, the Ortegas understood our need to get on the earliest flight possible.
The second we’re in the car, Gretchen turns to me for more details and I relay everything Drew told me on the phone.
Reagan is pregnant. Or, she was.
It was ectopic.
Her fallopian tube ruptured this afternoon.
She was bleeding internally.
An ambulance rushed her to the hospital.
She’s currently in surgery.
The doctor doubts they’ll be able to repair the ruptured tube and will likely have to remove it entirely.
With the time difference, Drew hasn’t been able to get in touch with his parents in Italy, but Reagan’s family is with him now at the hospital.
