He went to the back door, because that’s where they always expected him, and Mercy opened it before he could knock. It should have been incongruous, the big man holding the little baby, but it never was. Cal was passed out cold against his father’s chest, all fat baby face and hands, held securely in one arm.
“Brother,” Mercy greeted, ushering him in.
“Is that Aidan?” Ava called from beyond the mud room, in the kitchen.
“Yeah, and I brought you something,” he said, stepping into the warm, steam-filled room where his once-inept little sister was bustling around with pots and pans and spoons. When she paused to turn to him, he offered the brown-bagged bottle of wine he’d tucked in his saddle bag. “Chardonnay, like you like,” he said, and she gave him a quick hug, a peck on the cheek, and moved off. The wine disappeared from his hand, though he could have sworn she was carrying too many things to take it from him. She was becomingone of them– those magical, multitasking grownup women who juggled the universe with mysterious ease and seemingly eight arms.
“Awesome, it’ll go with the pasta,” she said, and the bottle landed on the counter with a lightgongsound.
Remy sat in the floor, like a dog underfoot, playing with a stuffed alligator, which made Aidan grin.
“What kinda beer you want?” Mercy asked him, and he was overcome, suddenly, by the quaint hominess of it all. His sister in cutoffs and a flannel shirt, ponytail, and big brown eyes, and her motherhood so obvious and important. Mercy playing daddy with ease and gusto. The warm light, the delicious food smells, the unlikely normalness of this house and this family.
He wasn’t ever going to have this, was he? He’d never wanted it before, not until after his accident, when he’d come face-to-face with his own mortality and realized he had nothing of his own. He had a shitty apartment and a blue collar job, and just enough spare change for smokes and beer. But nothing that belonged to his heart. Nothing that made him want to get out of bed in the morning.
He’d thought Tonya might be the start of a new chapter.
But she was going to give their baby away, and marry a rich man…and still, he’d have nothing.
Ava was standing in front of him, he realized, looking into his face with curiosity, concern. It was like someone had turned the volume down and then unmuted it all of a sudden, her voice coming at him.
“Aidan? What’s wrong?”
Was he just standing there like a tool? Face blank? Mouth hanging open?
Yes, he was.
“Hey,” Mercy said, and his free hand weighed a hundred pounds against Aidan’s back.
Ava twitched a grin. “You’re not having an attack of the vapors, are you?”
He had no idea what that was, only that he couldn’t breathe.
“I got Tonya pregnant,” he blurted, stupidly. “And she’s giving it up for adoption.”
~*~
The pasta was fettuccini, with spiced sausage, shrimp, peppers, and a light olive oil sauce. Lots of parm on top.
It might as well have been plastic for all that Aidan tasted of it. After his moronic admission, Ava and Mercy had shared one of their silent married looks, communicating without words. “Sit,” Mercy had said, easing him down into a chair at the table. Remy had crawled over to see him, patting at his boots with his little hands. Ava had fixed him a drink, and dinner had been spooned up, served. Remy was popped into his high chair and Cal taken off to bed.
Ava twirled noodles around her fork while her gaze bored into him. “From the beginning,” she prompted, looking and sounding a whole lot like her mother.
He sighed and sagged back into his chair. “There’s not really anything to tell. I didn’t wear a rubber, and now she’s knocked up.”
“Was she trying to get pregnant?”
“Definitely not. She was pissed off that it happened.”
“You sure she isn’t trying to lead you on?” Mercy asked.
“Why would she? What does she want from me? Her family’s stupid rich.”
“Do you have any proof she actually is pregnant?” Ava asked.
He dug the sonogram from his back pocket and slid it across the table.
Ava frowned at it. “I’d want to talk to her doctor. This could be anything.”
