Despite a week spent coming up with reasons why she shouldn’t go to her sister’s house, Brooke found herself dressed and walking out to her car on Wednesday night, a little after six o’clock. She wanted to leave early, in order to give herself enough time to deal with evening commuter traffic headed into West Seattle from downtown. She was digging in her purse for her keys when she heard her name.
“Brooke,” Ryan said, and she moved her line of sight, noticing that he was standing right next to her car.
She froze, her fingers curling around the bumpy metal edges of her keys. “What are you doing here?” Her pulse began to race. She could tell that he had come straight from a job site—his Carhartt jacket was dusted with a white, powdery substance, likely Sheetrock or cement. His hair and olive-toned skin were dusted with it, too, giving him a ghostly appearance—making him look significantly older than he was.
“I need to talk to you,” he said, taking a couple of steps toward her so he was only a few feet away. If she wanted, she could reach out and pull him into an embrace.
“I told you we’re done talking,” she said, hoping she sounded more confident than she felt.
“No, you said you’re done talking.”
“I’m not interested in—”
“Brooke,” he said. “Let me finish.” He shoved his hands into his coat’s pockets. “I know I can’t make you end the pregnancy, whether or not I agree with your decision. That much is clear. I’m sorry our relationship is over. But that doesn’t mean I’m the kind of man to just walk away from my responsibilities. I’ve always taken care of my boys, and I will help take care of this baby, too.”
“I’m not asking you to,” Brooke said, steeling herself against the urge she felt to weep. She imagined standing over their child together, Ryan’s arm around her waist. She pictured him changing their baby’s diaper, feeding it a bottle, but then forced those images down, knowing that that wasn’t what he meant. He meant he would help financially. That he would treat their child as a monthly bill to pay.
“I know you’re not,” Ryan said. “It’s not about that. It’s about the right thing to do.”
Brooke stared at him a moment, then pushed past him, toward her car. “I have to go,” she said. She felt his eyes on her as she started the engine, and she spent the drive to her sister’s house shoving down the temptation she felt to take Ryan up on his offer. But she’d told him she could do this on her own, and she would. She didn’t need him.
Exactly three minutes before seven, Brooke pulled up to the address Natalie had texted, relieved that her brief interaction with Ryan hadn’t caused her to be late. As she looked up the short walkway that led to a beautiful gray Craftsman-style house, her hands gripped the steering wheel in an attempt to steady the nervous tremors that shimmied through her body. She loved how the windows were trimmed in bright white paint and both the porch and chimney were built out of round river stones, giving the substantially sized home a more welcoming, cozy cottage look. The yard was full of well-manicured evergreens, and the long driveway leading up to the garage was littered with the signs of construction: piles of two-by-fours covered by a blue plastic tarp and a truck marked ELITE REMODELS along its side.
This is crazy, Brooke thought as she took in the outside of her sister’s house. Everything about the place screamed “home.” She didn’t belong here.
She reached for the keys, which were still in the ignition, about to start the engine and drive away, when the front door of the house opened and Natalie appeared on the porch, waving. Damn it, Brooke thought. With a quiet sigh, she pulled the keys out and put them in her purse. She reached over to the passenger seat and grabbed the bouquet of yellow roses she’d brought, opened the driver’s side door, and then, after locking the car, walked slowly up the front steps.
“Did you have any trouble getting here?” Natalie asked as Brooke made her way onto the porch.
“No,” Brooke said, trying to smile as she handed over the flowers. She’d put them in a clear glass vase left over from the time Ryan had sent her a bouquet for her birthday. Her brief conversation with him had left her feeling even more jittery than she already did about meeting Natalie’s family. “GPS brought me right to you.”
“Oh, good.” Natalie took the vase and smiled, ushering Brooke inside. “I don’t know how I survived without that bossy little voice inside my phone telling me where to turn.” Natalie set the flowers on an entry table. “These are beautiful. Thank you.”
“My pleasure,” Brooke said, letting her eyes wander over the high-vaulted ceilings in the living room, appreciating the thick, exposed wood beams and warm, earthy hues Natalie had chosen to paint the walls. Tall, cream-colored candles were lit on the mantel over the fireplace, and the air was redolent with herbs and roasting meat. Brooke’s stomach growled; her appetite in the last week had grown exponentially, and she finally understood the real meaning of the phrase “eating for two.” She took off her jacket and watched as Natalie hung it up in the closet.
“Is she here?” a little girl’s voice called out, sounding as though she wasn’t very far away.
“She is,” Natalie said, just as the young girl Brooke had seen on Natalie’s phone—her niece—came running around the corner from what looked to be a long hallway. “This is your aunt Brooke,” Natalie said, and Brooke’s heart skipped a beat.
“Hi!” Hailey said with an excited wave of her small hand. She rolled up on her toes and then brought her feet back down to the floor. She wore a red dress with blue-and-white–striped tights and black ballet flats. “I can’t believe we didn’t know about you!”
Brooke managed to smile, despite the fact that her chin quivered. “I know,” she said. “It’s crazy, right?”
Hailey nodded and peered up at Brooke’s face with a squinty look. “Can I see your eyes?”
Natalie laughed. “Let’s let her get away from the front door first, kiddo.”
“It’s okay,” Brooke said, leaning down so her face was only a foot or so away from Hailey’s. “I want to see yours, too.”
Hailey smiled, and Brooke found herself staring at another set of her own violet-blue eyes. “Wow,” she said. “Look at us!”
Hailey jumped up and wiggled a bit where she stood, which caused Brooke to pull back and straighten her stance so their heads wouldn’t collide. “Yeah! It’s like we’re twins! You have curly hair, too! Just like mine!”
“Hailey,” Natalie said, her voice full of gentle warning. Brooke appreciated that her sister was being protective of her, making sure Brooke wasn’t getting overwhelmed. It was nice to feel cared for, even if it was by someone she was just beginning to know. Brooke smiled again, feeling more peaceful as the muscles in her body began to relax. Maybe this won’t be so bad, she thought. Maybe she was worried about nothing.
Just then, a little boy raced into the living room to join them; Brooke assumed he had to be Henry. His hair was a tousled mop, darker than Natalie’s blond, and he had almond-shaped brown eyes. “Mommy!” he said. “Is this the lady?”
“It is,” Natalie said. “Henry, this is your aunt Brooke.”
“Hi, Henry,” Brooke said, still feeling like she might cry. This was her family, she thought. She had a family. The little boy had a smear of something red on his cheek, which she guessed was his mother’s lipstick. The baby she carried would someday grow to be this age, and Brooke would be the only one responsible for its well-being. However many times she told herself she’d be fine, the thought still filled her with fear.
“Very pretty, that aunt Brooke!” Hailey said, in what Brooke guessed was supposed to be a British accent.
“Very stinky, my butt!” Henry said, and both he and his sister dissolved into laughter.
Brooke must have looked confused, because Natalie quickly explained the reference to Gordon Ramsay, and her children’s obsession with the famous chef’s well-known phrase. “Let’s get you a glass of wine,” Natalie said, gesturing for Brooke to follow her into the kitchen.
“Thanks, but I probably shouldn’t drink since I’m driving home,” Brooke said. She hoped she sounded natural; she’d thought of this excuse on the way over.
“Not even one?” Natalie asked, and Brooke shook her head.
“I’m kind of a lightweight.”
“Ah. Got it,” Natalie said. She led Brooke into the kitchen anyway, and invited her to sit at one of the barstools that lined one side of the granite-topped island. Hailey followed them, skipping along at Brooke’s side, and Henry trailed behind, carrying a plastic toy that Brooke recognized from the Toy Story movies.
“Guess what?” Hailey asked, but before Brooke could answer, Natalie intervened.
“Honey, why don’t you and Henry go hang out in the playroom for a bit so Brooke and Mommy can talk? You two could draw her a picture. I’ll call you when dinner is ready.”
“Okay!” Hailey said. “Come on, Henry! I’ll race you!” The two of them ran out of the kitchen, and Henry’s toy announced, “To infinity . . . and beyond!”
Natalie gave Brooke an amused look. “I wouldn’t get a word in edgewise if they stayed.” She reached into the cupboard and grabbed a wineglass, quickly filling it with sparkling water from a green bottle in the fridge. “Lemon?”
“No, thanks,” Brooke said as she took the glass, grateful that it gave her something to do with her hands. “Is your husband here?”
A brief shadow passed over Natalie’s face. “He’s stuck at work. He’ll be home soon, I’m sure.” She pulled a small tray out of the oven and began placing what looked like puff pastry bites on a plate, which she then pushed toward Brooke. “Have one, please. Pastry with a little bit of goat cheese and fresh fig, and a drizzle of balsamic reduction.”
“Wow,” Brooke said, reaching for one. “So you’re a baker and a chef.” She popped the appetizer in her mouth, relishing the mix of toasted pastry, filled with a perfect combination of tang, salt, and sweet. She wished she could inhale all of them. She counted how many were left on the plate—six across and eight down, minus the one she’d eaten—and realized that being the guest who wolfed down forty-eight puff pastry bites was not the impression she wanted to leave with Natalie’s family. She looked at her sister. “These are really tasty. The perfect bite.”
Natalie smiled, clearly pleased. “Thank you. I like to dabble in the savory world. But my business is all about the sugar.”
Brooke stood up from her seat. “Can I help with anything? It smells so good.” Her stomach growled again, as though on cue.
“If you want to carry the potatoes to the table, that would be great,” Natalie said, nodding in the direction of the stove top, where a large, cast-iron pot with a shiny lid rested. “The salad’s already out there. I just need to slice the roast and we can eat.”
“You don’t want to wait for your husband?”
“No,” Natalie said, looking away from Brooke for a moment. “I don’t want the roast to get dry.”
“Okay.” Brooke walked to the other side of the kitchen and grabbed the potatoes, then made her way through a large, arched doorway to the dining room. Brooke set the pot down on a black iron trivet, and just as she was about to turn around, Hailey and Henry reappeared, each waving a white piece of paper in their small hands.
“Look at mine first!” Hailey said. “I’m the oldest!”
“No!” Henry protested. He shoved his sister, causing her to stumble, and then held his paper toward Brooke.
“Don’t push!” Hailey said, jockeying to stand in front of her brother.
“Hey, you two,” Natalie called out from the kitchen. “No fighting.”
“Whoa,” Brooke said. “How about I look at them at the same time? That seems fair, right?”
“Okay,” Hailey relented, and handed her the paper she carried.
Brooke held the two pictures next to each other and looked them over. Hailey had drawn two stick figures under a rainbow, one with long black curly hair and one with brown, and Henry had scribbled with black crayon in the shape of what she assumed was supposed to be a fireman next to a pink building that had red flames shooting from the windows. She was about to compliment them both when there was the sound of a key in the front door. Hailey called out the word “Daddy!” and both she and Henry raced into the living room. Brooke glanced back into the kitchen, where Natalie stood slicing the roast. Her sister didn’t look up at the sound of her husband’s arrival.
“Hey, bug,” Kyle said from the living room, and a moment later he came through the doorway, his daughter hitched on his left side with Henry trailing behind. Kyle had dark brown hair and wore a black suit with a white-and-blue pin-striped shirt and matching solid blue tie. “Sorry I’m late,” he said. He set Hailey down and took a couple of steps toward her, holding out his right hand. “I’m Kyle. And you must be Brooke.”
“That’s me,” she said, giving Natalie’s husband what she hoped was a warm smile. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“Look at her eyes, Daddy!” Hailey said. “They’re just like mine!”
Brooke’s cheeks warmed as Kyle looked at her again. She held her body as steady as she could, maintaining a small, pleasant smile. If she’d had any doubt at all that Natalie was her baby sister, it had evaporated the moment she saw Hailey’s violet-blue eyes. She hoped the similarity would have the same effect on Natalie’s husband.
“You’re right, they are,” Kyle said. “Excuse me, for just a minute.” He walked into the kitchen, where Brooke saw him take off his jacket, then slide up behind Natalie, who didn’t turn to look at him. She’s pissed that he’s late, Brooke surmised. She looked away, then felt Hailey grab her hand.
“Come sit by me, Aunt Brooke,” Hailey said, leading her toward the opposite side of the table. She climbed into a chair and patted the one next to her. Brooke smiled at Hailey, her heart warmed by being called an aunt, then sat down and put her glass to the top right of her plate. A moment later, Natalie and Kyle joined them, with Kyle carrying a large platter, which he set in the middle of the table.
“Can you get the kids something to drink, please?” Natalie asked her husband. Her voice was a little stiff, but Brooke didn’t know her well enough yet to interpret to what degree her sister was irritated with her husband.
“Sure,” he said, jogging back into the kitchen. Natalie took a seat at the head of the table with her back facing a pair of French doors. As soon as Kyle returned with two cups filled with milk, he lowered himself into the chair next to his son, setting their drinks next to their plates. He quickly poured some wine into his own glass. “All right, then,” he said. “Let’s eat.”
“I’d like to make a toast first,” Natalie said, looking at Brooke. “To the happy surprises in life. And to family.”
Brooke raised her glass, but Kyle took an extra second or two to lift his. Does he not want me here? Brooke wondered.
Henry held up a hard plastic Buzz Lightyear instead of his glass and pushed a red button on its chest. “To infinity . . . and beyond!” the toy said, and everybody laughed.
“No Buzz at the table, kiddo,” Kyle said, gently removing the toy from his son’s grasp. Henry crossed his arms over his chest and pouted while Natalie picked up the serving tongs from the platter filled with perfectly cooked, fanned-out slices of roast and handed them to Brooke.
“So, Brooke,” Kyle said, after she’d filled her plate and passed the platter over to Natalie. “Tell us a little about yourself.”
“There’s not much to tell,” she replied as lightly as she could. “I grew up here in Seattle and I’m a waitress at a bar in Pioneer Square. That’s about it. Nothing very exciting.”
“Are you married?” Kyle asked.
“No,” Brooke said. Didn’t Natalie tell him any of what she and Brooke had already talked about?
“No children?” he said.
“No,” Brooke said again, feeling a twist of queasiness in her gut. Oh, lord. Don’t let me get sick now.
“Kyle,” Natalie said. Her voice was full of warning. She gave Brooke an apologetic smile. “Sometimes he forgets he’s not in court.” She looked back at her husband. “Right, honey?”
Kyle hesitated only a moment before launching a relaxed smile. “Guilty as charged,” he said. “I apologize. I’m happy you could join us tonight.”
“I’m happy, too,” Natalie said quietly, and Brooke nodded, despite harboring the distinct feeling that she wasn’t quite ready to say the same thing.
