been going to the mall before and after closing a couple times a week, making steady progress. Last week, she drove a lap around the parking lot. A few days ago, she drove home from the mall. And yesterday, she drove to school and back with me. Needless to say, that was pretty huge.
Today is the final hurdle: driving to her parents’, which is over thirty minutes away.
She pulls into the merge lane and gasps, panic shooting across her face. “Nash. I haven’t been on the freeway in over a year.” Her slender fingers curl around the leather steering wheel, knuckles blanching.
“You’re doing great.” I’m not nervous because I know she can handle this; she just needs to have faith in herself. “All you need to do now is get up to speed and shoulder check before you move over. It’s no different from merging onto McLaren Drive to get to school, only with a slightly faster speed limit.”
“Okay.” Her voice is shaky.
Accelerating, she matches the speed of the freeway traffic and signals, shoulder-checking three times before she moves over. Once she gathers her bearings, the rest of the drive goes perfectly aside from one asshole who cuts her off for absolutely no reason. She handles it surprisingly well, though I sorely wish I could run the guy off the road.
Half an hour later, she shifts the car into park in front of a sprawling white two-story house and lets out a long exhalation, killing the ignition. “I haven’t driven here in nearly a year.”
“But you did it.” Pride swells in my chest, even though it’s her accomplishment and not mine.
“Yeah. I guess I did.”
“Knew you could.” I unbuckle my seatbelt and lean across the console, pressing my lips to her smooth cheek. God, she smells fucking edible. Think I’ll skip dessert and have her later instead.
Violet shifts in the driver’s seat, pulling me back over to her, and levels me with a heated kiss. “I would never have done that without you. Thank you.”
“Proud of you, Vi. You’re a fucking rockstar.”
Hand in hand, we stroll up the sidewalk to the painted red door, empty-handed despite my multiple protests. In addition to being intimidated as fuck about being here, it feels wrong not to bring wine or something as a gift, especially as it’s the first time I’m meeting her parents. But she insisted her parents didn’t want us to, and I have to assume she knows best.
We climb the front steps, and my pulse follows suit. While I wasn’t nervous about the drive, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t nervous about meeting her family. However, she seems to have much stronger relationship with them than I do with Doug, so I’m cautiously optimistic.
Violet pulls out her keys and unlocks the door, pushing it open. “Knock knock!”
I follow her inside, greeted by the warm scent of pumpkin pie mingled with something savory, like turkey and other Thanksgiving foods. The white-painted walls are bright, hardwood floors gleaming, and a gallery of photos next to the door catches my eye. I make a note to check it out later and find some of Violet when she was little.
“Auntie Violet!” A chubby little girl runs up to Violet and throws her arms around her legs. Behind her, a toddler boy scoots up on a ride-on Thomas the Tank Engine, giving us both a shy smile.
“Hi guys! I missed you both so much.” Violet bends down, embracing the little girl and smooching both of her cheeks at least a dozen times. She does the same to the little boy, tousling his fine blond hair as she pushes to stand.
“Pick me up?” she asks Violet, who complies, hoisting her up on one hip. Her niece is nearly five and not overly small, so it takes considerable effort on Violet’s part.
“Oh my goodness, Willow. You’re getting so big. Pretty soon, you’ll have to carry me around instead.”
“Nooooo.” Willow giggles and shakes her head, chestnut ringlets bouncing.
Violet turns to face me. “Nash, this is Willow and Lincoln.” She points to each of them. “Guys, this is Nash.”
Lincoln studies me with big blue eyes the same color as Violet’s and crams a thumb in his mouth, saying nothing. Slowly, he scoots back, putting more distance between us.
“Is he your boyfriend?” Willow eyes me suspiciously.
Violet grins. “Yes, he is.”
Willow’s suspicion increases and she gives me the side-eye, twirling a lock of violet’s hair.
“Tough crowd,” I say.
Violet laughs, setting Willow back down. A woman who appears to be a few years older than Violet comes around the corner holding a baby wearing a pink sleeper. I’m pretty sure this is Grace, Violet’s oldest sister.
“There you two are.”
Violet quickly introduces us, and then she leads me into the kitchen to introduce me to her parents, both of whom are wearing matching aprons. As we step through the doorway, my nerves skyrocket. In truth, I’m not sure how either of them is going to receive me.
Her father’s eyes crinkle at the corner with a smile when he sees her, and her mother rushes up, wrapping her in a huge hug. Everyone is so happy, I almost don’t know what to make of it. It’s foreign to me, like I’m watching a family sitcom.
“This is Nash,” she tells them. “Nash, these are my parents, Rachel and Chris.”
Chris shakes my hand enthusiastically, regarding me with more warmth than I was expecting, and Rachel wraps me in a hug that catches me totally off guard.
“We’re so happy to finally meet you,” she says, giving me another squeeze before she releases me.
“We have to finish preparing dinner,” Chris tells us. “It’ll be about half an hour.”
“Anything we can do to help?” Violet asks.
Her mother shakes her head, wiping her hands on her blue checkered apron. “No, no. You two go get a glass of wine and sit down with Gracie. Relax.”
Violet protests, but they hold firm on not needing any help. I follow Violet into the living room, where Grace is holding Abigail on the couch. Next to the coffee table, Willow and Lincoln are locked in a fiery battle over a doll.
“Uh, Gracie?” Violet gingerly picks up a section of her sister’s curly blonde hair, which is matted with something whiteish at the ends. “You’ve got a situation.”
Grace holds out the strands to examine them, making a face. “Oh, shoot. Abigail spat up in my hair again. I have to go wash this out in the sink. Can you take her for a minute?” She offers the baby to Violet, who takes her, cradling her in her arms.
Abigail starts to fuss, escalating from whimpers into full-blown crying in a matter of seconds. Her face reddens, tears falling down her chubby cheeks. If it were me holding a screaming infant, I would panic and hand it right back, but Violet simply stands up and starts patting her back, swaying on the spot. When that doesn’t work, she offers her a pacifier and begins to gently shush her. After a minute or so, the combination does the trick and Abigail settles against her shoulder, eyelids growing heavy.
“I didn’t know you were a baby whisperer.”
Violet turns to me, her expression verging on bashful. “I’m not, I just babysit for my sister a lot. With Michael in the military, he’s gone for long stretches at a time.”
“Sounds like it would be hard.” There’s a laundry list of reasons I don’t think having kids is a good idea, and this is one—I’ll be on the road for games half the time. Sticking someone else with that much of the workload doesn’t seem fair.
The reasons extend far beyond that, though.
“Yes and no.” Violet lifts her shoulder, a subtle half-shrug so she doesn’t jostle Abigail. “I’m sure it isn’t easy, but Grace is basically Wonder Woman. Plus, she’s got me and my parents. We make sure she gets a break so she doesn’t get too burnt out.”
I wonder what it’s like to have family that actually gives a shit. It seems nice.
Grace breezes back into the room, her light blonde curls pulled back in a low ponytail. “Thanks, Vi. I can take her if you want.”
“Are you kidding me?” Violet clutches Abigail dramatically, pivoting out of reach. “No way. I’m going to soak up all the new baby smell I can.”
“Suit yourself,” Grace says. “Mom said she needs help with the salad, so if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to drown myself in a giant glass of Rosé with her in the kitchen.”
The sight of Violet holding the baby does something to me. She looks so natural with her, so caring and maternal.
What the fuck is wrong with me? I’m twenty-one. I don’t want a baby any time soon, if ever. Probably never. I’m sure that would be for the best for all parties involved. I didn’t exactly have a shining example in my own father. While I like to think I don’t take after him, I’m pretty sure I’d manage to screw up my kid like he did.
Violet notices me watching her and catches my eye. She crosses the room to me, still holding the baby nestled against her chest.
“Sleepy baby snuggles are the best kind.” She leans her cheek against Abby’s downy hair, exhaling and closing her eyes. For a minute, she looks completely blissed out. She reopens her eyes, fixing me with a hopeful look. “Want to hold her?”
“I’ve never held a baby.” Kids and I get along great, but babies are like alien creatures to me. I have zero experience with them.
She smiles and shifts Abby in her arms, offering her to me. “It’s pretty easy. Just support her head and the neck like I did.”
Abby stirs in the transfer process and low-level panic rises within me. If she starts crying again, she’s going straight back to Violet. But instead, her tiny fingers bunch up the fabric of my shirt, making a fist, and she lets out a little sigh, turning her head toward my chest. Violet’s right, new babies do smell good.
Okay, fine. I don’t completely hate it.
The baby-holding goes well for about ten minutes, at which point she starts to fuss again, and Violet deems her hungry based on the way she’s sucking fervently on her tiny little fist. Giving her a bottle is way above my paygrade, so I pass her back to Violet. It turns out to be good timing, because my phone vibrates with a text from Doug a split second later. His timing leaves much to be desired, but at least he isn’t calling.
Excusing myself, I slip into the bathroom to reply. He immediately writes back criticizing me for not coming home for Thanksgiving. I clench my phone, jaw following suit until my teeth grind together so hard I think my molars might crack. Really? He’s in the middle of Thanksgiving with his girlfriend Shannon’s family, and this is what he’s doing? Even holidays aren’t sacred. Then again, he’s probably several drinks deep.
We go back and forth for a few minutes until I finally manage to shut him down, but not before he gets into my head about the game next weekend. I know the stakes are high; I don’t need to be reminded of that.
When I walk back into the living room, Violet pulls me aside, her eyes searching my face. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m good. My dad texted me Happy Thanksgiving, that’s all.”
Her mouth tugs into a slight frown, seemingly unconvinced. “All right. Dinner’s ready.”
