Fourth of July
“On a scale of one to I’m-ready-to-jump-out-of-this-speeding-truck, where are you on the freak-out scale?”
Sabrina jerks her head away from the car window. She’s been staring at the Boston scenery as if she’s never seen it before, never mind that she’s lived here her whole life.
“You can tell I’m anxious?” She grimaces, her pouty lips flattening out.
“Your fingers are white, so either you’re suffering from a serious condition that needs immediate medical attention or you’re squeezing the blood out of them intentionally.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see her slowly uncurl her fingers until they’re straight and pink again.
“I’ve never met a guy’s parents before,” she admits, fiddling with the radio station.
“Good thing there’s only one,” I joke. Then her words sink in. “Wait—never?”
I remember her telling me she’s never had a boyfriend before, but I took that to mean college. Sabrina is gorgeous. If I saw her in high school, I would’ve laid in front of her locker every day until she agreed to go out with me.
It all makes sense now, why she’s been so on edge ever since I told her that my mom was coming up to meet her. At first, we tried to make a plan for Sabrina and me to fly to Texas, but the cost of two plane tickets and a rental car didn’t make sense, even though it meant Mom rescheduling a few appointments. Besides, turns out a lot of airlines balk at pregnant women flying. I guess they aren’t really keen on deliveries happening on board.
The bonus about staying in town is that I’m able to work this holiday weekend and get some of that extra time and a half that Sabrina’s always bragging about. I’ve been working part-time on a construction crew in the city and making decent money, which is awesome because I’m trying not to dip into my savings unless I absolutely have to.
“I already told you,” Sabrina mumbles from the passenger side. “No boyfriends.”
Abandoning the radio, she sits back with a sigh. Her stomach is big enough that she can’t even cross her arms unless she rests them on top of the bump. Which is not a shelf, she’s reminded me more than once.
“Thought you meant college. Were the boys in your high school deaf, dumb and blind?”
“No. They chased after me, but I didn’t have time for them.” She absently reaches down and rubs the curve of her stomach.
Every time I look at her, I’m struck anew with awe at the fact that my little girl is inside of her body. It also makes me fucking horny as hell. Thank Christ we’re having regular sex again.
“I was constantly hustling for scholarship money,” she goes on. “Working almost full-time at the post office since I was sixteen. In the summers I waited tables at night and worked at the post office during the day. Guys were…unnecessary. Other than, you know,” she waves vaguely toward her crotch. “Plus they didn’t know what to do with their equipment in high school. I was better off taking care of myself at home.”
My dick twitches against my zipper. The idea of her playing with herself makes me light-headed, and I have to wait a moment until some of the blood migrates back up to my brain.
“What about you? Did you date a lot in high school? Were you homecoming king?” she teases.
“Nope. I dated three girls. And homecoming kings in Texas are always football players.”
“You didn’t play football?”
“Not after ninth grade. I played hockey year round. Coach Death’s rink was an hour north and I’d drive there pretty much every day.”
“So tell me about these three girls.”
“You’re that desperate for a distraction?”
“Yes,” she says eagerly.
I tap my fingers against the wheel, pulling up my dusty memories. “I dated Emma Hopkins in seventh grade until she got asked to the homecoming dance by a ninth grader. After that, she was only interested in older men.”
“This is fascinating. Tell me more.”
I grin. I can suffer a little personal embarrassment if it keeps her from worrying about meeting Mom.
“June Anderson was my ninth grade crush. We had nearly all of our classes together, but the clincher was that she could tie a cherry stem into a knot with her tongue. At ninth grade, that was up there with a tightrope walk across the Grand Canyon.”
Sabrina laughs. “I think for some guys it still ranks as one of humanity’s greatest achievements. I bet Brody lists it as a requirement for hooking up with him.”
Her scornful tone doesn’t go unnoticed. The first time that Sabrina and Brody had met didn’t go well. It started with him suggesting that her pussy would be destroyed by childbirth and ended with her telling him that regardless of the state of her lady garden, he’d still never be invited to see it.
“That guy is such a douche,” she grumbles. “Is it terrible living with him?”
Yep.
“I’ve had better roommates.” Glumly, I think about the awesome time I had in college with Dean, Logan, and Garrett.
My problem with Brody isn’t that he’s a horndog who chases skirts from the moment he gets up until he passes out at night. I mean, my old roommates slept around regularly. Hell, even I had my share of shenanigans, including a booze-soaked foursome one crazy New Year’s Eve. It’s hard not to go a little nuts when you’re playing hockey at the level we were playing. There was a non-stop stream of girls in the house.
And yet even having experienced three sets of tits rubbing up against me and three tongues on my dick, I’d still pick Sabrina over a drunken orgy any day. That’s not really a thing I can tell a girl, though. Not even Hallmark can make a greeting card that conveys the message that you once banged three chicks at the same time, but none of them are as good as her.
Brody’s problem is that he has zero respect for the opposite sex.
“Does he really refuse to take selfies with a girl, or was he making that up to toy with me?” Sabrina asks.
“No, that’s a real thing for him. He thinks that any pictures of him with a girl pressed up to his side would drive other potential hookups away. Selfies are a sign of commitment.” He’d expounded on this topic at some length after instructing me to keep my Tinder account active and to not tell anyone I was having a kid.
“Ugh. He’s so gross.”
“I signed up for a fake Instagram account so I can troll him. When he posts something, I’ll wait a day or so and then pop on to comment about how cool it is that he and my grandpa are rocking the same shirt. I’ve done that twice now and each time, I’ve seen him shoving the shirt down the apartment’s trash compactor.”
Sabrina throws back her head and cackles. “You do not.”
“Hey, we all have to get our jollies somewhere, right? For me, it’s negging Brody on Instagram and choking my baby mama in breathing classes.”
She laughs even harder, her belly bouncing up and down. I reach over and stroke the curve myself. It feels good to see her laughing again.
“Mom’s going to love you,” I assure her. “You’ll see.”
*
Mom hates her.
Or at least, she’s doing a good job of hiding her love. The initial meeting wasn’t so bad. We picked Mom up at the Holiday Inn and drove her back to my apartment, which is thankfully free of Brody at the moment. He and Hollis are celebrating the Fourth in New Hampshire with their family.
On the ride over, Mom and Sabrina had chatted awkwardly, but the tension had been manageable.
Now, that tension is damn near suffocating me.
“Where do you live, Sabrina?” Mom asks as she surveys my two-bedroom apartment.
“With my nana and stepfather.”
“Hmmm.”
Sabrina winces at this obvious lack of approval.
I shoot Mom an irritated glance. “Sabrina’s saving money so her debt won’t be too big when she gets out of law school.”
Mom raises a brow. “And how much debt will that be?”
“Too much,” Sabrina jokes.
“I hope you don’t expect John to pay it off for you.”
“Of course not,” Sabrina exclaims.
“Mom!” I say at the same time.
“What? I’m looking out for you, baby. Just as you’ll be tasked with looking out for your daughter.” She tips her head toward Sabrina’s belly.
Sabrina smiles tightly and decides to change the subject. “I wish we’d been able to come to Patterson. I bet it’s a great place to raise children. You certainly did an amazing job with Tucker.”
Sincerity bleeds out of every word, and even my mother can hear it. Thankfully, she softens slightly. “Yes, it’s a wonderful place. And they have a delightful Fourth of July picnic. This year, Emma Hopkins was the organizer.”
“Your old girlfriend, Tuck,” Sabrina teases on her way to the refrigerator. “We should’ve tried harder to fly down.”
“The airline wouldn’t let us. Besides, we can get drunk and shoot off bottle rockets here, and it’ll be just like we were there,” I say dryly. “Speaking of drinking—Mom, you want a glass of wine?”
“Red, please,” she says, settling into a stool at the counter.
Sabrina pulls out the beef patties she’d carefully constructed earlier today. I’m more than capable of cooking, but she wouldn’t allow me to lift a finger. Everything from the potato salad to the baked beans had been prepared by her.
We manage to make it halfway through dinner without any hostility, as Sabrina asks Mom a ton of questions about Patterson, Mom’s salon business, and even Dad. It’s the stuff about my father that really gets my mother talking.
“He said his car broke down, but I don’t believe him,” she declares between bites of her burger.
Sabrina’s eyes widen. “You think he faked it so he could stay there and get to know you?”
My mother smirks. “I don’t think so. I know so.”
I’ve heard the story a thousand times, but it’s as entertaining this time as it ever was. More so, actually, because this time Sabrina’s the audience and she doesn’t believe in love. But Mom’s devotion to my father is unmistakable.
“John Senior, Tucker’s dad, admitted to it when I got pregnant with Tucker. He said he pulled the spark plug out of the car and that he got the idea from watching The Sound of Music with his mama. I even asked Bill—he’s the local mechanic—who confirmed that the only thing wrong with John’s car was a missing plug.”
“That’s the most romantic story I’ve ever heard.”
I don’t miss the way Sabrina is pushing the salad around on her plate. For the most part, she’s done a good job of hiding her ongoing nervousness, but her lack of appetite is a dead giveaway. I make a mental note to fix up a plate for her after I take care of the dishes.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” Sabrina adds, her tone soft with sympathy.
“Thank you, sweetie.”
I smile to myself. Mom’s definitely thawed.
Sabrina turns to me. “How old were you when your father passed? Was it three or four?”
“Three,” I confirm, popping a potato chunk in my mouth.
“That’s so young.” She makes an absent pass of her hand along her stomach.
“You didn’t know?” Mom interjects, the chill back in her voice.
“No, I knew,” Sabrina fumbles. “I just forgot the exact age.”
“Have the two of you talked about anything important, or is it simply a physical thing? Because you certainly can’t raise a child on lust alone.”
“Mom,” I say sharply. “We’ve talked about important things.”
“Will you be living together? How will you share finances? Who will take care of your child when you’re in class?”
Sabrina gets a hunted look in her eyes. “I—I… My nana is helping out.”
“John says she’s reluctant. I’m not sure a reluctant caregiver is a good one.”
Sabrina aims a glare of betrayal in my direction.
“I said we didn’t know what kind of help she’d offer.” I lay down my fork. “It’ll all work out.” This is directed to both of them, but neither take it well.
“You can’t raise a child flying by the seat of your pants, John. I know you want to do the right thing. You always do, but in this case, if the two of you can’t take care of it, you should think about other options. Have you considered adoption?”
Sabrina’s face goes ashen at the implied insult that she’s not up to being a mother.
I reach for her. “Sabrina, it’s going to work out—”
But she’s already darting out of the kitchen, a sob catching in her throat as she mutters something that sounds like bathroom and sorry. Her feet slap against the wood floors as she moves faster than an eight-month pregnant woman should.
I jump out of my chair. “Sabrina—”
“Give her some time,” Mom says behind me.
A door slams, and I flinch at the sharp sound. I start for the doorway and then stop in the middle of the kitchen and spin around.
“Sabrina’s a good person,” I say gruffly. “And she’s going to make a good mother. And even if she was the worst, you’d still have to accept her because that kid in her stomach is half of me.”
This time it’s my mother’s face that blanches. “Is that a threat?” Her voice quivers.
I drag an agitated hand through my hair. “No. But there’s no need for us to be on opposite sides of the ice here. We’re all on the same team.”
Mom tilts her chin up defiantly. “That remains to be seen.”
I shake my head in disappointment before heading down the hallway to see if Sabrina is still talking to me.
Her eyes are red when she opens the bathroom door. “I’m sorry about running out like that.”
“It’s fine, darlin’.” I push her inside and shut the door behind me. She lets me gather her close—or as close as we can get with a bowling ball between us. “You’re going to be a great mom. I believe in you.”
Her body feels slight despite the weight she’s gained. “Don’t be mad at your mother,” she whispers against my chest. “She’s looking out for you. She wants what’s best for you. I know that.”
“She’ll come around.” But I sound a hell of a lot more confident than I feel.
