Chapter 20

TAMMY

The customer stood in front of the register, fluffing her newly trimmed hair.

"You look wonderful," I said, swiping her card.

"Thank you," the woman said. "My grandnephew is having a birthday, and the whole family will be there."

"Be careful you don't steal the thunder from the birthday boy," I teased.

"Go on." She blushed, accepting her card back.

When she left, the store was empty, just me and Lindsey. Ava, the other hairdresser, was on her break. I liked these little lulls in the traffic flow, but I understood Lindsey would rather be making money. I started opening the mail, just to keep busy. Lindsey sat down in the waiting area to rest her feet. I realized she hadn't had a break all day.

"So how are things going with Mike?" she asked.

I set the mail down. "Okay, sort of."

"What does ‘sort of' mean?"

"Well, we're going to Mike's parents for dinner. I've already met his dad. Now I'm supposed to meet his mom."

"And that scares you because it's a big step?" Lindsey guessed.

I nodded. "It is a big step. Mike says that his mom is really critical, and they don't get along well. But there's something else. There's something that he's not telling me."

"Like what?" She sat forward.

"I don't know," I puzzled. "His dad let something slip about Mike's ‘bad-boy past.' And I met an old friend of his a few days ago, and there was something they were trying real hard not to say."

"Maybe you need to sit him down after your dinner and ask him to tell you the truth," Lindsey suggested.

I flinched. "I can't."

"Why not?"

"I have my own secret. If he told me his, I would have to tell him mine, and I'm not ready to do that yet." I squirmed.

"Do you mind my asking?" Lindsey pressed.

"I'm pregnant," I obliged.

"Oh my God!" Lindsey sat straight up. She leapt to her feet and pulled me into a hug. "Congratulations! This is going to change so many things. Of course, you'll come back to work after the baby?"

"Of course," I answered, just now realizing that I could have been more tactful in telling my boss I was expecting.

Lindsey dropped the hug and stepped back. "You haven't told him?"

I shook my head. "I'm scared. We haven't known each other that long. What if he doesn't want to be a father?"

"Oh honey," Lindsey clucked sympathetically, "I know exactly what you're going through. I was afraid to tell Jason that I was pregnant with Mary Ellen, and he found out in the worst possible way. You just need to rip the Band-Aid off, look him straight in the eye, and blurt it out. There are not many good ways to break the news, but you don't want it to come out in a bad situation."

I nodded. "I will."

"Tonight?" Lindsey encouraged.

I sighed. "Yes."

"It has to be done," she reminded me.

I nodded again. Now I felt twice as guilty for not saying anything. Not only was Mike going to be affected by the news, but now my boss would be expecting progress. Don't get me wrong, Lindsey was a great friend, but it was obvious she had the business in mind when I spilled my secret. I couldn't be a flake where my job was concerned. I was going to have to tell Mike tonight.

Ipicked out the best blouse in my closet, holding it up to my chest. It was salmon colored with a collar. Unlike Lindsey, I didn't know a great deal about fashion. Case in point, I had to borrow clothes for my first two dates with Mike. I slipped the blouse on and looked at myself in the mirror. Paired with jeans, the fancy top made me look like I cared enough to dress up, but I was still a casual girl at heart.

I went to find Mike in the living room and model my choices. He nodded his appreciation. "Better than that little skirt you wore on our second date."

"Really?" I tilted my head.

He held out one hand, encouraging me to take it. When I did, he pulled me down onto his lap. "You look beautiful whatever you're wearing, but this looks more like you."

I blushed. "I borrowed the whole outfit from Lindsey."

"I suspected," he said. "And the little black dress?"

"That was Macy's," I confirmed.

He kissed my shoulder, avoiding my mouth because we only had a few minutes left.

"But if I hadn't worn the black dress, would you even have noticed me?" I asked playfully.

"Yes," he said without hesitation. "There was only one gorgeous woman from Austin trying to get laid that night. And I was lucky enough to go home with her." He squeezed me around the waist, setting off alarm bells in my mind.

I gently detached myself from his embrace and stood up. "We'll be late."

"Right." He stood, wearing exactly what he had been wearing all day.

He obviously felt no desire to impress or dress to the occasion. I wondered if I was the only one who was nervous but discarded that idea as soon as it occurred. Mike was so obviously anxious about tonight, when I found him in the living room he had just been sitting on the couch. No TV, no phone, no book or anything, just sitting on the couch, staring at the wall. I remembered his father and how affectionate he had been. Surely, his mom couldn't be that bad.

We climbed into Mike's truck and made the short trip back to the lumberyard. Mike helped me out of the cab, and we walked hand in hand to the front door. He rang the doorbell, whispering, "I usually go to the kitchen door. And I usually don't knock."

I squeezed his hand for luck, facing the most daunting closed door I had seen in a while. This felt like a job interview or a doctor's appointment. Whatever was going to happen inside was likely to be unpleasant, but I would have to soldier on, pretending that it was all in good fun. I could feel my palms beginning to sweat, wrapped around Mike's knuckles. I dropped his hand and wiped mine on my jeans.

Just then, the door opened, and a stout older woman in an old-fashioned dress answered. Her face broke into a smile, and I felt relief wash over me. She waved me forward into a hug, and I wondered if Mike had been talking about the same woman.

"It's so good to meet you," Mrs. Newbury gushed, stepping aside so we could enter.

"Mom." Mike planted a kiss on top of her head.

"Would you like some coffee or tea?" the woman asked.

"Coffee," both Mike and I said in unison. We glanced at each other, sharing one surprising moment that helped to disperse a lot of the tension.

"Please, have a seat." Mike's mom led us to an immaculate room with a couch and two high-backed chairs.

Mike found my hand again and squeezed it before his mom left the room. "We never sit in here," he whispered.

I could tell that was true. The couch and the chairs were white, the carpet plush and untouched. The photographs on the wall showed a happy family of three in various places. Mike holding a trophy on a football field, the family holding fishing poles near a lake, the family at Disneyland. Some expensive knickknacks adorned a table and a bookshelf in the corner. There was a delicately painted flower vase with plastic flowers, a tiny music box shaped like a piano, and a dish of potpourri.

I sidestepped the couch and went to the bookcase, picking up the music box. "My grandmother had something like this," I said, winding the crank. A moment later, high-pitched music filled the space.

Mike stared in awe. "I had no idea it did that."

I laughed.

Mike's parents came back into the room, his mom carrying a tray with four mugs and a miniature milk pitcher. I hurried back to the couch, unable to stop the music from playing. Mike's dad scooped me up into another one of his bear hugs. I laughed, nearly all of my anxiety forgotten.

"You found the music box," Mrs. Newbury said.

I settled onto the couch beside Mike. "My grandmother had one when I was a child."

"Chopin's minute waltz," Mrs. Newbury responded proudly. I wasn't exactly sure what that meant but guessed she was naming the song.

"Where did you get it?" I asked to make conversation.

Mr. Newbury leaned forward to help himself to a cup. Mike followed, stiff and formal.

"My mother," Mrs. Newbury answered.

There was a pause as we all sipped our coffee.

"How's the cabin working out?" Mr. Newbury asked.

"Good," both Mike and I said together. We broke out laughing. Something about the situation had us on the same page.

"Well, you two seem to be well suited," Mike's mom replied. I couldn't put my finger on it, but her tone suggested that wasn't exactly a compliment.

"Um, we put our computers in the basement," Mike offered.

"Really?" his dad asked.

"Yeah." I picked up the thread. "We don't have the money for a pool table or another living room set yet."

We finished our coffee in the parlor and moved to the dining room for dinner. Mike held me back as we walked through the house. "My mom's pulling out all the stops. We never eat in the dining room."

Again, I could see why. A massive chandelier descended from the ceiling to just a few feet above the center of the table. The table itself was a rectangular slab of oak, coated with so many layers of sealant that it reflected the light from above. A lace tablecloth was flung over the center, leaving a tasteful amount of the wood exposed. Four place settings adorned the head and sides of the table. Mike and I were destined to sit opposite each other, and it was difficult maneuvering into place because the room was much too small. On all sides, the table nearly brushed the walls, leaving precious little space to pull your chair out.

The whole scene left me with the impression that Mike's mother very much aspired to be someone richer and more important than she was. Either that or she was stuck so far back in the past that people actually had formal dining rooms and parlors. It seemed like a lot of wasted living space in a house, but I kept my mouth shut.

She served meatloaf with tiny potatoes and boiled carrots. It was a good homecooked meal, and I made sure to compliment each component. Things were going fairly well. I thought I was getting through the ordeal and that Mike's mom seemed to like me. The conversation took an abrupt turn when we had all finished.

"I made some pie." Mrs. Newbury stood up to clear the plates.

"Let me help," I said, scootching out of my chair.

"No, sit down." Mike's dad stood up.

"When I visited Mike in prison, he said he missed my apple pie." Mrs. Newbury collected my plate from in front of me, seemingly oblivious to the bomb she had just dropped.

"Prison?" I asked.

Mike shot to his feet. "You promised!"

Mrs. Newbury set the plates back down on the table. "And you promised to tell her."

"Tell me what?" I breathed in shock.

"Come on, Tammy." Mike threw his napkin onto his plate and squeezed out of the room.

I stood up, unsure what was going on.

"We're going!" Mike shouted from the freedom of the living room.

I popped free of the dining room, inching past Mike's dad as he stood bewildered. "You didn't tell her?" He turned, following us out.

"It's my decision!" Mike snapped, livid beyond anything I had seen before.

"She deserves to know!" Mike's mom appeared in the living room, chasing us to the door.

"It was nice meeting you." I waved, trying to repair the situation, even though I knew it was hopeless.

"Give him a chance, Tammy," Mike's dad called out before the door slammed shut.

I followed Mike to the truck, my thoughts racing. Prison? So that's what he had been hiding. And maybe Porter was involved somehow, like maybe they had served time together. That would explain all the pointed glances and things left unsaid. Now that I knew, I was surprised to discover that it didn't really change anything. Yes, I was angry at him for keeping such a big secret, but I wasn't afraid of him. Without knowing any of the specifics, I was sure his crime hadn't been a horrible one. If he had been convicted of theft or getting carried away in a bar fight, it didn't change my understanding of him as a gentle, caring man.

At the moment, however, he was livid. He didn't help me into my seat, slamming the driver's door and starting the car before I had a chance to buckle up. He roared out of the driveway, saying nothing all the way home. I could see that his mom had broken his confidence, but she had done so with me in mind. She had been right—he should have told me. He should have found a way to work it into the conversation that first night so I could have made my decision with all the facts.

I wasn't sure how that would have worked. Hey, baby, I'm just outta prison, do you want to come back to my place? I blushed at my own internal conversation, thinking that actually might have been hot. But how could I sort out my feelings enough to put them into words? There was anger at being lied to. He had spent that entire brunch with Porter dancing around the subject, taking great pains to hide it from me. I was also hurt because his actions seemed to indicate that he thought I wouldn't support him.

I was relieved to finally know the truth but also nervous that there was more to the story. What was the reason he had gone to prison? Were we in danger? Was there some part of his past that could come back to haunt us? And finally, I was terrified of what Mike's revelation meant for our future. I knew he had a history of short-term relationships. What if children weren't on his radar, and he refused to be a part of my life anymore? I didn't think I could bear the heartbreak.

When we turned off the road and onto our private drive, I glanced over at him. He was frowning, still laser focused on his driving. He parked the truck, climbed out, and stalked into the house. I snarled, pregnant with his child and left out in the cold.

"Hey!" I shouted upon arrival in the living room. "What the hell happened back there?"

"I didn't…" He raised one hand in protest, looking past me to the door.

"Didn't what?" I snapped. "Want your mom to tell me your secret?"

He clamped his jaw shut, turning to pace the length of the kitchen. "You have something—"

"Don't make this about me," I interrupted him. "Why were you in prison?"

He stopped moving and turned to look at me, pain overwhelming his features. "I'm not ready to tell you."

"Why not?" I quieted my voice, stepping closer. "Do you think I'll judge you? I can already tell you're not a murderer or a rapist."

"God no," he swore, turning away. "It's a long story."

"I'm going to be here all night," I said.

He pressed his lips together, hardening his heart. "I can't."

"Fine." I gave up, pushing past him to my own room.

The night wasn't turning out anything like I had planned. For a moment there, I had been comfortable in his family home. There was so much I wanted to tell him, but I needed to be able to trust him. If he couldn't come clean with me, how could I possibly start a life with him? This baby might have brought us together forever, but now it seemed like a bad omen. What if we never got past this? Our child would grow up never knowing a loving home. I threw myself down on the bed and sobbed.