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“Could someone please fetch our baker a drink?” a voice calls out.
But I can’t have a cocktail.
“She seems a bit tense today,” another voice remarks.
Perhaps I am tense today.
My gaze settles on the women at the table. They haven’t let the matter go; they’re still watching me, waiting for my response. Little do they know they’re poking a hornet’s nest. If I keep reacting like this, they’ll start suspecting there’s more to it. In fact, I’m the juiciest gossip they don’t even know they’re staring at. So I have to keep it together. I force a smile, summoning one that could rival any game show hostess’s.
“Oh, absolutely! Randy Thorn is an incredible chef,” I exclaim with feigned enthusiasm. Then I fabricate, “My top priority will be to get him on your show if he returns to us. But before we get into that, let me share what I have in mind for this!” I proudly display a large handful of mint.
All eyes shift to my hand, prompting me to take a closer look as well. Goodness gracious. I’ve inadvertently uprooted the entire plant. Yet I maintain composure and smoothly transition into detailing my plans for a mint, blackberry, and cayenne drizzle to elevate the flavors of my scones.
Joyce stifles a yawn, while Linda hurriedly glances at her phone. The only person who seems genuinely engaged, rather than glazed over in boredom as I detail my baking process, is my mom. The other ladies always seem uninterested in the baking portion, preferring to get straight to the tasting. Nevertheless, I’ve successfully shifted the conversation away from Randy. Five minutes later, when I hand the spotlight back to them, they move to a new topic, discussing the expenses and efforts involved in transforming their children’s former bedrooms into hobby rooms. As Joyce puts it, “After Mike left, I needed a hobby.”
I’m pretty sure she did.
* * *
The empty nesters who lunch have departed, slightly tipsy and patting themselves on the back from all the comments by fans gushing about today’s show. The hosts will be back on Tuesday, but thankfully, my segment is only once a week. It was brutal for me today. Of course I’ve participated in their discussions in the past, but this is the first time I had something to hide.
I’d rather go straight home to avoid my parents, who are looking at me as if they suspect something is off, but I have a whole boatload of laundry to finish. I think I’ve reached the point in life where I should search for a bigger place to live, one with a washer and dryer, an en suite bathroom, at least two bedrooms, and a backyard. I must prepare my life to comfortably accept a child who will be here in almost seven months.
“Hey, you,” my mom says, poking her head into the laundry room.
Her sudden appearance makes me jump. “Hey,” I reply.
She steps in and kisses me on the temple. “Sorry to startle you.”
“It’s fine,” I manage to say, fighting back a surge of emotions stirred by her kiss and tone of voice.
Dressed in a blue and white Raglan T-shirt and faded jeans, my mom leans against the cabinets, crossing her arms. She always changes into something more comfortable after the show. Now she exudes a casual and relaxed vibe as she asks, “Are you not feeling well today?”
The dryer’s buzz signals the completion of my final load. In that moment, I ponder how much easier it might be to just tell my mom I’m pregnant. However, considering her agreement with the others about the chemistry between Randy and Deanna at the table today, it doesn’t seem like the right time. I think it’s better to wait until Randy’s show isn’t the main topic of conversation in town.
With a forced smile, I open the dryer door and assure her. “I feel A-okay, Mom.”
Her gaze lingers on me, as if she’s trying to read between the lines of my feigned composure.
“You know you can come to me with anything,” she offers, her maternal instinct likely in overdrive.
“I know,” I respond, transferring the warm laundry onto the folding table.
“I apologize for the unexpected detour into the world of Chef Thorn and Deanna Blume. I couldn’t help but notice a certain spark between you two. Has that been sorted out?”
Her question catches me off guard, leaving my mouth hanging open in disbelief. With her expectant raised eyebrows, it’s clear she doesn’t miss much.
Now I find myself needing to steer the conversation in a different direction, and fast. “Randy and I are simply friends,” I blurt out, though thoughts of my impending motherhood linger in the back of my mind. Technically, it’s not a lie. If we’re to navigate co-parenting in the future, friendship would certainly be beneficial. “But let’s talk about Mike Nelson.”
My tactic seems to work, as she raises her head slightly, indicating that I’ve successfully diverted her attention from Randy.
“Mom, you’ve always encouraged me to explore new avenues, to be bold in pursuit of happiness,” I say, hoping to sway her. “You know Mike and the others could really use your support, especially with their own mothers. Joyce was particularly tough on him today.”
My mom furrows her eyebrows, considering my plea.
Now that I’ve got her attention, I press on, seizing the moment. “What they said about Lacy’s boyfriend last week wasn’t kind either. Few people my age have it all figured out these days, including myself. When my time comes, how will you react?”
Her expression shifts suddenly, and a hint of concern flickers in her eyes. Perhaps I’ve revealed too much.
