Page 117 of The Trouble with Flings

“Fitz?” my mother says with surprise, striding toward us, smiling excitedly. “I thought that was you.”

Shit. This is not how I wanted them to find out about the baby. Jennifer doesn’t need to go through what is probably one of the scariest moments of her recent life in public. “Mom. Dad. What are you doing here?” Jennifer steps back, but I keep her close with one arm around her.

My father glances at the cribs and says, “I was about to ask you the same thing.”

As I try to come up with an excuse, I say, “Jennifer, these are my parents, Margot and Alexander.”

“I’ve been looking forward to meeting you,” my mother says, leaning in to hug her.

“Thanks. I have, too,” Jennifer says, but she appears a little shell-shocked. “Fitz has told me a lot about you.”

“I’m not sure if I should say it’s all lies or he lies well,” my father jokes, and gives her a gentle hug. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Fitz, honey.” My mother touches my arm and says, “You finally get Jennifer to visit, and you take her furniture shopping?”

“I probably should’ve spent more time teaching him about romance and less about business,” my father says conspiratorially to my mother.

“We’re looking for a gift for one of Jen’s friends who’s having a baby.” The lie rolls off my tongue smoothly, but it feels wrong on my chest.

My mother’s eyebrows lift, but she doesn’t push. “Well, Bob’s the best furniture maker on the island. If anyone can make something special, it’s him.”

“We should know,” my father says. “He’s made most of ours.”

“What are you buying today?” I ask.

“A kitchen chair,” my father answers.

“Again?” I ask. “Didn’t you break one a few months ago? What the heck are you two doing with those chairs?”

My parents exchange a loaded glance, and my mother presses her lips together, her cheeks pinking up.

Jesus. I suddenly regret asking. I clear my throat, pretending not to notice, but the mental image of my parents fooling around on the chairs we sit on is now permanently etched into my brain. And worse, Jennifer’s lips are twitching like she’s also figured out that my parents are having sex all over their house and is stifling a laugh. Great.

“Forget I asked,” I say.

“Forgotten,” my mother says, and then she asks Jennifer if she’s been to Seaport before, and Jennifer tells her about renting a room there last summer. My mother parlays that into a conversation about Silver Haven and how I should show Jennifer the resort. Jennifer tells her she’s stayed there before but would love to see it again.

“We’ll get there,” I promise, but my mother is already onto another topic, asking Jennifer about her job.

Jennifer is in her element, talking about the ups and downs of her job, though I notice her excitement doesn’t dim even as she lists the downsides.

“Did you hear that, honey?” My mother touches my father’s arm and says, “I bet Jennifer could help with Estelle’s grandson, Holden.” She turns to Jennifer. “He’s fifteen and as surly as the day is long. Last week they caught him vandalizing the school bathroom. His mother, Erin, is at her wit’s end.”

“Careful opening up that can of worms, Margot,” my father warns. “You’re liable to scare Jennifer off.”

“I don’t scare easily, and surly teenagers are kind of my specialty,” Jennifer says. “I’d be happy to talk with his mother.”

My mother tosses my father a triumphant look.

As she and Jennifer chat, my father steps beside me and lowers his voice to say, “She’s really something, son.”

“She sure is,” I say.

A few minutes later, my mother says, “We’ll get out of your hair so you kids can shop for that present. Jennifer, we’ll catch up tomorrow at the Easter egg hunt. Fitz said you’ll be staying for brunch after the event?”

“Yes.” Jennifer glances at me, her eyes full of worry.

She hates lies as much as I do. I take her hand, a silent reassurance that we’ll get through this.