Page 105 of Big D!ck Energy

My parents were... my parents.

Mom swept in wearing a floral dress. She surveyed Dallas's house, our house, like someone cataloging reasons for concern.

“Interesting choice,” she said, which could have meant anything from lovely space to I'm calling the health department.

“Thanks, Mom.”

“The kitchen is nice.” Her gaze landed on Dallas, traveled the full length of him, and returned to me with raised eyebrows. “And this is the man you've been hiding?”

“I haven't been hiding anything.”

“You've been hiding something, Davina. You always have that look when you're hiding something.” She turned to Dallas. “I'm Margaret. Davina's mother. I assume you know who I am.”

“I've heard wonderful things,” Dallas said smoothly.

“Lies, probably.” But she was almost smiling. “You're very large.”

“I get that a lot.”

“I imagine you do.”

My father, bless him, simply shook Dallas's hand, said “Nice to meet you, son,” and joined Richard at the cheese board. Men of few words, united by their love of aged cheddar.

Dinner was an exercise in controlled chaos. I'd made pasta because pasta was safe. Everyone loved pasta.

“So,” Linda said, setting down her wine glass. “Is anyone going to explain why we've all been summoned for this dinner party with such urgency?”

Silence fell like a hammer.

Across the table, Delilah's expression remained carefully neutral. Austin had suddenly become fascinated with his napkin. Cheyanne was attempting to communicate something to Dallas through a series of eyebrow movements.

Dallas's hand found mine under the table. Squeezed once.

“We have an announcement,” he said.

My mother's face cycled through seven expressions in approximately two seconds, landing on something between hope and horror. “You're pregnant.”

“What? No…”

“I knew it. I knew there was a reason you've been glowing. The glow. I told your father about the glow.”

“There's no glow, Mom…”

“There's definitely a glow,” Kali contributed unhelpfully.

“There's no baby glow,” I clarified, feeling my face heat. “That's not what this is about.”

“Then what is it about?” My father asked the question calmly.

Dallas and I exchanged a look.

“We got married,” I said.

The silence that followed was so complete I could hear Ricky breathing from his position under the table, where he'd been systematically stealing scraps.

Linda spoke first. “I'm sorry, could you repeat that?”

“We got married. Three weeks ago. In Vegas.”