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“But I don’t know what to do during the summer,” I groan, running a hand through my tangled hair. “Hunter will be preparing for his internship and Alex will be doing more modeling work around the globe. Seth has been pulling more and more shifts and is rarely around, which leaves me and Lucas.”
“We can help,” Lauren says while sharing a look with Charlie.
Charlie makes a face. “Huh?”
Lauren nods. “I don’t leave until the end of the summer anyway. When do you leave for New York, Charlie?”
Charlie’s frown deepens. She looks between us. I can tell babysitting is the last thing she had in mind for this summer. She was probably hoping to spend her last few months of freedom before joining the job market basking in the sun and going to parties.
Finally, Charlie murmurs, “August.”
“See?” Lauren beams. “You have us to help.”
“Or you could tell Seth to reduce his hours,” Charlie mutters.
“You don’t have to,” I say, watching Charlie’s worries dissipate. “I wouldn’t want to ruin your summer.”
“Oh, not at all. I love babies,” Lauren says joyfully.
Charlie wrinkles her nose and doesn’t say anything. I’m not surprised. She’s been supportive of me during my pregnancy, and has been there when I’ve worried about mothering. However, I’ve noticed she’s always awkward when I hand Maria to her. I don’t think Charlie dislikes Maria, I think she’s just not around little ones all that much, so she doesn’t know what to do. I don’t blame her. When I brought Maria home, I was terrified and didn’t know what to do either.
It would have been nice to have a mom around to help, to advise me, to show me the way.
“Well, one of the reasons why I was late,” I start while taking out the evil invitation burning a hole in my purse, “is this.”
I hand the invitation to Charlie. Lauren leans over, her brows furrowing as she reads.
“What in the hell?” Charlie murmurs.
“Your mom invited you to her wedding?” Lauren asks, her voice way louder than it should be. “After she pretty much told you she wanted nothing to do with her granddaughter?”
I grimace, hating how Lauren is so right. Mom hasn’t come out and said that, but it’s been pretty much implied. She’s been trying to get rid of little Maria since the very beginning, and I have no clue why.
“She didn’t say that,” Charlie whispers harshly.
“It was implied,” Lauren says angrily.
“Well, maybe this is your mother’s way of offering an olive branch.” Charlie straightens in her chair and looks at the invitation. “Does it say who exactly is invited, or how many intend to come?”
“How many?” Lauren answers for me, “You could put six down. That would include all of you and Maria.” Lauren purses her lips, looking both thoughtful and irritated. “What if your mom didn’t intend for that to happen?”
Charlie shrugs. “That would be even better. You could take her olive branch, bring the whole family along, and if she’s angry about it—”
“You can take that olive branch and stuff it up her ass,” Lauren finishes for Charlie.
Charlie nods and smiles wickedly. “I couldn’t have said it better myself.”
“So you think I should go?” I ask them while taking the invitation and looking it over, rereading the glittering words again.
“Oh, I would,” Charlie says while bobbing her head. “You don’t want to come off as the bad guy here.”
Lauren groans. “I can just see it now. Your mom wailing to all her fancy guests about how her only daughter didn’t come to her wedding.”
“And everyone taking her side,” Charlie adds. “I say go and bring the whole family. See if she really wants to make amends, or if this is a PR thing.”
Before I can think better of it, I grab a pen from my pencil case and right in the number six in the box next to: How many will attend? Charlie and Lauren giggle mischievously next to me. Part of me feels a little evil, and I love it. They’re right. If Mom really wants me at her wedding, and she wants us to let bygones be bygones, she won’t mind if my boyfriends and child attend her wedding. We’re all family. She’s accepted the bros, so why wouldn’t she accept Maria? Maria has done nothing to her.
I stuff the invitation back into my purse when the teacher arrives. My fingers tap on the desk anxiously while I desperately try to pay attention. I’m worried the longer I wait, the more likely I will second-guess myself and rip the paper into pieces. When class finally ends, I rush to the nearest post office—again, running. Why do I keep doing that? Thankfully, there’s no line. I purchase the nicest envelope and stamp, then mail it out before I can change my mind.
As I leave the post office, I can’t stop smiling. Mom will call me once she gets that RSVP and then I will truly know if this is a way to make amends or just another way to try and control me.
